Raise Your Broken Glass

       London is cold this time of year. Ricky wrapped his arms around himself, trying to preserve the little heat that was encapsulated within his thin, navy blue windbreaker as he walked through the silence.

     What time is it? Two in the morning? Three? All he can say is that it's beyond late. The streets are completely barren, and the streetlights flickered with an eerie intensity.

     He doesn't remember arriving in London, or ever being in this city before to be quite honest, but he knows Violet is here. Violet is always here.

     Violet.

     He wishes he remembered what happened. He wishes he didn't wake up with bloody knuckles and a bruised angel curled up tightly into herself, asleep on the floor near him.

     That was earlier that night. He ran when he saw that, running to nowhere and anywhere just because he was not capable of that. He knew there had to be a mistake, so after a few rounds at the local pub, he was walking back to her home.

          "Vi, I'm sorry. I don't remember what happened. Please, talk to me. Let me in."

     I banged my hand against the almond colored wooden door frame leading into her tiny flat. I winced, looking down at my hands. I turned them over, noticing the blood caked all down my fingers, how my knuckles were crusted and reddish purple.

     Softly, so quiet I had to strain to hear it, I heard the lock click. The door opened so slowly that it was nearly painful, but nothing was more heartbreaking than the figure that greeted me in that narrow doorway.

     Violet stood there, holding an ice pack against her side. Her left eye was swollen purple, which was in sharp contrast to her dewy, creme colored skin. My eyes searched her face for something, anything, showing that I didn't do that. Instead, my eyes were met with a heartbroken stare. In the space at her right temple, close to her hairline, a light brown bruise dusted the area, and a line of dried blood streaked through the arch of her left eyebrow. Instead of her usual pink gloss, her lips were moistened by a thin layer of what looked like vaseline, put there I suppose to help her now split lip heal.

     I almost threw up when I saw the red marks in the shape of fingers around her neck. I looked into her eyes. They were typically a vibrant, sparkling grey, such a rare and unique color. But now, they were dark, as if the person inside wasn't home. Her eyes were empty. Violet began to shift under my gaze.

          "Come in," She whispered, stepping back from the doorway.

          "Vi, what happened? Who did that to you?"

     Her eyes looked up at me in disbelief, and then a wave of realization swept over her features.

          "Nothing, rich, I just fell." She smiled sweetly, and for a moment, she didn't look hurt.

     Could I be imagining things?

    Rich

     Violet is the only one who calls me that. It's always Ricky or Rick or the occasional Richard. I blinked. For a moment, everything was black.

          "Violet, my name isn't Rich." My fists tightened in anger.

     Her eyes widened, and she backed up against the wall. She reminded me of a caged animal. Why does she keep doing this?

          "I'm sorry, Ricky, I am. I didn't mean to— I didn't realize —" she stumbled over her words as tears began to flow from her eyes. It made her look even more broken, even more like a scared animal.