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Mikaela
“He didn’t hurt me.”Not intentionally.“I’m okay.”Am I?“I don’t need you. Thank you, but I don’t need you.”I don’t want your help because you scare me in a way that no one else does.
Ben is shaking under my touch, like every nerve is frayed and exposed, pain radiating through him, and I pause for a moment.
Together we stand in silence, just breathing. Just looking at each other.
The air grows thick as tension rolls off of him. Slowly, with excruciating tenderness, he raises a hand and brushes his thumb against my cheek. I close my eyes as he cups my face and takes a deep breath.
“Mikaela, if he hurt you -”
I swallow hard before pulling away and turning back to the coffee pot.
“I told you he didn’t, Ben. But thank you for your concern.”
The door closes behind me and I give in to the tremors.
I won’t do this again.
Nine Years Ago
“Mikaela Wilcox, what on earth have you done this time?” Mom sits on my bed in my dorm as I get ready for dinner and her eyes bug at the sight of my skin.
My pulse quickens.
“Oh, that’s nothing.” I brush it off as I yank the thick, cream sweater over my head and cover the purple of my ribcage.
“Nothing?” Her voice is incredulous. “That’s one hell of a bruise for nothing, sweetie. What happened?”
She moves across the room towards me as she speaks and starts pawing at my top, pulling it up to inspect me closer. My hands push at hers as I force a laugh through my lips and shake my head.
“I went to a frat party, Mom.” I lie through my teeth. “I drank too much and fell off of a table. It was stupid and completely avoidable and I am fine.”
Mom sighs with relief, her body sagging slightly, and my chest aches. She’s been looking frail again, the skin of her chest barely covering the bones of her; stretching taut and translucent. She doesn’t need to be worrying about me when she’s getting worse again.
It was a one off - a moment of weakness and fear.
It was my fault.
The truth of the matter is that I had gone to a frat party, and Ihadhad too much to drink, and I had danced on a table. But I didn’t fall. I pulled a guy up to dance with me. I knew Matthew was watching and I wanted him to dance with me, but he wouldn’t, so I danced with a stranger and I laughed when he placed his hands on my hips.
Matthew’s eyes had burned as he watched me, his drink to his lips and his chest rising and falling slowly. His friends surrounded him, talking in animated voices about shit he didn’t hear, and he pushed away from them all. He pushed his way straight to me and he pulled me from the table and out of the room. He dragged me up the stairs and shoved me into an empty bedroom and when he pinned me against the wall the air was knocked from my lungs. My eyes streamed and my head span when he shook me.
“You think that shit’s cute, Mik?” He had pulled me back and twisted, pushing me across the room. “You think it makes you look like anything other than a slut? You think it makes me look like anything other than a fucking idiot?”
I couldn’t keep up with him. He was talking so fast and moving so quickly. He had grabbed my arm and swung me to face him, his fingers stinging my skin, and I remember that I cried out when he shoved me sideways, crashing straight into the dresser. My ribs ached. My voice was stolen. And then he was holding me. He was kissing apologies into my hair. He was soothing me.
“Shit. Mik, are you okay? I didn’t see the dresser. I didn’t. Are you okay?”
I had cried as he held me and as he drove me home. I had cried until I fell asleep and when I woke he was beside me, holding me and sleeping so soundly. His lips were parted and his breath was thick with the stale stench of alcohol as his arm was draped over me, and the ache in my side mirrored the ache in my chest.
How can you love someone so much and hate them too?
When I had brushed my fingers over his cheekbones I told myself it was okay. It was only once. I’d leave if it happened again.
“You’ve got to be more careful, my little MikMak,” Mom croons, pulling me from the memory. “I need you fit and fighting.”
“I know, Mom. It won’t happen again.”
