The scars on my neck...

Chapter I

I heard a loud thud from our bedroom.

"Ryder?" I ran into the room, looking at him. He was sitting there, next to the brick decoration. His knuckles were bleeding so best I could assume he'd punched the wall.

"Ryder... are you okay?" I went over to his side.

He murmured through gritted teeth "Yeah... sure."

"Please talk to me."

"I'm mad at the world. It's f***ing unfair. Do you know how much sh*t I've gotten for dating you?" He said with a sigh. "It's not your fault but people hate me for being bi."

"I know what that's like," I said. I really did, few people had supported me when I came out. My mom was especially against, I don't think she'd even want to see me again unless I was with a girl.

"I just want to make some people hurt." He said, still looking down.

"W-would hitting me help?" I offered, looking sweetly at him.

"Maybe but... I don't think it's fair you suffer." He said, locking eyes with me for the first time since I sat beside him.

"Go ahead, I know you're not really hitting me." I smiled at him. I could make him happy this way, and hopefully, make his violent tendencies go away.

He smacked me hard across the cheek.

I gasped a little at the pain and he quickly pulled me into a kiss. It lasted for a while, when he finally pulled away he whispered:

"The kiss was so you know I still love you. And... I know that was wrong but... it helped... a lot, thanks Nate" he ran his thumb over the red mark on my cheek where his hand had been.

"It's okay. I'm glad that helped. But... would you get me some ice please"

"Did I hit that hard? Sure thing." We stood up, and I kept thinking to myself that maybe that slap should have bothered me. It really didn't. I looked up at him, as pretty as he was. He was a good 3 or 4 inches taller than me, and his light brown bangs were slightly falling in his eyes. He noticed me staring.

"Hey, you okay?" He looked at me. He must have seen the water in my eyes from the pain.

"Yeah, I'm fine. It just hurts a little." I responded as honestly as possible.

"Okay." He jogged over to the kitchen and got me a small purple ice pack.

Aw, he remembered my favourite colour. I thought to myself.

"Here ya go" he put it on my cheek. I didn't notice at the time, but he really didn't seem to feel bad about hitting me.

I laid down on the couch, resting on the soft leather. He sat beside me and played with my hair.

"What are you doing?" I blushed a little.

"Ah, nothing." He turned on the tv while continuing to pet me.

It felt as if he hadn't just been angry,

as if he hadn't just been depressed,

as if he hadn't just hit me.