Torn Tears

All of the Words

I still don't have a plan of action for explaining my split lip to Jess when my phone begins ringing with her number. I gun my car into a parking space outside the apartment complex and thrust the gear shift into park.

"Hello?"

"Hey. I just wanted to check on you. It's been a long time since you left. But you're okay so I guess I'll let you get off the phone so you can finish up." She's babbling.

I glance at the clock below the dashboard. 7:50.

"I'm actually in the parking lot. I'll be up in a few minutes." I run my tongue over my teeth. This is going to be hard.

"Do you want me to come down and help you with the bags?" She asks eagerly.

"No."

"Okay.  Well, see you." She sounds hurt.

"Just a couple minutes." I hang up. Unbuckling, I inspect my face in the rear view mirror. There'll be no hiding my lower lip. My stomach is sure to bruise along with a few places on my arms. I clench and relax my hands. A few of my knuckle are split. I'll have scabs across my fists within a handful of days.

At least I don't have black eyes. I grab the bags from the passenger seat and climb out of my car.

*****

Lucas's voice on the phone is rough. I worry that I've annoyed him by calling, but he surely understands that with everything that's happened between us, I get concerned when I don't hear from him in a reasonable length of time. It doesn't take an hour to go to Wal-Mart when you live five minutes away.

I'm absently thumbing through pictures on my phone when I hear rattling keys. I hop up from the couch and open the door for Lucas.

The first thing I notice is the look of worry in his eyes. The second is the long cut that begins at the lowest edge of his upper lip and runs completely over his lower lip, like a ring. 

I step back to let him in. He walks past me to the kitchen to lay his two sacks of stuff on the table. Then he turns to look at me. But, not exactly at me. He looks at my damp hair, at what I'm wearing, at the living room behind me, but not at me in my eyes.

I step within a few inches of his body and use three of my right fingers to gently tilt his gaze down to me. "Lucas," I murmur, "What happened to you?"

He closes his eyes. "You're not going to let me get away without answering."

It isn't a question, but I answer as if he were asking. "No."

He opens his eyes and something like shame fills them. He inhales, trying to hide a grimace. "I saw your father."

I do my best to mask my feelings. I'm not sure what they are at the  moment, but I don't want them showing. "And you fought with him."

My words aren't a question either, but he answers them, nonetheless. "Yes."

"Are you in trouble?"

"No."

With the word, I feel relief. I can sort through how I feel knowing I won't lose Lucas to the law. "Who started it?"

He smirks at this question. "He did."

I'm shocked more by this than I am that they fought in the first place.

"But," he adds after a beat, "He got the worst end of it."

"Elaborate." I demand, guiding Lucas to sit in his chair while I sit in mine.

"I was picking up fish food for Bruce and I saw him walking by. I waited until we got to the parking lot and I made sure he started it. There's really not much to tell, Jess."

I know I should be begging him for more details, but I can see it in his eyes that his fight was for me than just me. He's staring at me now waiting for me to ask and hoping I don't at the same time.

"Okay."

He knits his brows together. "Okay? You aren't angry?"

"Why should I be? As long as you aren't in trouble or hurt, I'm okay with it. You don't have to tell me everything about the fight--I don't really want to know. I've seen enough violence. But I could never be mad at you for it, Lucas." I touch his hand and notice his knuckles are busted. I pretend not to see them.

"I fall in love with you more every day." He leans in and kisses my cheek.

I gingerly touch his lips. "Doesn't it hurt to do that?"

"I'll never mind pain if it's for you."

I return his gesture, lightly on his mouth. I can taste blood and sweat. I pull back, but he draws me closer.

"We're okay." He whispers.

I wrap my arms around him and hold him for all of the words I cannot say and all of the feelings I cannot name.

I make a note to myself to fill up the Reasons Why I Love Lucas James jar when we get back from the lake.

I let go of him. "You need to put some medicine on your hands before and after you get out of the lake. If you still feel like going, I mean." 

"I will. We have some in the bathroom cabinet. Could you help me with putting it on my right hand? It's kind of hard since that's my dominant hand." He stands up.

"Absolutely." I stand and follow him to the bathroom.

When we get in the bathroom, Lucas motions for me to sit on the closed toilet lid while he rummages through the cabinet. After a moment, he hands me a tube of ointment.

Kneeling in front of me, he offers his hands. I nod and unscrew the cap. I squirt the medicine on the fingers of my left hand and begin rubbing them over his knuckles.

Lucas groans and does his best not to wince at the sting.

"I'm sorry." I mutter.

"I'm not." He looks up at me.

"Thank you." I continue spreading the gooey ointment over both of his hands. "I think we're done."

"Thank you." He tells me. It's more than just helping him with the medicine, but I accept it with a small nod.

I lay the tube on the counter and proceed to wash the excess medicine from my fingers. I turn when I'm finished and Lucas is holding up a hand towel.

I smile, taking it from him. He moves around me and puts the lid back on the tube before slipping it into his pocket.

"I need to find my swim shorts and I'm ready."

"Me too. I just need to put my stuff in a bag."

"And mine." He grins.

"What?"

"Just teasing. You've never liked packing my bag."

I laugh. "So you thought now would be the time to check again."

"Why not?" He's not making fun of me, I know. I appreciate his ability to make jokes when he knows I need to hear them.

"You're a rodent." I push past him into the hall.

"You still love me." His grin has gained a happy arrogance to it.

"Of course." I dance off to my room.

 "We're in love." He sings to me.

I find a slip of paper and tear a corner off of it. I take a pen from inside my journal and write down the first reason: Your taste in music is exemplary and unmatched.

I pull the jar down from my bookshelf and take off the lid. With a smile, I drop the slip in the jar.

Many to follow. I look forward to writing all of them.