Bambi ( Captain Boomerang )

Chapter 12

Year 2011

I fucking loathe flying. It's a combination of everything I despise, which is a lot of things such as people, commotion and overpriced foods. So you can image how desperate I must be to constantly fly back and forth from the US to Australia just to see one man.

"What the hell is that?"

A large purple bruise stretched across the beginning of my jaw to the end of my chin. I pushed past the large Aussie, dropping my baggage onto the floor.

Digger mumbled under his breath, closing the front door locking it. He walked into the kitchen, hopefully grabbing drinks. I plopped down onto his couch, flipping through the channels on his TV, as if I lived there. I basically did, I was there often enough. It was odd considering my house was in the US but my home was with Digger.

He came back holding a cup and a bottle in his hands. For his sake I hope he gives me the bottle.

I rose my eyebrows, "Where's my alcohol?"

He shrugged his shoulders holding the glass out to me, "You're an emotional drinker." 

My shoulders slumped subtly but I gladly took the cup out of his hands, staring down at the orange drink. Digger stood by the couch, tearing open a bottle of beer using his bare teeth.

"I still don't understand how you can do that," I shudder, feeling a pain mouth from just watching him, "and how come you get alcohol and I don't?"

He blew the cap out of his mouth and it bounced onto the coffee table, "Because I can actually hold my liquor, lightweight."

I punched his thigh in irritation earning a chuckle from the man, "I'm not a lightweight, you jackass."

"Dear God, woman. Your temper is almost as short as you," he teased.

We remained in a comfortable silence, watching whatever show was playing on the TV. I began to notice how safe I felt here versus my apartment in the US. I wasn't as tense or on guard as I usually am.

"So, what's up with your face?" Digger turned to me motioning to large bruise.

I roll my eyes at his bluntness, "Nice way to ask."

"Quit stallin'."

He already knew the answer to it but he wanted to hear it from my mouth.

"Thomas." I replied simply.

His jaw clenched and he gingerly cupped his large, rough hands on my jaw, he turned my head so he could examine the deep purple shiner. His fingers ran over my cheek and his thumb placed itself underneath my eye, dragging itself lightly back and forth. I realized how unnecessary this affectionate action was but didn't have time to question it.

"Are there more?"

"When is there not?"

"Where," It wasn't a question, more of a demand for me to show him.

I set my orange juice in between my thighs to hold the cup. My legs draped over the seat of the couch and I began rolling up my loose gray sweatpants. I striped my hoodie off revealing my plain white tee. Showing off my bruises to him proved my self-consciousness as I held my arms to my chest for security. He seemed to notice my discomfort but didn't bother to care.

Digger remained standing with his bulging arms by his sides. His eyes roamed over the hand marks on my wrists from Thomas grabbing me too hard, then to the bruises on my knee and thighs. His expression remained plain as he kneeled down in front of me.