Are you okay?

06:54AM

Flicking my gaze back to the sky, I could feel the intensity of his gaze raking over my features, a blush rising to my cheeks that I blamed on the cool air whipping past us. But when I turned back to look at him he didn't meet my eyes like expected, but rather had his eyes focused past my gaze, on the back of my neck to a mark I'd forgotten I had even been trying to conceal in the first place.

During the night, under the dimly lit streets we'd wandered along and the tinted train station lights, the faint outline of it would barely have been visible, but now, as the sun arose and daylight was finally hitting our skin, it was only a matter of time before his eyes were drawn to my neck. I saw the look on his face before he'd even gotten the words out, already knowing the floods of consternation set to stream from his lips after his acknowledgement of the faded bruise stretching across the back of my neck. "Cassie-"

"It's nothing," I cut him off instantly, breaking his gaze as I glanced towards the sky for a distraction, turning my neck so it was slightly out of his view. "I just bumped into something, that's all."

"Something hand-shaped?" Romeo pressed, his voice disbelieving as worry seeped into his tone. I flinched at his words, blanching at the momentary onslaught of memories of the encounter I had, forgetting that Romeo could read me so easily.

I should've kept my hair down. It wasn't like I was necessarily trying to hide the deep yellowish bruise around the back of my neck, since it was an area most people just wouldn't look at, but it was helpful that I usually had my hair down to cover it up for me. Up until now I'd completely forgotten it was even there, but at the mention of the bruise I'd remembered the lingering physical reminder of the encounter I'd had with Him earlier this week.

"Cassie," Romeo implored softly, his tone gentle as he reached out his hand to tilt my face back towards him. Ever so softly, he cupped the side of my face so I had no choice but to look at him, seeing the swirls of evident perturbation within his dark chocolate swirls. "Who did this to you?"

Staring at my reflection in the shattered mirror. Blanching at the fact He had actually shoved me - He had actually laid His hands on me when He never had before. Reeling from the physical pain overwhelming all of my senses. Seeing His movements a second too late, shifting my gaze to the man behind me just as He-

"My dad."

The words were barely a whisper, drowned out by the distant hum of city traffic and the wind drafting past us, but I knew they'd registered with Romeo as he let out a low exhale, dropping his hand from my face as I diverted my gaze down to the towering drop below us.

I couldn't bear to look at Romeo: to see all the clogs turning in his head as he tried to piece together all the scrambles of information I'd given him about my home life; to see his attempts at remaining impassive for my sake as I blinked back the tears pooling in my own; to see the pain etched into his dark orbs as he finally knew the one thing I had been withholding.

"Is it okay if we talk about it?" he asked softly, feeling the weight of his gaze still resting on me as he moved ever so slightly closer to the edge in order to be nearer to me. "I don't want to overstep, and it's absolutely okay if you don't want to-"

"My dad's never hurt me before," I blurted, my voice steady despite the whirlwind I felt enveloping me from within. At the suddenness of my statement Romeo fell silent, allowing me to talk while he listened with the upmost attentiveness. "He always- He'll raise His voice, and throw things, and shout and scream and yell - or He'd raise His hand and motion to hurt me - but He's never- He'd never actually do it."

My lips pulled into a bitter smile, swinging my legs and letting them thud back against the railing in a steady pattern, just to feel something other than the rising memories threatening to infiltrate into my mind. "This is why I miss being naïve Romeo; this is why I miss being a child because back then I didn't get it. Whenever He used to shout I'd run and hide behind my mum, and when He'd throw things and they'd hit me, she'd always kiss it better. Even if it didn't leave a bruise, or barely even a scratch, my mum would kiss it better - and it would all be okay."