Whirlwind | W.M.

14

No other form of anger could ever compare to the one coarsing through my veins at ruckus when I'm in a deep, blissful slumber. It's murderous, the thoughts that float through my head when morning comes and i'm awakened by the harsh sounds of the television, turned all the way up and fuelling the rampage I was teetering towards. With an irritated groan, I grab the closest pillow my hands could find and hastily pull it to rest around my head, hoping to muffle the sounds as the mattress promptly dips from right next to me.

"It's noon, dipshit. Wake up." Martina prods, incessantly poking at my arm.

"Go away." I grumble, muffled by the cushion still pressed to my face.

"As delightful as that sounds, I can't. Nat's on the way." She says, her words jolting me awake in an instant as I shoot up, all the sleep draining from my system as I snap to look at her.

"Why?" I ask immediately, watching as the amusement builds in her brown eyes.

"Guilty much? She's checking in." Martina chuckles softly, popping whatever snack she got ahold of in her mouth.

I was almost too engulfed by paranoia to notice the discoloration on her skin that looked a lot like a bruised eye. I snap out of my worries for a second, my gaze lingering on the black and blue peppered against her tan skin as she keeps her attention on the television, seemingly nonchalant to the fact that she looked like she was smacked across the face with a frying pan.

"What the fuck happened to you?" I breathe, watching as confusion swarms her small features. As sharp as Martina is, she's still a kid.

A bruised kid.

"What? This?" She motions to her eye, slightly swollen lids nearly closing her vision entirely as she waves me off.

"Eh, the usual. Got into a bit of a—" She swings her fists, shadow boxing the air with a sly smile as she releases a soft, dismissive laugh.

"Who did that?" I say sternly, her desperate attempt at playing it off unfazing me. She sighs lightly, defeat sweeping her face as she shakes her head.

"It's nothing. None of your business, actually." She shoots back, a lot harsher than her playful demeanor just seconds prior as she peels herself off of the bed, swiftly grabbing her things in a huff.

"Where are you going?" I call out as she hastily gathers her stuff, barely giving me a glance as she heads for the door that I rush to block.

"What the fuck?" She exclaims, brows furrowed into a glare as I mimic her steps, ultimately blocking any attempt to head out the door.

"Who did that?" I reiterate flatly.

For a split second, she looks devastated. Not mad or harsh or defensive, just utterly defeated but in classic, Martina fashion, she sweeps it underneath all of her misplaced confidence and hostility as she drives a punch directly to my sternum, hitting harder than I had prepared for as I double over, falling to my knees. The hard wooden floors collide with my skin in a pained thud as my arms instinctively fly to wrap around my stomach, trying to catch the wind she knocked out of me.

"Stay out of my shit. I'm only here because I have to be and you're just an over glorified jackass. Don't pretend to care now." She spits, nonchalantly stepping around me as she swings the door open with force.

"If Nat asks, tell her I'm out." Is the last thing she says before the sound of the front door slamming shut echoes through the apartment.

I peel myself off the ground in a pained breath, staggering to my feet as the jolting ache subsides. Confusion was the most prominent thing to swarm me as I make my way to the bathroom because that was the only time i've ever seen Martina genuinely upset. Sure, our daily activities consist of going at each other's throats— but she was always one to take it in stride. There was something in her eyes that told me it was more than just a measly street scuffle, no matter how desperately she tried to make me believe it.