Just wanted to let you all know that I am loving these reviews. Hope you love this new chapter! Oh, and because I'm using lyrics later on in this chapter, I thought it only right to write in this citation. English majors, you know what I'm talking about.
Train. "Bruises." AZLyrics. MUSIXMATCH, n.d. Web. 15 Sept. 2013.
Chapter Three
Hannah's P.O.V.
It had been a long walk back to the apartment after the little spell in the subway station and I spent the next day in seclusion. The pain of losing my father was more than I could bear. I would never see him again; his eyes, his smile. Never again would I get to hear his laugh or his cheer for our favorite basketball team. He wouldn't get to hold me in his arms again or kiss me on the forehead before I went off to school. He was my friend, my comforter and my father. And now he was gone. Just like Mom. Even worse was that I was quickly coming to the realization that I was an orphan. I no longer had any parents. They were gone: forever. And all I had left was my father's estranged brother and his wife. With these overwhelming thoughts and emotions, I just wanted to be alone. My uncle seemed to get that, since I hadn't seen him once we got back to the apartment.
There was a knock at the door. I didn't even turn when I heard the door creak open.
"Brought you some soup." Natasha said. I kept my back to her. When she figured I wasn't going to talk, she set the bowl down on the dresser beside the bed and left. There was a moment though that she lingered, as if she wanted to say something, but removed herself when she decided against it.
The light slowly faded from my window. I later looked over to the clock on the dresser: 10:30. That's when I noticed that the walls inside my room had become quite suffocating, and the soup from lunch had grown cold. When my stomach growled, I knew I needed to eat something. I went out, although not to run away this time. I quickly located the kitchen, quietly searching through the cupboards. I settled on a box of Cheerios, which I was perfectly content to eat straight out of the box. Who needed a bowl of milk for something as delicious as this?
I decided to avoid the bedroom for a while and settled on a chair in the living room, dimly lit by the outside city lights. Munching on my Cheerios, I looked out into the streets of the city, only to find that it was actually quite comforting. It was nothing like the sight of the countryside at home where crickets chirped throughout the night and the moon lighting up the midnight sky, but since my life was changing, a different scenery was just another readjustment I'd have to get used to.
My eyes wandered around the room. A red couch, a big flat screen television, a vase full of flowers. Funny, I never pictured them as flower people. There was one picture on a small table that caught my eye. It was one that brought me some shock and awe. I placed down the cereal and walked over to it. Sure enough, I recognized the people in it. It was Dad...at a younger age. And I could barely recognize my uncle because he was so young. But there they were, sitting with two grown-ups I assumed were their parents...my grandparents. Dad never talked about them much. I had asked about them several times when all the other kids had their grandparents show up for Grandparent's Day at school, but Dad never said anything. I stopped asking when I saw how much it pained him to think about them.
I placed the picture down and was about to put the cereal away and head back to my room when I saw something I didn't expect at all. It was a guitar sitting in the corner. I didn't believe it was Natasha's, so I concluded it had to be my uncle's. I never saw him as a musical person. Anyways, Dad had taught me how to play the guitar since I was young. I wasn't the best player, but it was something to do on Sunday afternoons with Dad. I cautiously looked around the room, paranoid that someone might be watching. When my vision affirmed that there was no one around, I gingerly took the guitar in my hands and hit a note. Whoops. I forgot it was nighttime. But I really wanted to play. It reminded me of Dad. And I needed something to remember all the good times right now, lest I remember the present. I looked over to the fire escape out the window. I gracefully made my way over there and closed it almost all the way before dangling my legs over the four stories below me. I started to play the first song that came to my mind:
These bruises make for better conversation
It started off scratchy, but I quickly picked up on the notes again.
Loses the vibe that separates
It's good to let you in again
You're not alone in how you've been
Everybody loses, we all got bruises
We all got bruises (Train)
After a few more strums, I set the instrument down. Bruises. Another one to add to my already battered heart. First Mom, then Dad. All within a few years of each other. And never a word about my own uncle. And yet he was listed as a close relative at school? But why? Why the secret?
Clint's P.O.V.
The sound of a guitar chord triggered me out of my subconscious. What was that? Or perhaps who was more fitting for this particular question. I got out of bed, taking out a small handgun I had stored away in the dresser. I snuck into the living room, hiding around a corner. But there was no one. I noticed, however, that my guitar was missing. It had no sentimental value to me, but still, someone who could sneak in and out of my apartment had to have the same stealth as me. And I did not like that one bit.
That's when I noticed the window was slightly opened. And there, sitting on the fire escape, was my niece strumming to my guitar. I quickly recognized the song.
"Bruises." I muttered quietly. It was relatable for her right now. Another bruise to add to her invisible collection of scars. And I could empathize with her. When Mom and Dad had died, at least I had Barney for a time. But she had no one. Not a soul was standing right beside her to ease pain, to relate to her suffering. Except me. That's when I thought perhaps I was the one person who could help, and not being there for Hannah was the one thing that was standing in the way of her comfort. At the subway station, where I had almost knocked that creep's lights out when I saw him threaten her, she had been a wreck. But then she locked herself away from people, from life. Just like me. I liked to be alone. But my scars didn't heal quite as well without another person. For me, that person was Nat. We both knew pain from our pasts. We had each other. But this kid, this niece of mine, she didn't have anyone to share her feelings with. Any person she had been close to was gone, leaving me to pick up the pieces of a shattered heart. But how could I do that when I was still trying to patch up my own?
"Clint?" Nat asked quietly as she rubbed her eyes groggily. She looked at the window and saw Hannah.
"She's a musician?" I shrugged my shoulders.
"Barney knew how to play. He must have taught her." I whispered. The teen set down the instrument and stared out into the streets, her eyes filled with pain and confusion.
"She hurts." Nat said simply.
"How do I fix it?" I was secretly hoping that she knew the answer.
"You can't." She replied. "Only time can heal your wounds."
"Mine?" I asked in confusion.
"Both of you."
"But Barney, he was her dad. He was just..."
"Your brother." She folded her arms, clearly expecting a confession which I really wasn't in the mood to give.
"I haven't seen him in years." I pulled my gaze away from her, but she pulled me right back in.
"Don't tell me that you didn't think of him every day since you last saw him." She was good at this. She may not be the biggest people person, but she could read them like a book, and I was no exception to her gift.
"I don't know what to do about her." I admitted.
"Be her uncle." As if I knew what that meant.
"What does that even mean?" It was a mistake to think that she knew either.
"You'll figure it out." She assured me, giving me a small peck on the cheek and going to bed, leaving me to watch my distraught niece in wonder.
Really wishing that I could write longer chapters. It's like some sort of deficiency. Anyone ever feel that way? Oh, and tell me what you think of this chapter. Always love to hear what you have to say!