Flea Bite

The scenario from yesterday evening burns a hole in my memory, along with a burning sensation on my stomach. Elizabeth has not left my side expect to go to class, and even then she shows explicit weariness.

We sit on my bed, crashing against a flat wall of pillows and disheveled pillows. I refuse to talk about what happened at the park, although Elizabeth doesn't need details. She just merely thinks she needs me to call the police.

"He's dangerous," she tells me. I bite my lip, shrugging my shoulders lazily. "Rowan, please." Elizabeth props herself up with her elbow, eyes staring pleadingly into my own. "He cut you. He could have killed you, Rowan. Do you think I want that? My best friend dying?" Her words are pull of irritation, somewhere between calm and furious.

"I'm not calling the police." I roll over, face buried in my pillow. I hear Elizabeth grumble with annoyance. I think back to yesterday, after I had stopped crying and Elizabeth had managed to bring me, a stumbling mess, to her house.

"You need to call the police, Rowan! He stabbed you. I don't care if you won't tell me who, I know it was Frank. Stupid fuckin' Venus sent him on you. God."

I sit up, leaning forward slightly, chin propped up in my palms. In more ways than one am I hurt, but deep in my chest I feel a small flicker of something that stands between infatuation and fear. He was drunk, he didn't mean to do it. He's emotional, he's feeling something he's never felt before.

"I'm not going to call the police, Liza." I roll my eyes in a futile attempt to lighten to situation. "And, honestly, what happened can hardly be considered 'stabbing.' It's more like a cut, really." I offer an awkward chuckle and she shoots me daggers.

"This isn't funny, Rowan. This is downright scary -- Frank brought a knife. He could have seriously hurt you, why don't you understand that? No matter how much you think you like him, no matter how much he may seem to like you, a knife is a knife and he cut you. He physically cut you, Rowan. This is dangerous and he needs to be stopped before he can go any further and hurt anyone -- hurt you -- again." She's breathing differently, heavily. I can tell she wants me to tell someone, anyone at this point -- just like I would beg if the same had happened to her.

"It isn't funny, I know." I bite the inside of my lip raw, nerves eating away at me. I know what I have to do, I know what the right thing to do is. But the thought of telling someone about the negative side of Frank shakes me with fear. "I... I'll stay away from him, I won't go by him Elizabeth I swear. Just please drop it, I can't bring myself to tell anyone." I watch her, internally pleading that she drops it.

"Rowan..." She hesitates, serving me a funny look. Sighing, she agrees. "But I don't want him anywhere near you. I don't want you anywhere near that bitch Venus either." She grinds her teeth together at the mention of Venus, pearly whites serving as a wall against the negative flow of insults that could be served.

"Thank you so much, Elizabeth." I smile weakly, feeling as if a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I hug her, pulling away and giving her one last smile.

"When are your parents going to be home?" Elizabeth tilts her head slightly, lips pursed. I know she doesn't want to leave me alone, but it's getting dark and nightfall isn't safe to walk through in Belleville.

"About an hour or so," I assure her. The information is false; I don't know when my parents will be home. Mom went to a book meeting, I don't expect her home until after eleven, and dad is at work so he won't be home for hours. "I'll be okay, really. I promise. Go home, Liza. It's getting late and I want you home before it's dark."

She rolls her eyes and for a moment it's like the last three days haven't happened. It feels normal, secure. I smile at her and she laughs at me.

"Alright," Elizabeth snorts. The serious atmosphere returns. "I'll text you, okay? I love you, dude. I just want you safe." She slips her shoes on and leaves my room, trekking home. I lay in my bed, muscles relaxing. A pain shoots through my stomach causing my hand to fly to the wound.

I'll be okay, I reassure myself. Looking up at the ceiling, gnawing on my lip as always, I find myself subconsciously wondering if it will all be okay.