Strawberries

I drag myself to the bathroom in the morning, feeling queasy. In the mirror, I cup my chin with my hand. Yep, there’s a dark bruise on the side of my face. That girl is fierce. I have the urge to throw up again, and I almost do.

Has she always been like this? Has she ever hurt you before?

The question is too scary for me to think about. It makes the desire to puke a lot worse.

As I get downstairs, you’re making breakfast. I smell bacon. I’m still cupping my chin and praying you don’t ask about anything. But of course, being the caring soul that you are, you do.

“What’s the matter?’ You ask, tilting your head at me. I rub my jaw.

“Nothing?”

You kind of glare at me, as if trying to read my mind. Then your attention goes back to the pan. “I’m making bacon and toast…”

“Oh. Uh, cool. Thanks.”

“You’ve been acting weird lately.”

I tilt my head. “Oh? How so?”

“I don’t know. Just… not yourself.”

“Oh?” I narrow my eyes. “Gee, I wonder why?”

I can tell that hurts you. Your expression instantly changes. You look down at the pan, fiddling with the bacon with your spatula. “Breakfast is done,” you mumble, rubbing the back of your neck. I stare at the bruise on your arm, biting my lip and mentally cursing myself.

“Thanks.”

I watch you carry the plate over to the table, scooping most of the food onto the plate I assume is mine, and just a little bit on the other, which you sit down in front of. Shit. There’s going to be no way to hide this stupid bruise. Plus the fact that movement of my jaw makes it ache. Fortunately - for now - you’re not looking at me.

Don’t look up, don’t look up…

You do look up, and your eyes widen.

I rub the back of my neck. “What…?”

“What the heck happened to you?” you ask, your mouth agape as you stare at my face.

I brush my fingers against the bruise, scrambling for an excuse. You’ll fall for anything - usually. “I, uh, hit my chin on the table.”

You lean forward. “Do you think I believe that?”

Okay, maybe not. “I, uh, it’s true?” I stammer, feeling my chest tighten up. This is one of the few times you’ve ever been worried about me.

“Nick, please tell me.” You reach across the table, resting your hand on top of mine. I almost jerk it away, but your touch feels comforting. So much that I almost tell you. I rub my chin again. You lean over the table, lifting my chin with your index and middle finger. “What did you do?”

“Can’t we just talk about this later? After breakfast?”

You suck your lower lip into your mouth, gently running your thumb over the bruise. I flinch.

“Alright. After breakfast.”

I sigh and rub my chin, blinking a few times. Suddenly I’m no longer hungry, but I force myself to take a few bites of the toast before I push it across the table towards you.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” I close my eyes briefly, looking down at my lap. You push your chair out slowly and stand up away from the table.

“C’mere, Nick,’ you say gently, taking my hand. I stand up and you walk me over to the couch. I force myself to look you in the eyes when you sit down.

“What?” I ask lazily, running a hand through my curls.

You give me a serious, solemn look. “What happened to you?” you ask quietly. “Please tell me.” Resting your hand on my knee, your eyes are begging me to be truthful. Maybe I’ve been underestimating you.

I take a deep breath. “Your girlfriend happened to me.”

“What??” Your eyes widen. “Oh my God, Nick, what the hell happened? When did you see her?”

I gulp, rubbing the bruise and lowering my head in shame. I guess I have to tell you the whole story. “Remember when Rory punched you?”

“Yes…”

“I… I didn’t want to let her get away with that. So I texted her from your phone and told her to come over, and when she got here I kinda confronted her.” I pause as I watch your eyes widen again. “I told her to stay away from us. She punched me. And then I punched her and then I shut the door.” I rub my chin again, absently.

“Why’d you do that?”

I shrug. “She hurt you. I couldn’t let her get away with that.”

“But she hurt you too.” You shift on the couch and take my hands in yours. “How could you risk that?”

“It’s not that big of a deal…”

“Yes it is, Nick…” you murmur, cupping my face with your hand. “Are you okay?”

Are you really that worried? “I’m fine,” I say. “It really was nothing.”

“I can’t believe you’d do that for me.”

I look at you. Even after everything we’ve been through, deep down I know I’d do anything for you. I shrug. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Yes it is, Nick. You’re so amazing. I can’t believe I ever…” your voice trails off and you shake your head.

“Please just don’t mention it,” I say. “Ever. It‘s over, okay?”

“But…”

“Just shut up!” I clench my fists and look away from you. “I don’t want to fucking hear your voice!”

I don’t look up at you, but I can tell by the energy in the room that you’re hurt. I can feel tears pricking the back of my eyes. I pull my knees to the couch and press my head into them. You’re silent.

“J- Joe… I didn’t mean that.”

You shake your head, silently. “I know,” you say tonelessly, and slide off the couch. “I know you want me gone. I’ve already found an apartment in the city. I’m going to look at it this afternoon, so then I’ll be gone.”

“Wait… Joe! I didn’t-”

“it’s fine. I’ll be out of your life. You’ll be happy.”

I watch you slide off the couch. Leaving? You’re leaving?

Suddenly I just feel like I’m losing everything.