Bruises

14: three words

That night I drove home to find my father asleep and sober. He was peaceful and the house was driven to silence. I dropped my stuff off before Ayden came to pick me up. His voice was gentle and quiet, reassurance laced in his words like a drug. Instead of going to café he insisted on us going to his house instead. He promised me nobody would bother me about what happened and we would have some alone time.

We stepped into his large house, light rummaging in the kitchen and living room echoing to the front of the house. His home was large, built with tall ceilings and a grand staircase that led to the upstairs. Before heading up to his room he guided me to the kitchen, his hand placed on the small of my back. I was still dressed in my school clothes, black boots clung to my feet.

"Hello sweetie," his mother remarked quietly from her place in front of the oven. She had an apron latched upon her body and smudges of food on the white cloth. She came over to embrace me in a hug, no words passed. She patted me on the back before offering me some freshly baked cookies. Me and Ayden took a couple then rushed back up to the stairs, the gooey chocolate melting in our hands.

"Do you always get cookies when you get home?" I giggled. He smirked, a lop-sided smile smacked across his face.

"Maybe," he took the rest of his cookie in his mouth before shutting the door. He scooped me up in his arms as I let go of a squeal. I giggled as he placed me down on his bed. He slipped off my booties and placed them by the door like when we came home after the disastrous party. He headed over to his dresser and pulled out flannel pajama pants and an oversized track t-shirt. He walked over to me, sitting on the side of the bed.

"Here you go," he smiled softly. He had the most perfect teeth. His lips were a fine pink, lips shaped and thin and pursed.

"Thank you," I grabbed the clothes from him and headed over to his bathroom, quickly stripping of my uncomfortable clothes and putting on his. The pants hung over my waist and his shirt reached down past my bottom.

"You know," he said as I came out, "I think you look better in those clothes than anything else." He holds back a laugh.

"Oh shut up," I push his chest lightly before curling up on his bed. He scoots closer to me, his fingertips trickling my skin from my hand all the way to my shoulder, sending a song of shivers up my spine. He does this continuously, over all of the freckles and the bruises and the patches of pale skin. He leans down to kiss my nose, a light, soft peck with his light, soft lips.

"Winter," he whispers, "You are one of the bravest people I know. And I wouldn't ever trade anything in the world for that," he stops grazing my arm.

"Ayden," I bite my lip, unsure of the thoughts and words that run through my head and my mind like butterflies and bees and colors and musical notes.

"You should rest some," he says, "You should rest without any worry. You've had a long day. I'm right here, okay?"

I feel my eyes start to close, my hand reaching out for his, memories rushing through my brain. Things fall apart and things fall together. That's alright.

I wake up with a pounding in my head and sweat rushing down my face. I can't remember anything of my dream except for the constant screaming and the blood and the water, once again. The sirens and the cries and the old memories untold that rushed through the back of my head like old friends turned enemies. I feel my heartbeat ride up my throat and tickle my teeth, my breath increasing and head pounding and blood rushing.

"Ayden?" I call with a shaky voice. The word comes out in almost a shiver.

"Winter are you awake?" He calls from the bathroom. He comes out in only a pair of basketball shorts, the tight bends of his stomach unfolding, bare.

"Ayden," I try standing up, but only result in a painful pin through the head and sore limbs and a dry throat. He hops over to the bed. I feel hot and uncomfortable.

"Are you okay?" he holds me up with his hot, hot arms. Everything is hot.

"Yeah," I manage, "I'm just hot and I just don't feel too good." I feel my head spin, my eyes aching.

"Let me get you some ice and a glass of water, okay? Take off some of your clothes if you need to," he stands up and hurries out the door. I flush at his final comment. I know he didn't mean it that way, of course, but all I can think of is him and me without clothes and thoughts that make trip amongst this world of unknown things.

While still on the bed, I slowly strip of his pants and toss them on the floor directly beside the bed. I make sure that his shirt is covering my backside. I hear footsteps at the door and watch him come in with ice bundled in a red washcloth and a tall glass of water. He instantly notices the pants on the ground and flushes, taking his handful to the nightstand. I throw my legs over the side so we're sitting side by side.

"Do you want some water?" he holds the glass up to my mouth despite my effort to grip the glass in my own hands. I practically breathe in the water, my eyes still watching Ayden. His deep, sky eyes full of sun rays and free birds with damaged things and everything in between.

"Thank you," I whisper into his neck, "You know you really don't have to take care of me, right?"

"I love you," he whispers.

"Wha-," I manage nothing. The thoughts. Pounding.

"I love you, Winter. I love you more then you could possibly ever imagine," he smiles at me but continues on by getting the ice and the rag.

"Lay back," he whispers, caressing my shoulder and gently nudging me back into his ruffled pillows and blankets. Making sure I'm comfortable and sets the cool bundle on the top of my head, the relief unbelievable. I smile at him, grabbing his forearm and motioning over to the open side next to me. He climbs over my bare legs and lies down with me.

"What do you think drove her to do it?" Ayden asked. His voice was quiet, deep, like a dark lullaby. "You don't have to answer but-,"

"No. No, it's fine. It's just," I sighed, "she had a lot of stuff in her past. Just a lot of pressure. Way too much anxiety. Lots of pain. She just kind of fell under it all, I think," I turn to watch Ayden. His face was stricken with thoughts. He didn't respond. I turned my head back up towards the ceiling, gazing at the swirls and drips and designs of the pale paint.

"Ayden," I whisper. He turns to look at me with his eyes. His eyes.

"I love you. More than you could ever imagine."

He reached for my hand, rubbing his thumb on the back of it, gently, ever so gently, until I fell asleep once again.