Bruised
Chapter One
I stared into his unforgiving eyes, dark and mysterious, as if looking into the eyes of a stranger. I held my breath and waited: waited for the rush of pain that always came even before the first blow, waited for the feeling of disgust I always felt for myself, waiting for it all to stop. It never did. “You slut,” he mumbled, disbelief in his voice, as if it was unexpected. But he knew better.
“I didn’t mean it,” I whispered, as if trying to convince myself that it was true. But I knew what I had done, and I knew the consequences.
The first blow came fast, smacking the side of my head against the wall, and throwing me to the cold ground. I brought my hand to my face, trembling with fear.
I wished I could disappear.
“You brought this upon yourself,” he said flatly, before kicking me in the gut, bringing the taste of blood to my mouth.
As the pain continued, I started to lose myself. After a moment, I felt absolutely nothing. I became nothing, embraced the very essence of nothing, until ultimately, I faded away into the background.
---
My life was average with Oliver. After almost 10 months of dating, we fell into routines, each one as wonderful as the next.
Except for with him. The Oliver that was unforgiving.
At first the beating weren’t often. Maybe one every few weeks when I had done something wrong, but he was always calm after; forgiving. I understood his pain, and just wanted to make it better. Make his hurt go away. Forever.
The next day was an ordinary one. Oliver picked me up at my house 7 A.M. sharp, and we pretended the previous day had not occurred. I wore my brown UF sweater and my sweats (an attempt to cover the many painful reminders which remind me of my sinful deeds).
Oliver looked extraordinary; his light blonde hair was tousled to perfection, his crystal blue eyes shining with the rise of the new day. He seemed like a whole different person.
But I knew it wouldn’t last.
His apologetic smile was quick, the same as every time. He grabbed my arm, pain crawling up my body as a constant reminder, and he pulled me into his arms, caressing my face.
“I love you,” he whispered, the words so sincere: so real. He comforted me, taking my spirit away, making me feel alive. He leaned in and kissed me passionately, his way of apologizing, and I knew at that moment there was no place I would rather be than in his arms.
But I betrayed him.
It seemed so unreal, him just taking me back into his arms, sweeping me away as easily as he always had, making me feel loved, needed. He grabbed my hand, and we walked together to his truck: the perfect couple.
No one would ever know otherwise; no one ever had to.
---
When we arrived at school, I jumped out of his car and immediately spotted my best friend Clarisse getting out of her Ferrari (her family was wealthy but no one really knew what they did).
“Lucy, where were you last night?” Clarisse said, watching me approach with a slight limp (a leftover memento from the previous day). She waved distractedly to Oliver, who put his arm around my shoulder, replying before I could open my mouth.
“Me and my girl were relaxing at her place, just studying for the chemistry test today.” How quick he was to lie always astounded me, as if covering for my indecency. It was a true mark of love.
