Chapter Text
Rumi took a deep breath, turned to the side, and pulled her jacket down to her elbows.
Zoey gasped and Mira stiffened.
The whole room held its breath.
“Rumi,” Zoey whispered “What happened?”
“My father,” Confessed the singer “Was not a good man. He tried to kill my mom and me when I was little. Mom made sure I got out, but she didn’t make it.”
Zoey shifted closer. “Do you remember it?”
“Just pieces. Mostly in my nightmares. I didn’t know what it all meant until Celine told me.”
“When was that?” Mira sounded different, but not disgusted
Rumi couldn’t look directly at either of them. “I was about 7, I think, when my whole class was invited to a pool party. Somebody’s birthday, probably. I was excited to go, but didn’t know what to tell anyone who asked about… this. Celine told me as much as I could understand at that age.”
“And the party?” Zoey asked, moving ever so slightly closer
“I didn’t stay long. I think Celine lingered in the neighborhood because she knew what was going to happen.” Rumi sniffled and cleared her throat “I’m sure you guys don’t want to hear all the boring details.”
“Hey,” Mira waited for Rumi’s gaze to flick toward her “We want to hear whatever you want to say.”
“Mhm.” Zoey promised
“They thought I had a disease,” Rumi managed, unable to fully hide the pain in her voice “One of the boys was convinced he’d catch it from swimming with me, so he climbed out as soon as I got in the water. His friends followed him, then a few more, until it was just me. That wasn’t fair, so I let them have the pool. I was gonna just sit there and watch them play until I saw the adults whispering about me, too. I knew kids could be mean and boys could be immature, but when all the moms looked at me like I was contagious, I called Celine to come get me.”
Rumi shrugged her sleeves back on as she wiped at her tears. “I asked her why she lied to me about the scars, why she didn’t tell me I was sick. When we got home, she told me the whole truth. That the scars had come from a fire, but that it wasn’t an accident and that it hadn’t left me an orphan.”
Mira leaned in, slow and obvious as she moved as close to Rumi as Zoey had become.
“She told me that my father set the fire. That he was sick in his mind and trying to kill us. She said that he ran from the police for almost a year before being caught. That he’s the reason I grew up without my mom,” Rumi pulled the jacket tighter “and the reason I look like this.”
“Rumi,” Zoey put a tentative hand on the older girl’s knee, waiting for a nod to be sure the contact was okay “You’re beautiful, scars or no scars. And we love you. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“You’ve seen mine,” Mira added “And you didn’t think I was suddenly hideous, right?”
“That’s different,” Rumi argued “You were in pain and didn’t have any other means of coping.”
“So because I disfigured myself, that makes it somehow better than being nearly killed by your own father?”
Zoey tensed. She knew Mira was being hyperbolic for effect, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear her call herself “disfigured”.
Rumi flinched at the harsh words. “What?! No! Mira, I would never-“
“Yeah, same.”
Rumi closed her mouth. The dancer had maneuvered Rumi into a verbal corner, forcing her to see it from their perspectives. “It’s not just the way they look. It’s what they mean.”
“We’re listening.” Zoey gave Rumi’s leg a gentle squeeze “What do they mean?”
“He’s half of me.” Rumi whispered “What if one day I snap like he did? And hurt people like he did?”
“We’ve all hurt people, Rumi.” Zoey moved a little closer, wanting to be sure she had the other girl’s full attention “It’s human nature. What your father did is an extreme example, for sure, but it’s not the worst part of that story. He ran. He didn’t stay to face the consequences of his actions. He didn’t come back and turn himself in or even check that you were okay. He just ran. You’d never do that.”
“I run away all the time.” Rumi’s tears fell faster
“But you always come back.” Mira placed her hand over Zoey’s “You need space and then you come back. People hurt each other every day, like Zoey said. What matters is how you handle it. Apologizing. Sticking around. Trying to be better. You’re nothing like the man who did this to you, Rumi. Nothing.”
Zoey moved to join Rumi on the coffee table, settling at her side and watching her face for signs of discomfort. “You’re who you’ve always been. Kind, sweet, thoughtful. You feel bad for killing the cows in Minecraft. You could never do what your father did.”
Rumi leaned into her like a lifeline as her tears fell for a brand new reason. She felt relieved. Moreover, she felt loved. This thing that had defined her entire life and every relationship she’d ever had was out in the open, once again, but it didn’t scare anyone away. Zoey moved closer. And then Mira joined her, leaning against Rumi’s back and wrapping her arms around her to keep her upright as she cried. She felt Zoey’s hands find her hairline, playing with the loose strands and whispering reassurances over her scalp. Mira’s forehead pressed between her shoulder blades and Rumi could swear she felt the taller girl crying against her clothes. Not out of fear or revulsion, but out of sympathy and care. Rumi hated sharing her past with others, this part especially, because it always drove a wedge between herself and whoever she was foolish enough to tell. Mira and Zoey hadn’t pulled back or allowed Rumi to keep them at arms length, either. They pulled her in, held her close. Rumi never wanted them to let go.