Magenta Mine (Invertary 3)

The tension surged back into her body as the question registered.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Her tone was without inflection. It was as though she bit out the words.

“I need to know. I’ve been trying to talk to you for years. Every time I came back for a visit, I’d make an effort to see you and you always shut it down. This time I’m back for good, I’m not going away and you can’t ignore this thing between us.”

She growled, but didn’t deny his claim. It gave Harry hope. He caressed her hair with his nose, breathing in the scent that was purely Magenta. He didn’t know what the fragrance was, if he got the chance he’d raid the bathroom so he could find out. Right now, he loved that the scent was unique to her.

“Everything was fine until I went to uni,” he said softly. “I remember talking to you about it before I left. You knew how worried I was, scared to be starting uni when I wasn’t even sixteen. You told me not to worry. You told me that, no matter what, I’d come back to Invertary and you’d be there for me.” He took a deep breath and shook off the old pain of rejection. He was an adult. There was no room in his life for the anxieties of his childhood. He’d been devastated for a time, a long time. Eventually he’d come to realise that Magenta had a reason for what she did. Now he wanted to know what it was. It was the only way they could get past it and move on to the type of relationship he knew they were meant to have.

“I came home after the first term and you’d changed,” he said. “Your hair was black, your clothes were black. It was as though someone had sucked the colour out of you. I remember the pain in your eyes even though you were sneering at me at the time. I remember the words—You’re a freak. A loser geek, Hairy Boil. I was embarrassed hanging out with you, and now that you aren’t here I don’t have to pretend I like you anymore. I only pretended to be your friend because I felt sorry for you. Now you can make new loser geek friends in uni and I can hang out with normal people. Go back to Glasgow, where you belong.”

Magenta sucked in a breath. He heard the pain in it and knew he’d been right in thinking that saying those words had hurt her as much as hearing them had hurt him.

“I was devastated,” Harry whispered. “But I got over it. It took me about a year. Eventually I started thinking with my head and not my broken heart. You were the one person in the world who knew me well enough to know exactly where to hit to get me to back off. You used every one of my insecurities to get me to leave you. It took me a while to figure it out. To realise that there was pain in your eyes. To realise that you didn’t mean what you said.”

Magenta trembled against him. He held her tightly. “It’s okay. Really. The words don’t mean anything to me now. They don’t hurt or bother me. I’m not a kid anymore. I’m an adult. The only thing that bothers me now is why you said that to me. I want to know why you pushed me away. I want us to move past this.” He took a deep breath. “You need to tell me why you did it.”

The silence was deafening. It lasted so long that Harry was beginning to fear that she would never talk. That they would never be able to bridge the chasm between them. That she was lost to him forever.

Magenta cleared her throat. Harry dared hope. He stared into the warm shadows, made by the glow of the orange streetlights outside, and waited.

“You are so smart,” she whispered. “Like, Stephen Hawking smart.”

She fell silent. He loosened his grip, enabling him to caress her arm, hoping that each gentle touch would reassure her enough to get her talking again. He wanted to tell her that he wouldn’t judge. That he wouldn’t hate her. He hoped she got the message from the way he touched her. He hoped she felt exactly how precious she was to him.

“I’m not smart,” she said at last in a small voice that broke his heart.

Although his need to refute her claim was strong, he didn’t say anything. He suspected she needed the silence to continue talking. Instead of verbal reassurance, he kissed her neck and held her tightly.

She took a shaky breath. “I mean, I’m really not smart. I made it through primary school, although I spent a lot of time in remedial lessons.”

Harry stilled, wondering how he could have missed that. But then, their time in primary school had been all about play, not what was happening in class.

“When I hit high school, things got worse. I couldn’t keep up with anything.” She let out a deep, shuddering breath. “I can’t read properly, Harry. I can’t write properly. The kids in school thought it was hilarious. They called it baby writing.”

Harry closed his eyes and nuzzled her hair. The pain he felt for her was overwhelming.

“That first year in secondary school, when I was twelve and you were still there, was a shock. I failed at everything. I could understand the teachers fine when they were talking about the subjects, but as soon as I had to read or write anything, it became a mess. I did better in the practical subjects, like art and gym, but even then, when we had to write notes or read up on something, I screwed up.” Her voice hitched. “The kids called me Maggie the moron. They would throw things at my head in class when the teacher wasn’t looking. They stole my books because they said I didn’t need them. What’s an idiot like you doing with books, Maggie? You’re too thick to read them.”

Harry wished he could turn back time and make those kids pay. He didn’t ask why Magenta hadn’t told him at the time. He knew why: he’d been an outcast too because of his big brain and because he’d been applying to uni while most kids his age were struggling with basic algebra. They’d both had to deal with their share of cruel jibes and rude comments. The difference was that Harry also got a lot of respect because he was so bright. Magenta hadn’t had that.

“There was a teacher—Mrs. Adams, remember her?” Magenta sounded wistful.

He had to clear his throat because of the emotion blocking it. “English teacher. Young and pretty.”

“Yeah, that’s the one. She wanted me to be assessed. I don’t know what kind of assessment she meant, but the thought of it scared me. Mum went up to the school, and you know what she’s like.”

Harry grunted. Magenta’s mother did whatever she could to be the centre of attention. If that meant stopping her daughter from getting the help she needed, she’d do exactly that.

“Anyway, Mrs. Adams spoke to Mum about getting me assessed, and Mum refused outright. She said that I was fine the way I was. She told her that not everyone could be as clever as my sister Grace. She said they were putting too much pressure on me, expecting too much. Mum told me later that she was worried they’d take me away from her and put me in a special school. She’d heard about a school in Glasgow where all the stupid kids went. She was worried I’d be locked up with them.”

Harry clenched his jaw at the thought of Magenta’s mum’s wilful ignorance. “You know there isn’t a school like that, right? Your mum’s imagination got the better of her.”

“I know that now,” she said, although

she didn’t sound convinced. “Back then I was worried I’d be sent away because I was too stupid for school.”

“You’re not stupid, Magenta, don’t say that.”