THAT DAY, MRS. MORGAN HAD COME BACK ONLY ONCE TO TELL NAOMI THAT SHE HAD AN HOUR TO GET READY, AND SET HER BREAKFAST ON THE NIGHT-TABLE.

When Naomi saw her come in, her hand stung with recognition and when she walked out her eyes tinged with shame. She almost called after her. She wanted to ask if she could feed her again, like yesterday, but all that felt like centuries ago. The door clicked shut and she thought how odd it was that one action could shift time so much that normal things felt alien and comfortable things felt impossible.

She nibbled whatever was on the plate and skipped the orange juice, just like she skipped her shower, and threw on the easiest thing in her closet. Walking down the stairs and out the door was a lot easier than she expected. She imagined that her fight with her mother startled her body awake, or perhaps it was the very act of leaving the Morgan house that she gravitated towards. In her heart, she knew which of the two was right.

Mrs Morgan didn't see her daughter again until she got in the car seat next to her. Neither of them said anything. Though Naomi supposed she should have said sorry, the untrue words could not form. She was tired of spitting lies. She was not sorry for slapping her mother. On top of that, she silently hoped that by not apologizing her mother would know it too. Mrs Morgan clicked on the air conditioning and they drove off in silence.

In contrast to everything Naomi felt, the physiotherapist said that she was fine. She'd be able to dance in a few months. He said it in the most congratulatory voice and Mrs Morgan nodded pleasingly but Naomi couldn't figure out what there was to celebrate. It felt, absurd. She slumped lower into his hard office chair when he started speaking about her diet. For the rest of the visit, she zoned out.

When they finally returned home, Mr Morgan's car was parked out front, gleaming under the column lights. Naomi thought it looked more natural under the Riverside sunlight of 6th avenue. They parked behind his car and the engine shut off. Breathlessly, Mrs Morgan started to manage a sentence. It was an utterance really, of something that would no doubt sound like regret and frustration; something Naomi had had enough of. Ultimately, it went unheard when Naomi Morgan opened the car door and got out. The cold night air washed over her briefly, and then again when she slammed the door shut behind her.

Naomi tucked her hands into her jeans pockets and moved toward the front door. She knew what she was doing and it hurt her, of course, it did. But there were larger and more powerful parts of her that revelled in it. For once, she was selfish and she couldn't get enough.

Naomi Morgan decided that when she got inside, she'd blow the dust off her phone and download some music. It would perhaps be something with a piano and cuss words if she could find anything like that. But, when she got to the front door, there was something on the floor awaiting her. It looked like mail, some sort of notice flyer.

Riverside didn't do flyers. They did emails and house visits if there was ever a need. Naomi immediately knew who this was from. Her mind thought back to the animal faces she saw in the pouring rain not that long ago. Her jaw tightened. She stepped over it and went inside.

That night, instead of heading to her room like she said she would, Naomi found herself walking straight to her brother's. She opened the door, sighing when Williams' eyes trained on her. He scooted over on the bed. "Close the door behind you."

When Naomi told her little brother that she hit their mother, he didn't flinch.

"I know," he said. "Mom and Dad haven't stopped talking about it."

"Don't call him that," was the first thing to run out of her mouth. "That man isn't our father." Even though, her mind paced relentlessly on so much more. She was sure it was impossible to overhear anything in the Morgan home. The walls might have been thin but there was nothing to travel past them anyway. No one spoke. Perhaps that's why when he asked her if she heard, she took a little longer than expected to shake her head.

"They always talk about you."

Naomi had to adjust herself on the bed. She sat up a little, at first to make sure he wasn't being sarcastic, and then straightened a little more to ensure she could hear what was to come next. She asked William, "What do they say?"

All their conversations began to replay in his head. Naomi could see them. His eyes were tracking them, fidgeting around the room like a scratched record player as he experienced them all one by one. His face abruptly changed like a strung-out violin.

He opened his mouth, looked at her, then his expression finally set. "Who cares? The damage has been done. They didn't have much of an opinion before, they shouldn't now."

He was, in no other way, devastatingly right. But that truth did not belong to him, it was not his burden to bear and yet, he wore it without shame. If it was a bravado it was a bold, unbreakable one. He stood up and walked over to the other side of his room.

When his back was turned, it felt so much easier for Naomi to say what she knew she had to. "I'm sorry about what I said at the dining table the other day. I didn't even consider how that would make you feel. I guess I just wanted mom to know so badly," she scoffed dryly, "so much for that."

He chucked a little. Naomi glanced his way to absorb the reaction but he still didn't turn around. "I get why you did it. And don't worry about me, I already knew." He lifted his shirt over his head and tossed it in an already crowded chair.

"What? You knew? How?"

He scrounged through his drawers for another shirt, only barely looking over his shoulder when he said, "Naomi, we all knew." The small room felt a little smaller. "When everyone at school talks about their parents I just listen sometimes. I feel like an orphan. We don't have parents like normal people do, Naomi. You knew that." He finally found the shirt he was looking for and squirmed into it.

"Fitting. Only orphans have scars like those." She was, of course, referring to the bruises he was hiding by turning away from her to change his shirt. But there were some scattered on his back too, and a faded purple ring around his eye. There was simply no hiding it.

He stilled. Then he turned around, a struggle waging his jaw back and forth. For a moment, he said nothing. He folded his arms. "I guess that makes sense. If I'm an orphan, then technically you would be too with all those bruises on your toes and ribs." Naomi's lips drifted as if to form some distant syllable. "We all saw, Naomi. In the hospital, it was the first thing the doctor showed us."

She shook her head spitefully as Will came to sit next to her. He said, 'I'll tell you about mine if you tell me about yours."

Naomi Morgan looked at her brother incredulously at first. She wasn't sure she could even voice what has been happening to her, much less to her little brother. But she saw the purple blotching his eyes and she remembered immediately the purple she had contorting her toes. He wasn't even in high school yet; he was still a kid. Then again, no kid can survive what they've been through. "What we say, does not leave this room. Promise?"

He smiled. It was crooked. "You have my orphan oath."

"You're so lame." 

Author's Note
Haha the chapters are catching up to me faster than I can write them 🙃

This week the dedication goes out to @citizenpain tysm for being amazing and voting and showing me so much love I LOVE YOU TO THE MOON AND BACK. If you vote, comment and share, the next dedication could be you!

So, comments? Idk about you guys but I love what's happening between Naomi and Will. It makes me warm inside. Next week though, we'll hear more about what they discussed 👀 stay tuned and let your boy know what you think so far!

IN THE NEXT CHAPTER...

NaomiMorgan sat there in the silence for a few moments and immediately knew twothings. The first being that she never wanted to unload her problems ontoanyone ever and the second being she would always want her brother to unload hisproblems onto her...