𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞 (𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘴)

❛❛chapter twenty: jukebox❜❜

I woke up to a soft melody playing. I rubbed my eyes awake and looked in the direction that the sound was coming from. I must've rubbed my eyes too hard to where my eyelashes brushed against my iris because now my vision was blurrier. I could see a fuzzy figure strumming what looked like to be a guitar.

John's voice started speaking, "Nice guitar. Looks new."

I smiled softly, "Ah, it is. Me old one broke."

I remembered how it happened vividly. I blinked a bit to hopefully clear my vision.

"How'd it break?" John inquired.

It was a good question, and if I were in his shoes, I'd want to know as well. I just couldn't tell him because, knowing John, he'd probably take the soonest flight home to beat Noah to death. I didn't need to worry about that.

So I lied, "I dropped it on me way out of me house."

"You clumsy clod," He chuckled as he continued to strum.

My eyes slowly started to go back to normal. I flipped over on my other side so I could look at John without having to turn my head. The sun peaked through the blinds of the bedroom window, just reaching my face. Dust floated in the sunrays, becoming more apparent than it had been. He put my instrument down and sat on the corner of the bed. I stretched my limbs out, releasing a sigh as a lightheaded feeling came to me.

John cleaned the lens of his glasses, "What 'appened to yer grid?"

Then he put them on his face. I panicked and turned away from his gaze. I had forgotten about the bruise, which was completely stupid of me. I didn't want him seeing it for the same reason that I didn't want him knowing about what actually happened to my guitar.

I held my face, "Erm... I dunno what you're talkin' about..."

He crawled a bit closer, "Liz? Look at me."

I started to get out of bed, "I should really get ready."

He snatched my wrist, surprising me a tad. Still, I kept my face turned away.

He pulled me back onto the bed, "C'mere."

"John-"

Something in me actually wanted him to see and get mad. I wanted someone to be angry for me because it meant they cared. He lightly tilted my face in his direction. I kind of let it happen because I knew he would see it at some point, whether I liked it or not. 

"Holy shite- How the hell did that happen?"

I said the first thing that came to mind, "I had to fight another bear."

An abrupt rush of regret spun in my head. What was I thinking letting him see my face?

He got closer to inspect it, "I'm not messin' about, Lizzie."

I jerked my head away from him, "It's nothin', relax."

I was conflicted if I should feel happy about him seeing it or if I should be scared. I bit my lip as we fell into silence. He seemed to be trying to figure stuff out in his head like the gears were turning. I stood up and started walking to the bathroom, but he spoke before I reached the door.

"Did Noah do that?" His tone was biting.

Suddenly my heart dropped, and my throat felt dry. My breathing quickened, causing more anxiety to arise. I tried swallowing to fix the sandpaper feeling, but it didn't change anything. I didn't know if I was still supposed to lie or if I should just come clean. Coming clean sounded bad, but piling lies after lies seemed like it'd be worse in the long run.