Her King

One

I listen to the birds chirping. I would always come out here to get away from... everything. I was currently sat on my favourite boulder that was placed perfectly under a large pine tree so that I could sit with my back against the large trunk. I've been coming out here for as long as I can remember, it was in the forest behind the house I'd grown up in, a forest I have always loved to explore.

My eyes travelled down the fading bruises on my arms until they landed on the fresh red mark around my wrist, you could already see his hands impression left on my skin, this certainly was going to add to my collection of bruises soon. I took a deep breath as I tried to suppress the memory of what had happened only ten minutes ago. Tears pricked at my eyes and threatened to fall, but I wouldn't let them. I never allowed myself to cry over these things, anymore, because if I were to cry it would show how weak I am and I refuse to give him that kind of satisfaction as to see how much he effects me.

Pushing everything from my mind, I look up towards the birds who were perched many meters above me on a branch that stemmed from the tree I was currently resting against. The birds were small sparrows, five of them lined up and looked to be having a good conversation with each other, chirping away happy and content.

 I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like if I were a bird, carefree and able to fly away. Not a care in the world. But then again, being a bird meant having so many predators...

Yeah, maybe not.

Twigs snapping a few meters away pulled me from my thoughts. I pulled my eyes away from the sparrows and turned my head left to where the noise came from, except no one was there.

My heart thudded in my chest, I could have sworn someone was there. Maybe I was wrong, maybe it was just a small innocent bunny.

I forced myself to shake off the eerie feeling of being watched as I pulled myself to my feet and headed back towards the house.

I lived in a little, worn, single story house. The pale yellow paint that once covered our house was now faded after all these years. It was the rustic home I'd grown up in. I smiled at the memory of Darren and I painting the house, I mustn't have been any older than six or seven and managed to get myself almost completely covered in paint. I'd had a blast painting the house, Darren wasn't too sure when I insisted that we paint it pastel yellow when he'd been wanting to paint it a dark olive green, but he eventually agreed with me. That was one of the few good memories I actually have with Darren.

I walked up the stairs of the back porch to the back door, entering took me straight into the kitchen. My eyes scanned the room.On the lino was a broken glass scattered, a broken chair that had been thrown against the far wall, and many specks of blood settled in various places. My eyes then landed on an orange post-it note that was sitting on the kitchen counter. I slowly and cautiously made my way over to the note before picking it up to read.

Sorry.

Going out for the night. Money by front door for dinner.

-D

I let out a heavy sigh, relieved, as I read his messy scribble.

Seeing as I wasn't overly hungry right now, I decided to leave dinner for later. Now I was in the mood to get all this cleaned away so that I could pretend it never happened. I grabbed the dustpan and brush out from the laundry, carefully scooping up the broken glass before tipping it into the bin. Once all the glass was gone I mixed sugar-soap and warm water together in a bucket, I grabbed a cloth from under the sink and used the mixture to clean up the blood. I moved on to gluing the wooden chair back together.

When all the mess from the kitchen was cleaned up, leaving no evidence of earliers altercation, I moved on to vacuuming the small house. I wiped down the skirting boards and cleaned the windowsills. In the bathroom I cleaned the shower-bath combo, I mopped the floor and wiped down the bathroom counter.

I slumped down on the bathroom floor, feeling the need to take a break. I pulled off my cleaning gloves, discarding them to the side. I ran my hands over my face, wincing as I touched my left cheek.

Pulling myself back up, I dared a look in the mirror. I gasp as I saw the small cut that went along my cheekbone. How could I not have noticed this before? I thought my wrist had been the worst of it, had that really been my blood in the kitchen? I sighed.

I collected my cleaning gear and put them back where they belonged.

Grabbing my house keys, I exited the front door and locked it behind me. I walked up to the curb, looking left and right before crossing the street. A large two story, light grey house was across the road from my house, it was home to my best friend Elliot and his family. I rang the doorbell and stood waiting on their front porch.

I heard feet padding the floor on the other side of the door. 

I fiddled nervously as I waited, pulling down my jumper sleeve to cover the hand mark on my wrist.

A minute later the front door was finally being pulled open by a tall, young man who couldn't have been too much older than me. He has jet black hair, olive tanned skin, well over six-foot and had bulging muscles. His blue eyes grew even darker as he looked at me, or more particularly at the cut on my cheek. "Que mierda." [What the fuck.]