Chapter 8 pt 1

Michael helped Shanelle into the house, ushering her into the guest bathroom. Trying to keep his mind from wandering back to the jock, he focused his attention on Shanelle. There was an hour left before he needed to leave: John was hosting another service, and his participation was essential.

Chosing not to worry about the finer details, Michael grabbed a clean, dry rag, ran it under warm water and wiped away the blood from Shanelle's face. The gash in her head was about an inch long.

Grabbing the laceration closures and first aid kit, Michael worked, intentionally avoiding her eyes, knowing that if he saw them he wouldn't be able to control the rage. Shanelle stared at the floor seemingly inattentive.

Opening the brown bottle of iodine, Michael clasped Shanelle's hand. Layers of dirt caked her fingernails.

"Squeeze my hand." He instructed.

Shanelle squeezed, wincing sharply as he applied the iodine. Using the laceration closures, he sealed her wound the best he could, wiping away any residue of dried blood.

Rinsing the rag and washing his hands, he glanced down at Shanelle. Her sweater had been torn to shreds. He wanted to cover her... Hold her. He wanted her safe.

Kneeling in front of where she sat, he clasped her hands. Jumping, Shanelle snatched them away. Stammering an apology, she looked towards the ground.

"You're okay Nelle... Listen. If you want, you can shower and rest. My parents gon' be home in a few hours. I won't tell them what happened if you don't want me to."

Looking into his eyes for the first time all afternoon, Shanelle's body trembled.

"You leaving...?"

"Yeah, I gotta do a presentation for the ministry I told you about. I'll be right back when it's over, I promise."

"Let me go..."

"To the presentation?"

She nodded.

"Um.. Are you sure? Don't do it if you know you need to rest."

"I'll need to tell June where I've been... I'll go." She explained, voice sounding frail.

Reluctant, Michael agreed. What else could he say?

"Could I get some clothes?"

Realizing Shanelle had been covering her body with her arms, Michael hurried to get her a towel, mumbling apologies. How could he be so oblivious?

Running a nervous hand over his neck, he grabbed a t shirt and a pair of sweat pants he'd long since grown out of. Surely Shanelle wouldn't contest. What she'd do about underwear, he had no idea. Shuffling through the drawer he kept his boxers in, he contemplated giving her one that was still in its pack. Thinking better of it, he abandoned the thought. Too personal. Way too soon.

Grabbing a clean towel, another wrag, and his mother's soap, he brought them to Shanelle.

Nodding in gratitude, she kept her eyes low.

Clearing his throat, Michael noted the the darkening bruise that covered her shoulder. Sensing rage rising within, Michael started out of the door.

"We head out in about 45 minutes... You think you can make it?" He asked without turning around.

"Yeah." She answered softly.

Nodding, he went to close the door.

"Mike?" Shanelle called. Michael frowned, turning his head toward her in question.

"Thanks."

As simple as it was, Michael's heart soared. He wanted to help her fix everything that was wrong. Somehow, he knew it wasn't possible. At least not on his own.

Nodding in response, he closed the door and went straight to his room. Kneeling down in front of his bed, Michael wept. Pouring out his heart to God, he prayed in tongues, unsure of how to express his burden.

"Jesus, fix it..." He travailed, allowing himself to unravel.

"Help Shanelle... She ain't even say everything Lord, but it's there, I know it is. It's so much... But not too much for You. God, fix it..."

All clothed and dry, Shanelle was standing in the living room when Michael came back out. Dressed in his sweatpants and shirt, she stood with her back against the couch, folding her hands.

Her hair had shrunken three inches, curls tight and wet from the shower. Michael couldn't help but smile. He thought of Frodo from Lord of the rings, but held off from saying it.

He frowned. She looked frail and vulnerable, unlike the fiery friend he knew.

Walking to grab his book bag, Michael touched her afro lightly as he went by. Her curls were so tight, he was almost certain she didn't feel him.

"You gotta brush and a comb I can use real quick?" She asked, untangling knots with her fingers.

Downed, Michael grabbed them for her. He enjoyed the Afrodo look, though held his tongue from commenting.

Walking to the decorative mirror in the living room, she stood, expertly working. Parting her hair down the middle, she twisted one side sloppily to keep it away, then proceeded to brush and comb the other. Working quickly, her fingers welded the strands, braiding from the front all the way back. The tail of the braid reached just below the bottom of her neck. Taking loose the twist on the opposite side, she did likewise.

Intrigued, Michael observed from afar. Shanelle seemed to be in her own world. Then, in an air of discerned awareness, she locked eyes with him.

"What you looking at?" She demanded firm, but soft.

Undaunted, Michael tilted his head, openly observing her. "You know you don't owe anyone anything Shanelle... you know that right?"

Staring at him a moment longer, she looked away, brushing the hair fuzz from her shirt. The two braids were simple, yet elegant in the way they crowned her head.

"I know... It still feels like I do tho." She answered distantly. "I'm ready whenever you are."

A horn honked outside on cue. Shanelle raised her eyebrows, confused. "You not driving?"

"You saw a car outside?" Michael jested, walking to the front door. "I'm joking. I would, but dad took one car and ma took the other. Let's go," he motioned. Allowing Shanelle to walk out, he locked the door behind them.

John rolled down the window of the black jeep, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

"It's not what you think man, I promise." Michael raised his hands defensively.

"Oh alrighty now, I was about to ask if we needed another assistant!" John laughed heartily. "I'm joking, I'm joking. Hop in. Wait... I know you." He pointed at Shanelle.

"Yeah, you gave us an application at school. This the ministry you was talking about?" She asked Michael.

Nodding with a subtle smile, he opened the back door so she could get in. Sliding in next to her he shut the door.

Glancing back, John's face etched concern seeing the cut and bruising on Shanelle's face.

Shrinking down under his prying gaze she pushed her hands beneath her legs, clearly uncomfortable.

"Guess you're getting an early start... Uh, is it Shanelle?" John asked.

Grateful he didn't probe with questions, Michael let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Hearing it, John smiled.

"Yes sir. I didn't get a chance to fill out my application yet," Shanelle responded.

"Agh, don't worry. You can fill it out when you get there." John reassured.

The silence stretched awkwardly.

"So you're Shanelle?" John asked.

"John!" Michael protested, face turning red. "Please."

Laughing with his barrel bellied sound, John turned the radio on and hummed along with the song playing.

Relieved to escape the interrogation, Michael glanced at Shanelle. She looked out of the window silently, though everything about her body language seemed tense.

Reaching for her wrist, Michael pulled her hand from beneath her and secured it firmly.

Peeking over at him, Shanelle stared with a shielded expression. Her brown eyes were sharp and consumed. Michael longed to understand what lay there unspoken.

When she turned back towards the window, he felt the tension in her arms relax.

Suddenly content, Michael stared ahead, ignoring the burning expression John gave through the review mirror.