Chapter Eight

Rat Poison

-o-

On the day of Jasper's birthday party, Melissa sat on her bedroom floor and cried. Everything was wrong. The outfit she had decided on the night before - blue jeans and a ruffled purple shirt - was suddenly the ugliest combination she had ever dreamt up. The makeup Rita had bought for her was scattered over the carpet, and the magazine she let her borrow was open to a dog-eared page, but Melissa couldn't work out how to put on any of it right.

The door crept open, and Melissa lifted her teary eyes.

Anna was peering into the room. Her eyes softened when she saw her on the floor. "Are you going out?"

Melissa nodded and wiped her wet cheeks. She drew a shaky breath and sat up straight. She didn't like crying in front of anyone.

"Do you want some help?"

She hesitated, and then she gave a tiny nod.

Anna stepped inside and closed the door behind her. "Where are you going?"

"A birthday party," Melissa whispered.

Her sister nodded. She sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her, looking around the room at the abandoned articles of clothing scattered over the floor.

"Wear what you'll be comfortable in," she advised. Anna reached for a pair of blue jeans abandoned at the end of the bed, and a casual t-shirt with the words ALL RIGHT printed in red font over the front. Maybe she thought Melissa needed the reminder.

Anna looked over the makeup products around her while Melissa peeled off her shirt and stepped out of her cotton shorts, dressing quickly in the outfit her sister selected.

"Wash your face," she told her. "Cold water helps with puffy eyes."

Melissa left the room, slipping down the hall into the little yellow bathroom. She splashed her face with cold water and patted it dry. She put on moisturiser, and then returned to her bedroom.

Anna tapped the carpet in front of her. Melissa sat in that very spot, facing her sister. Anna looked at the magazine page Melissa had left open, then sighed and pushed it away.

"You don't need bright eyeshadow like this." Makeup palettes and brushes and bottles knocked against each other as she pushed them all together into one pile. She picked up a makeup brush and turned to Melissa. "What's all this about, anyway?"

She shrugged. "I just wanted to look pretty."

Anna's hands stilled. She looked at Melissa. Her dark eyes were so intense it was almost as if she was looking through her. "You are pretty, Mel," she said firmly. Then, quieter, gentler, "Is this about a boy?"

"Maybe."

"You never have to look good for a boy," she said. "If you want to dress up and do your makeup, it should be because you want to do it for you."

She nodded.

Anna dusted her face with a low-coverage foundation. In the mirror, she watched as her freckles faded, still visible but now a muted brown. She did her makeup in silence for a while, lining her eyes with a black pencil and dusting pink blush over her cheeks.

"I know you're paying for my therapy," Melissa said after a while.

Her sister didn't so much as flinch. "Are you upset?"

She thought about it for a second. "I'm upset that you didn't tell me."

"You didn't know-" She stopped herself, shaking her head. "No, you're right. I'm sorry."

Melissa nodded.

Anna instructed her to look straight ahead and not blink. Melissa held her breath as she swiped black mascara onto her lashes.

"Do you like her?"

"Who?"

Anna leaned back and peered at her, evaluating her makeup. "Your therapist."

She nodded. "She's nice to me."

"I'm glad."

Anna smiled, and picked up a fluffy brush. She swiped more colour onto her cheeks. Then she applied pink lip gloss to her mouth. She tucked her hair behind her ears, smoothed down the flyaways on the top of her head. And when she was done, Melissa felt better. Like something had changed and out of her tears, a new version of herself had bloomed.

On her way out of the house, her father stopped her. He looked her over from the couch in the living room, shrewd eyes passing over her hair, her face, her clothes. Melissa stood at the bottom of the staircase, shifting her weight under his gaze.

"Where are you going?"

"A party," she said. And when she didn't add on an If it's okay with you to the end of it, he raised his eyebrows at her.

"Whose party?"

"Jasper Hale's."

"So there'll be boys," he said. "That's why you're wearing makeup."

She glanced back at Anna, who went downstairs to join her on the landing. Her sister squeezed her shoulder.

"Well? Are you dressed like that to seduce some boy?"

"No," she said, lifting her chin. "I just like blush."

He narrowed his eyes. Without saying goodbye, Melissa left.

-o-

Melissa stood at the end of the Cullen driveway, staring off into the distance where the house rose up from the trees and, like a nosy neighbour, peered out at her standing there by the road. Her fingers pressed firmly against the clay pot in her hands.

This had all been a mistake.

She turned to leave, to beg her sister to take her back home, but her car had already disappeared down the road. Her shoes crunched over gravel as she turned back to face the house. She looked down at the plant in her hands, a pathetic little cactus she had bought to brighten up Jasper's moody room, to match the photos on the wall. It seemed like such a silly present now. Would he even like it?

She inhaled deeply. Her breath shuddered in her lungs.

She walked towards the house.

Jasper was the one to open the door, and he did it with a bright smile that made Melissa feel like a melting orange popsicle. The sensation wasn't quite so horrible as when she stood in front of her father. She felt like she was being seen rather than spotted. She hadn't known there was a difference.

Melissa stepped into the house, glancing over the coloured paper streamers and the spreads of sandwiches and finger food. A small cake sat in the centre of a table. Classic rock songs spilled from a stereo nearby. The Cullens were all gathered in the living room, playing a game of cards.

"I'm glad you decided to come," Jasper told her.

She smiled and awkwardly held the plant out to him. "Happy birthday."

If he had thought the gift was unsatisfactory, Jasper didn't show it. He smiled widely and took the pot from her, their fingers brushing.

Melissa gasped. "You're so cold!"

"I must have spent too much time in front of the air conditioner." He lifted the potted cactus. "Could you help me find a good place to put this? You know more about plants than me."

Melissa followed Jasper upstairs, waving a quick hello to his family before disappearing to the third floor.

Once they were in his room, Jasper turned to her. "Where should I put it?"

"Somewhere sunny." Her eyes dragged over the bedroom, and settled by the corner window. She took the pot from him and set it on the ground beside the chair. "Here, to keep you company when you read."

"How do you know I read while sitting there?"

"Because I would," she said, looking at the cactus.

"Maybe you should." He smiled, and moved to stand closer to her.

"Read?"

"Come over," he said, "to do it."

She lifted her head to look up at him. Her breath stilled in her lungs. He was closer than she thought he was. He was looking at her differently, with a soft intensity. Had his eyes always been like honey? Her gaze dipped to his jawline, and she followed the slope to his chin, then down his throat. He swallowed. Something was between them, in the space between her shoulders and his chest, and it buzzed, hummed-

His hand lifted slowly, painfully slowly, fingers suspended in the air. Melissa turned to face him. He reached for her. Cold, uncertain fingers brushed her shoulder, traced her collarbone, swept up to her cheek. Was this it? Was she about to have her first kiss? Melissa's heart thundered in her chest as Jasper lowered his head. Her eyes darted down to his lips, a mere inch from her own. She moved forwards, and touched them hesitantly with her own. His lips, though soft, were shockingly cold. Melissa gasped against his mouth.

-ignited.

-o-

The next time she ran into her father was at Westbrook's. Though she knew he had no real way of knowing what happened at the party, she felt he knew everything the second he laid eyes on her entering the shop. The cheerful ding of the bell above the door didn't quell the angered look in his eyes. He sat at the counter, fiddling with the register. He pressed buttons, then slammed the drawer shut when it popped open, then pressed more buttons.

A customer in the back corner cast a wary glance towards him.

Melissa smiled at them politely. She walked over to her father.

"Heap of crap," he hissed. "It's been eating coins."

She frowned. "What?"

"That's why the accounts aren't right," he said. "It's been eating money and you never even noticed."

That didn't sound right. She leaned over the counter to look. He moved his hands quickly, pressing buttons and slamming the drawer open and closed. Melissa couldn't quite see what was happening, but as far as she could tell, the register was perfectly functional.

A hand flashed out. He grabbed her forearm, fingertips digging into her flesh. His voice was dark and low when he spoke. "I don't appreciate your defiance lately."

Melissa looked towards the back of the shop, where the customer had disappeared behind a shelf. Wrong. Her father pressed his fingernails into her skin. Sharp pain spread through her arm. Her head snapped back to him.

"Don't you dare even think about involving my customers in this," he said. Then, when she didn't say anything, "The correct response is: Yes, I'm sorry, I won't. Say it."

"Yes," she breathed. "I"m sorry. I won't."

"Good," he said, but his grip didn't relent. "Now say, I'm a terrible daughter and I'm sorry I didn't do as I was told. Go on, say it."

Melissa swallowed.

He tightened his hold on her, his fingers pressing uncomfortably against bone. "Say it."

"I'm a terrible daughter," she whispered. "I'm sorry I didn't do as I was told."

"Good." He released her just as the customer stepped out from behind the shelf and headed towards the counter. Standing straight, he flashed them a bright smile. "Good morning! Beautiful weather, isn't it? Just that one today?"

Melissa stumbled back from the counter and out of the way.

Before her very eyes, her father had morphed back into her dad. He'd never done it before so quickly, never done it in public. He was Mr. Westbrook again: shop-owner, widow, single-father, deceiver. How did he do it? How did he shift into some monster and back again in the blink of an eye? It was so controlled, so planned, so flawless. He didn't even need to think about it.

Melissa blinked rapidly. Around her, the shop was blurry. The shelves and walls and counter and doors and posters and signs were all just blobs of colour. She shuffled back, back, back.

Thump.

Her back hit against the shop door. The doorknob pressed uncomfortably into her hip.

"Are you alright, Melissa? Sorry, she's very clumsy." Her father spoke, barely looking at her. The crinkle of a paper bag as he slotted a book into it. "We've recently introduced membership cards. Would you be interested in joining our loyalty program?"

She turned, flung the door open, and ran.

-o-

She hadn't expected to run into anyone, least of all Esme. The grassy field she went to was usually empty. Not once had she spotted another person, or even a clue that someone had been there. There was never any litter, or footprints, or torn-up grass.

Melissa sat in the middle of the field and stared at Esme as she cut through the meadow diagonally. She was carrying a wicker basket, and wore a long flowing skirt and a wide-brimmed hat. She spotted Melissa and smiled widely, lifting a pale hand to wave. She changed course, heading directly towards her.

"Melissa," she said, "I didn't expect to see you here." Esme set the basket down on the grass before sitting kitty-corner to her. "It's such a lovely spot, isn't it? You can't hear the traffic or see the road. It's just you and the birds and trees."

Melissa nodded numbly. She watched as Esme opened her picnic basket, and fished out a large notepad and some charcoal.

"I sneak out here sometimes to lay in the sun and practise my drawing." She flipped to a clean page, and started sketching a portrait of her husband, Dr. Carlisle Cullen. "I draw him from memory. It's always fun to test myself and see what I got wrong. What do you come out here to do?"

"Scream," she mumbled.

Esme paused. Her hands stilled. She looked at her properly, giving Melissa her full attention. "Melissa?"

"Don't you ever feel that urge?"

"What do you mean?"

"When I come to places like this," she said, "where it's just me and the world, me and the trees or grass or rocks or creek, I just feel this urge to scream."

"Are you okay?" Esme asked. Her eyes were gentle, warm. Melissa felt something deep in her chest crack at the softness of her gaze. What she wouldn't give to have a parent - just one person who should have loved her unconditionally, who created her - look at her like that.

Melissa was quiet. After a long, long silence, she said, "I just… I have all this stuff. Here." She touched a fingertip to her chest. "It feels bad and I don't know how to get it out."

Esme smiled at her sadly. She set aside her sketchbook. "By talking. You get rid of it by giving it a voice."

She shook her head. "I can't. It's like it gets caught in my throat."

"It's okay to have emotions. It's important to name them and talk about them," she told her. "It gets easier the more you do it."

"I don't know what it is," Melissa said. "I don't know what to call it."

"Sometimes it helps to describe the physical sensation. It helps you work out what different emotions feel like," Esme said. "Would you like to try?"

This was therapy. This was that thing she'd spent all this time avoiding having to do in her office. It was easier out here, in nature. When she was outdoors, everything came easier to her, even breathing.

Melissa fidgeted with a piece of dry grass. "There's a sort of… pressure in my chest."

Esme nodded encouragingly.

"My hands… I feel like I need to hit something. All the time."

"Good. Anything else?"

"Sometimes, I just want everyone to shut up. It's like the sound of anyone's voice makes me so irrationally-" She cut herself off. Melissa's gaze darted away from Esme's. She suddenly felt guilty for admitting to any of this.

"Makes you what, Melissa?"

"Angry," she whispered.

A pause. "From your body language," Esme said, "I'm wondering if you have some sort of negative judgement of that emotion?"

Melissa bit her cheek. "Anger's bad."

"Who told you that?"

She looked up at Esme, confused. Didn't everyone think that?

"Anger protects you," Esme said. "Anger tells us when something is wrong."

"Wrong how?"

"Sometimes anger helps us avoid feeling other things, like fear or pain," she said. "And sometimes anger tells us when someone isn't treating us the way they should."

Melissa swallowed, and lowered her gaze. That made sense. Of course, that made sense.

A moment of silence passed between them. Around them, the grass waved and danced in the gentle breeze. The sun bore down on the field, heating the earth and the top of Melissa's head. She wished she had brought a hat. She wished she could stay here forever. She wished she never had to go back home.

"Did something happen today?" Esme asked after a while.

Something always happened. Something was always in the process of happening, and Melissa was powerless to stop it. When she was good and did as she was asked, she lost. When she was rebellious and did as she wanted, she lost.

"I had a fight with my father," she said carefully.

"About what?"

"I don't know. Something stupid." Melissa shrugged, but that wasn't true. She did know what it was about, and it wasn't stupid. It was the same thing all of their fights were about: control.

-o-

Melissa would apologise. She would march back to Westbrook's and look her father in the eye and say sorry. She wouldn't feel resentful or angry about it because she had decided to do it herself. It was her choice.

She nodded to herself and walked down Main Street towards the shop. She wasn't looking forward to what would happen next, but she knew she had to face it. She had to apologise, had to smooth things over with her father. She was so close. Just a few more months, another year. Just a little while longer.

She could hang on.

She had to.

She stood outside of Westbrook's, staring in through the shop window. Her father was inside, fiddling around with the window display. He straightened up stacks of books and relaid the strings of white Christmas lights, weaving them around bestsellers. He didn't see her.

When he was done, he moved to the register. He opened the drawer, and counted the cash, sorting them into piles. Then, he grabbed one of the stacks and shoved it in his trouser pocket. He took the rest of the money into the back room, pausing only to switch off all the shop lights. Melissa could no longer see inside. Her reflection stared back at her from the shop window, framed by sparkling Christmas lights.

She placed her hand on the doorknob of the front door to the shop. When she tried to turn the handle, it merely jiggled. Locked. With a sigh, she slipped through a passageway to the alley at the back of the shop. She tried the backdoor - unlocked - and entered.

"Melissa!" Her father stood by the kitchenette, wiping down the sink with a sponge. "What are you doing creeping through the back like that?"

"Sorry," she said. "I want to apologise for earlier."

"It's fine." His free hand moved into his trouser pocket. "In the past. Forgotten, hmm?"

"Okay." She eyed him carefully.

Her father wrung out the kitchen sponge and left it in the sink, whistling to himself. Suddenly, he lifted his head and looked at her. "Oh, Melissa, you haven't seen Jinx, have you?" he asked. "Out in the alley maybe?"

She shook her head.

"I haven't seen him all day," he told her, "and I'm so tired. I had to do your work too since you stormed out earlier. Would you mind staying back to look for him?"

"Of course." He didn't need to ask. She would have done it anyway. Jinx was her cat, and she loved him.

He smiled, patted her shoulder, and left through the back door.

Melissa immediately started calling out the little black cat's name, checking all of his favourite hiding spots.

-o-

In the end, Melissa found Jinx behind the dumpster in the alley. He was curled up in a tight circle, his body rising and falling with rapid breaths. She dropped to her knees at the gap between the skip and wall.

"Jinx," she gasped. She reached out for him, but he was too deep in the narrow gap, too far back. Her fingertips brushed over the soft fur of his paw, the leathery skin of a toe bean. "Jinx, come here."

The cat didn't move. His yellow eyes dragged over to look at her, sluggish.

Melissa's heart stopped for a second. He was sick. He was sick and he was hiding. This was what cats did. They went away to hide, and then died.

She needed to get to him.

"It's okay. I'm going to get you out."

Melissa rushed to her feet. She placed her palms on the corner of the dumpster, and pushed. The heavy bin didn't budge. She braced her back against the alley wall, grunting as she tried to shift the skip. She added her right foot to the side of the bin and pushed again. It didn't move a single inch.

She huffed, blowing air from her eyes. She couldn't give up. She absolutely couldn't leave Jinx there to die.

Melissa turned to face the wall. She grabbed the corner of the bin and tried to pull, bending her knees, leaning back. The bin let out a low groan, but still didn't move.

With an exasperated yell, she let go of it. The cold fingers of panic seized her hands; they trembled as she raised them to push hair agitatedly away from her face. What to do? There was no way she could move the dumpster by herself.

She took her phone out of her pocket and called her sister. The phone rang and rang and rang, but Anna didn't pick up.

"Shit," Melissa hissed.

She scrolled through her contacts list for someone else who could help her. She stopped when Jasper's name appeared. Desperate, she dialled.

He picked up on the second ring. "Hey, Melissa."

"Jinx is sick," she said quickly, breathless. "He's stuck. I can't get to him. He-"

"At Westbrook's?"

"Yes," she said. "Yes, he's behind the shop. There's a dumpster and I can't move it. God, I don't know- he's not breathing properly- I-"

"Melissa," he said, speaking slowly. "I'm on my way now. Stay on the phone with me, alright? Take some deep breaths."

She tried, her breath rattling in her tight chest. Her airways were closing. She tried to drag air into her lungs, but it was rapidly becoming more and more difficult to breathe. She sat on the ground beside the dumpster, next to the gap between the bin and the wall. She coughed, looking over at Jinx, petting his soft paws.

"Are you alright?" Jasper asked over the phone.

"I have-" She wheezed- "Asthma."

"Do you have an inhaler?"

"Inside."

"Go get it," he said.

She shook her head. She rounded her spine and leant forwards, elbows on her knees, as her asthma nurse had taught her. "I won't- leave h-im."

"He'll be okay for a minute. I'm nearly there."

"No," she rasped. Her vision was going. She blinked at Jinx. He didn't look right anymore. Darker, somehow. Darker than black.

"Melissa," he said, "this isn't a game. Go take your medicine."

Something in his tone told her he wouldn't be happy to arrive and see her without an inhaler in hand. She struggled to her feet, then stumbled over to the back door. She gasped, lungs screaming for oxygen. Her muscles were exhausted. She needed to sit. Her knees bent as spots danced in her vision. Sit. Yes, she should sit.

"Are you getting your inhaler?"

Yes, the inhaler. Jasper was right. She needed her inhaler. She couldn't sit. Not yet. She tried desperately to suck in air.

"Yes," she choked.

She pressed against the door, leaning her body heavily against it to push it open. On her way inside she tripped on the step, catching herself on a nearby shelf. The boxes of books stacked on it wobbled, a few lighter ones tumbling onto the floor.

She crawled to her locker and, with clumsy hands, fumbled for the lock. Opened it. Searched her bag for her inhaler.

Her heart dropped.

All the pockets were empty.

Her chest grew tighter and tighter. She'd packed it, hadn't she? Her father wouldn't take it.

Would he?

Desperately, she shoved her hands deep in the bag. Her palms hit against her field notebook, the pointy end of a pencil, her wallet-

There!

She pulled the inhaler from the bag and brought it to her mouth. She pressed the trigger, slumping against a wall. Thirty seconds later, she took another puff. Then another. Another.

Her airways opened up. Air passed through her windpipe, feeding her lungs. She gulped down breath after breath greedily. Her heart rate slowed, her vision cleared. She sat on the floor for a moment, focusing on her breathing.

The thought of Jinx sprung to the forefront of her mind. She pictured him hiding behind the bin, sick and alone. What was she doing? She stood on weak legs and went back outside. Paused when she saw that the dumpster had been moved clear away from the wall, pushed out into the middle of the alley. Her eyes widened. Her gaze dragged from the skip over towards Jasper. He was crouched on the pavement next to Jinx, looking at him carefully but not touching him. The cat bared its fangs at him, never having been a fan of the Cullens.

Jasper stood when he saw Melissa. "Are you alright?"

She nodded, and pointed at the heavy dumpster. "You moved that yourself?"

Already he had turned back to look at Jinx. "Your cat needs a vet."

A flicker of shame swept over her and carved a hole in her gut. How could she ask about the bin when Jinx was so clearly unwell? What was wrong with her?

She came over to crouch beside him, peering down at the poor animal. She scratched the top of Jinx's head gently, then scooped him up in her arms. His head lolled over. His body was heavy and slack. "What do you think is wrong with him?"

"I think he was poisoned."

Melissa looked down at Jinx. He peered up at her with drooping yellow eyes, and cried weakly as she cradled him to her chest. Numbly, she followed Jasper out of the alley.

The emergency vet they took Jinx to confirmed Jasper's suspicions. The cat had been poisoned. Fortunately, he was found early enough to be treated. While the vet saw Jinx, Melissa sat in the waiting room, biting her cheek and thinking of only two things: Jinx, and Jasper.

She stared at the door leading to Jinx, who was being treated for poisoning. She felt calm and assured that he would be okay. He was in good hands. The diagnosis made sense, given the symptoms, but Melissa couldn't understand how it had happened. The vet said he might have eaten something left for a rat by a local restaurant, or snacked on a toxic plant, but Melissa didn't believe it to be true. Jinx was a smart boy and very picky. He would never eat anything but the most expensive cat food, fresh fish, and the snacks Melissa snuck him on occasion.

And then, when the thought of Jinx's sickness inevitably turned towards his rescue, she turned her eyes upon Jasper. He sat beside her, looking over the posters on the walls advocating for responsible pet ownership with mild interest. She looked him over, eying the biceps peeking out from his shirt. He had muscles, but there wasn't a person on earth who could have moved that dumpster by themselves. It was inhuman.

Jasper must have sensed she was looking at him. His head turned and his attention shifted to Melissa. His eyes were softer than she'd ever seen them. "Jinx is going to be fine."

He reached for her. Moved too quickly. His hand flashed, seemed to teleport: one moment it was on his knee, and the next it was flying towards her. Melissa flinched, gasping. Her plastic chair creaked as she lurched away from him.

Both of them froze. Suddenly, it was as if the world had ended. Time had stopped. Everything was falling apart. They stared at each other with wide, horrified eyes. Jasper's hand was suspended in the space between them.

"Melissa?"

He knew.

She swallowed. Her chest tightened, her veins flooded with ice water. She'd flinched. Stupidly, she'd flinched. Her breath stalled in her lungs at the thought of him knowing about her father, about what her house was really like.

"It's alright."

Her gaze darted from his face to the door behind him. If she were quick, she could run away. She could leave. She could run away from this problem like she did all the others. She could avoid him at school, and stop studying with him, and never think about him ever again.

"Did you think I'd hit you?"

Her attention snapped back to Jasper. His question was too direct. Like a punch to the gut, it winded her.

Lie.

She shook her head, not trusting her voice not to betray her.

He stared at her for a long moment, his gaze unwavering. Jasper wasn't like the others. Jasper wasn't going to buy that. She needed to make it more convincing.

"Is someone hurting you?"

"Of course not," she said quickly. She tried to laugh it off, but the sound that spilled from her lips was strained and pitched too high.

Jasper's stare was unrelenting. Melissa's smile faltered.

He knew. He knew.

"I wasn't going to hit you," he said. "I would never hit you."

Melissa glanced at her hands. They sat on her knees, trembling. She clenched them into tight fists. Her nails bit into her palms. She looked back up.

Jasper was still staring at her. He didn't look away as he reached for her. He moved slowly this time, keeping his eyes on her face. He knew rapid movements would make her flinch now. He knew because she'd messed up. His cold fingers brushed over the back of her hand as he went to uncurl her fist.

Melissa pulled away. Jasper stopped moving, a tiny frown between his brows. She stared at him, wide-eyed, not daring to breathe. Jasper drew away. The two sat in silence for the rest of the night, waiting for the vet to come out and update them on Jinx.

-o-

Jasper walked her home despite Melissa's attempts to shoo him away. She walked alongside him, with Jinx tucked up against her chest. Ordinarily he stayed at the shop, but Melissa didn't want to leave him alone. She would let him sleep in her room until she was certain that he was fully recovered and feeling like himself again. She had a spare blanket somewhere, and one of the kitchen bowls would do as a water bowl, and she would crack her bedroom window open so he could have some air. Breakfast was another problem. There was a tin of tuna in the cupboard, or maybe it was salmon. Either way, she was sure she could get him to eat it.

They walked in silence. The night was louder than any of them. Leaves rusted in the wind and insects called out in the dark. Occasionally a car drove past, headlights blinding Melissa as they came down the road. She kept her mouth clamped firmly shut the whole way home. She didn't want to invite any tricky questions about her flinching or her home life. Jasper seemed to sense this, and respected the boundary. It wasn't until they arrived at her house and were standing on the path outside that he spoke.

"Will you be alright?"

It was an innocent enough question at its surface, but Melissa knew better than to think it wasn't layered. There were depths to it. It implied things she didn't want him to suspect or know.

She turned to look at him, and saw that he was staring not at her but her house. "I'm fine."

"You're certain?"

"Goodnight, Jasper."

She didn't wait for him to say goodnight back, or to say anything. She turned without hesitation and walked confidently up to her house. She knew Jasper was watching. She needed to make him think she was unafraid of going home, that there was nothing wrong with her or her family. She opened the door and stepped inside.

Her father was sitting in the living room watching one of his action films. She stood in the doorway and stared at the back of his head for a moment, suddenly overcome with an image of her smacking the blade of a shovel against it. She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. That wasn't a good thought. That wasn't what good daughters thought.

Screams suddenly tore through the house. Melissa's eyes flew open, heart racing. It was only the television. She cringed. She hoped Jasper had already left or, if he hadn't, that he at least realised the sounds were from the film and not her.

Melissa moved into the living room and walked towards the stairs, Jinx cradled against her chest. Her father looked up at her from the couch as she passed him.

"Oh. You found him," he said.

And Melissa took one look at his face, and knew it was him.

-o-