Carrick could still feel on his cheek, the hand. The power he felt with the hit, he had never felt before. It scared the boy down to his soul. The large mirror he stared into had a large crack in it. It went down the middle, but nevertheless, Carrick could see how much of a mess he was.
His ginger hair, while normally wild and course, was messier than usual. Dirt was intertwined into his hair. The boy lifted up his hand and picked out a grain of dirt from a strand of his hair. He dropped it and then proceed to the same to another strand of hair. He knew it was pointless, this repeated act of trying to clean his hair, but he did it anyway. It gave him time to observe himself. His dull green eyes were bloodshot, and a tiny tear rolled out of his left eye. The purple bruise that crept up his cheek barely met the corner of his eye. It was ugly, the bruise. Slightly swollen, pinkish in the middle, and slowly turned into purple hue as it went out. It had formed an hour ago, probably while Carrick was walking himself home. He had bandage over his nose. It wasn't broken, just got cut when he fell. A twig or maybe even a rock made a tiny cut across the bridge of his nose. He would have a tiny scar there when he took the bandage off.
They say the mirror can reflect the soul of an individual. Show who they really are. And maybe this is who Carrick is. A weak and defeated boy. Who couldn't even stop someone from striking him down. He fell to the ground, rather slowly, and pressed his forehead against the bottom of the mirror. He had to take a bath but he couldn't will himself to get up. He kept replaying that moment over and over in his head. The eye contact he made with the man's brown eyes. The fury those eyes held. The way he rose his hand before he struck it down.
Carrick didn't hear the door open to his room, nor did he hear his rather loud-footed father climb up the stairs.
"Carrick? The void you doin' on t'e ground?" Richard asked, and Carrick heard him near closer.
Carrick didn't say anything. Rather he looked over to his father and let his face explain himself. His father's facial expression darkened and he hurried over to his son. He squatted down to be level with him, and cupped the cheek that bruised.
"Son.. what happened to ya'?"
"I.." Carrick paused, thinking of a good enough lie, "I'm just having a bad day, y'know? Some part of the ground was iced over and I slipped right onto my face, like. Hurt like void but I'm alright now. No need to worry."
Richard frowned and tilted his head in disbelief.
"You slipped on ice?"
"Yes, I slipped on ice pa'."
"Carrick, I know ya'. You're careful, like. Never in my life have I seen you slip on ice- shite', I haven't seen ya' trip at all. You've got a lot of balance in t'ose wee bones of yers'."
Carrick would squirm underneath his father's stern look. They stayed like that for a while, an awkward silence filling up the room like smoke. Tension rose with every second. Carrick would pull his gaze away from his father, only for Richard to force him to look at him again. Richard finally broke the silence, cleared the smoke,
"Listen boy, we can do t'is t'e easy way. Which is you tell me now and I tell yer' ma' that you fell on ice, like. Or- we can do t'is the hard way. And t'ats me gettin' yer' mom in'ere and she be askin' you what really happened. Stay silent and we'll go t'e hard way."
Carrick hesitated before he spoke,
"I.. Before I start it wasn't Naushe's fault."
Richard's eyes widen at the mention of Naushe, a man he despised to his very core. He got up from where he was squatting and started walking to the door.
"Pa' please!" Richard stopped and turned his head to his son, who was still on the floor, "It was t'at man's fault. He was messin' wit' Naushe and he had to be taught a lesson. So we went to the Frisque Pearl and well… t'ey fought. And he fought good, knocked out that man. And then the man- well, he woke up and he wasn't so happy so he-"
"I don't need to hear anymore boy. I'm goin' over there right now and we're havin' a little chat with yer' Uncle"
At that, Richard went over to Carrick and snatched him by the wrist. He dragged his son out into the cold winter air and dragged him along despite his resistance. When they got to the front of the Tattoo parlor Carrick ripped himself from his father's grip.
"Pa' please! Don't make trouble, I promised Naushe there wouldn't be any trouble."
He would take ahold of Carrick's wrist again and said,
"I ain't makin' trouble, like. I'm doing my job as a father."
Richard practically kicked down the door, sending rays of the natural light into the darkened parlor. Naushe's hazel eyes, almost golden with the sunlight reflecting on them, met Carrick's.
"Oh, ehm… Richard. Carrick-- I didn't expect you back so soon, lad."
Last edited:
