126Please respect copyright.PENANA4KOnvtjB3a
I was short of turning nine when I first laid my eyes on Griffin.
"From now on, Moe, this boy shall be your friend."
I stood by the porch overlooking the garden where the boy stood. Hands tucked into the pockets of his haggard jeans, seething and slouching to one side as if to mirror my own thoughts.
I don't want to be here.
I recognised the kid. Everyone did, apparently. Owing to our small town it scarcely took long before the news began to spread much like a pandemic; a boy, aged ten. The sole survivor of a mass shooting in a trailer park just south of the town's borders.
But as is the nature of bored housewives and unreserved whispers of scandalous tales, rumors blurred into facts, and fiction became tantamount to truth. It was all hearsay, yet most of the townsfolk were convinced we'd been blessed under the guise of tragedy—the boy's parents and most of the inhabitants of the trailer park had been drug dealers, addicts, thugs, pimps, prostitutes, losers, scum of the earth and the like. These were people, reduced to sins.
It was no wonder most could not say they felt deeply for the loss—no, they rather rejoiced, but took trouble in being covert in their underhanded thoughts.
I shuddered to think we should ever let this wretched boy into our esteemed home. It was blasphemy. But Father was kind, as much as I was not. His inability to let the boy be taken away paralleled the capacity in me to let the thing starve.
"But Father—"
"Smarten up, girl. This boy just lost both of his parents. He's staying here in the meantime."
"For how long, Father?"
"However long it takes."
Not if I can help it, I resolved.
Sizing the boy up proved no difficult task; the anger was written all over his face in clear furrowed lines. His eyebrows were lowered and his eyes, deep-set and singular. Long black lashes cast shadows upon his cheeks.
When he catches my gaze with his own steely blue eyes, his whole face shrouded in thundering darkness.
This boy was dirty in all sense of the word. He had on the most tattered clothes I'd ever had the misfortune to behold. Holes punched into his baggy shirt revealed a sallow, bonny physique so deprived of sustenance I marveled how he could possibly keep upright.
"Hello, boy," was all I could say, and that apathetic welcome did not escape my father's ears. Father flashed a cautionary glare at my direction.
"Now, Moe. Be nice," Father said, lugging me along so I could get closer to the boy. "I'll leave you two to be acquainted."
And true to his words he stalked off back into our house, which stood in all its glory, to attend to matters too outside my realm of thought at nine years of age.
We owned a sizeable estate that ran for acres. From Father's success in trading he earned for himself a good name and fortune; and the respect, owing to his natural disposition to generosity.
The boy betrayed no emotion as I walked up to him. Up close I noticed his face detestably covered in a layer of grime, and who knows what else.
"Your dad is stupid," he said, needing no prompting from me.
Appalled, I was shocked into momentary silence, and then, "What?"
"I said, your dad is stupid. Dumb. Retarded. What 'ave ya."
My face flushed hot; my hands trembled. But I knew not to humor him. I was a wild child—uncommon and awful coarse for a girl bred and born to a respected family—and devilishly mischievous to boot; fleeting moments of intense passionate rage were par for the course with me. "Father said to be nice to you. I will be, if you are."
"And didn't I call your dad stupid?"
That was it. The moment I despised him—deceased parents be damned.
My wild anger flared, heedless of any consequences that should follow suit my disagreeable conduct. I never had power to conceal my passion, it always sets my whole complexion in a blaze. "Listen here, you—what's your name?"
"Griffin."
"Well, Griffin. Have you stopped to think why you, dirty and foolish boy, now stand on my beautiful garden, in front of my home? And to be so arrogant, and ungrateful!"
No response, notwithstanding his sulky face, which blackened like a thunder-cloud considerably.
I barrelled on. "If you've entertained that Father brought you here because he cares for you, oh, how mistaken you are! All he wants is to parade you around. You are a token. A show piece! The orphan child he saved. That's what you are—vermin! Where are your relatives? Your filthy rotten addict parents are dead, and see how no one cares. No one loves you, Griffin, and you do not belong here." I marched up to pinch him square on the arm, with a deliberate wrench. Admittedly I hoped to see him cry.
To my great disappointment he neither flinched nor give flight, but a corner of his mouth quirked up wickedly, and it was as if a veil had been lifted.
I saw, in a flash so swift I could have missed it, the most sinister and malevolent countenance stark upon the boy, clear as day. It was gone as quick as it came.
I stepped back, hard pressed concealing the shudder that overtook my body. My vehemence had failed to mortify him—the boy had not yet succumbed to my taunts. It shocked and disarmed me greatly.
"How dare you laugh! You think this is funny?" I cried, and struck his face so hard my fist ached. So harsh was the force of the blow that I grounded him in one fell swoop. But it did not last long. He mustered a shaky breath, and then regained his composure.
I was surprised to witness how coolly he gathered and erect himself once again, albeit now rather morose. The hint of the former crooked smirk lingered on his lips, and only widened still when he noticed Father was right behind me and bore witness to all that transpired.
"You stupid, useless child!" Father shouted at me and took Griffin's hand. "What in the devil do you think you're doing?"
"But, Father, he called you—"
"Enough!" With that he led Griffin to the door, all the while rubbing his head soothingly, apparently thinking the boy in need of consolation.
It was rather the opposite; right as the door was about to close, Griffin turned and flashed me the same villainous, satisfied grin. 126Please respect copyright.PENANAlDutTdUBzR
Tears sprang to my eyes. It was in vain. Father knew all too well my ill-tempered nature. He would never believe a word I say, regardless how truthful.
Well, if Griffin was to stay here for another month, there was no other choice but to learn to tolerate his presence, at the very least. I resolved to make amends. Surely he could not be so vindictive as he appeared?
I was wrong completely, as you will hear.
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