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“Mike?” I call out once I lock the door back. His fancy car was outside on the street. I worried he’d be missing rims and things, but so far no one has bothered it. He doesn’t respond, but he’s sitting in a recliner, beer in his hand. He’s staring at the small television and I know he had to hear me, but he doesn’t move. I can’t see anything but the back of the recliner and his arm that’s holding a beer. For some reason I can feel a heaviness in the air. That’s probably the reason I approach him carefully. A gut instinct just tells me that I need to do that. “Mike? Sweetheart, are you okay?” I’m standing to the side of the chair. I can see his profile, but most of his face is hidden from me. The room is dark except for the glow of the television.
“Peachy,” he says, his voice graveled, hoarse, and in a tone I’ve never heard before.
I turn so I’m standing in front of him and when I get a look at his face, I can’t stop the gasp that escapes. His eye is swollen, there’s cuts on the side of his bruised face and as my gaze drops down I see his swollen knuckles and the cuts on them. I drop down to my knees, taking his free hand and pulling it toward me.
“Sweetheart, you’re hurt,” I cry, hating that he must be in pain. I don’t see how he could keep from it. I gently run my fingers over the bruised knuckles, hissing for him because it hurts me. “I’ll go get some alcohol and try and clean it up,” I murmur after a couple of minutes and it becomes clear he’s not going to talk. As I try and turn my body, his fingers snake around my wrist and he tugs, stopping me.
“It’s fine, Violet.”
“It doesn’t look fine, Mike. It looks brutal…” I don’t understand any of this, especially the mood that Mike seems to be in.
“Nah,” he denies. “It’s just love taps from my father…” he lets out a laugh that is so bitter it scares me.
“Your dad did this to you?” I whisper, my voice practically trembling. I have so many other questions and the first one that springs to mind is worrying that this is all because of me.
“Now that’s the million-dollar question,” he says, before looking off into space.
“Honey, you’re scaring me.”
His gaze moves slowly back to me. A half smile forms on his lips, but this smile is cold—almost bitter.
“I’ve been disowned, literally,” he smirks.
“Shit,” I hum, which makes Mike laugh.
“Yeah, shit. So fucking much shit it stinks.”
“Mike you need to leave. Go home and tell them you’ve broken up with me. Don’t let me come between you and your fam—”
“Fuck, no,” he growls. “You’re the only thing in my life that’s real, Violet.”
“I don’t want to be the reason you—”
“I get what you’re trying to do, but there’s no need. What happened is not because of you,” he says finally, with a long sigh that sounds like he’s exhausted from life. I’ve been there, so I can understand that.
“Will you tell me what happened?” I ask, frustrated because I don’t know how to help him.
“Eventually,” he admits after a couple of minutes.
“Let me help get you cleaned up,” I prod gently, needing to stay busy to keep from worrying incessantly about things I don’t understand.
Being alone most of my life, I don’t know that I’m equipped to try and help someone I care about when it comes to things going wrong in their life—especially when I don’t understand what it is. And I do care about Mike. It’s crazy and I’ve never felt anything like it before, but I’m pretty sure I love him. I’m also hurting because I know he is, and I have no idea what to do.
“I’m fine. I don’t want you to leave me,” he mumbles, crushing his empty beer can and tossing it across the room.
My eyes go large when he does that. That’s not Mike. He always picks up after himself and is always helping to make things easier here.
“I’m not leaving you, Mike,” I vow, hoping he understands exactly what I’m saying. I move up on my knees, putting a hand on each of his legs. “I’m right here with you.”
“Will you turn away from me like everyone else, I wonder? I seem to have something inside of me that makes that happen.” As he talks his hand cups the side of my face and I see up close the bleakness in his eyes.
I may be new to relationships, but his words and the pain in his eyes aren’t new to me at all. I know exactly how he feels. I’ve lived most of my life like that. The need to comfort him, to show him that he’s important rises in me so strongly, that I forget the walls that I have. Instead, I just give him the comfort I know would have meant a lot to me in the past—and even now.
