The Boy Who Broke Me

Underbelly

GAVIN

The beer wants to keep me asleep, but the pain from my face wakes me up. At first, I think it's still morning because it's so dark in my room, but then I realize that my right eye won't open. It feels like I'm opening it, but it's so swollen that no actual light gets in.

Rolling off my bed makes every fiber in my body ache, and it takes all of my energy to bring myself to standing. Each step sends a new rush of pain up through my head and out my eye, so the short walk down the hallway feels like an endless death march. I take it step by step, stopping every few feet as the pain in my head becomes too much, and it takes me forever. By the time I reach the bathroom, I'm so sore I can barely keep my head up, and it feels like I took a bullet to the face. I finally make it, exhausted, and lean against the wall, letting the cool plaster sit against my flushed and throbbing skin. It takes the edge off a little bit, but not a lot.

The short rest gives me enough energy to face myself in the mirror and I can't help but laugh, but immediately regret it, because laughing hurts. The right side of my face looks pretty much normal, except that my right eye is twice the size, has a massive shiner on it, and is surrounded by a perfect slap impression. I stare at myself for a while, smiling at how crazy it looks. Oddly enough, it reminds me of how I used to draw a sun back when I was a little kid. It was always a great big circle with a few sticks coming out of it. My eye looks a lot like one of those suns today, only this time the circle is purple/black, and the sticks are shaped like fingers.

Madison's fingers.

The thought hurts worse than the damage on my face and makes me feel like I'm sinking into the ground. I know it's stupid to torture myself, but I can't help but imagine that she's back with that Bennet kid already, snuggled up in his hospital room. For all I know, she could have gone straight to see him after leaving here last night, and they could still be together right now. There's a chance she confronted him, but he probably told her that I'm full of shit. He probably gave her a bunch of lies, told her that he's perfect, and said that I made up the whole thing. She probably bought it all hook, line, and sinker, and why wouldn't she believe him, anyway? The kid looks squeaky clean, especially compared to Vincent and me.

By now she's probably decided that I was just some asshole that lied and took advantage of her. She's realized her mistake, and she's never going to come around me again. The thought hurts, but I know it's better than having her possibly be near Vincent.

It's not like I think he'd do something to hurt her, but I never exactly thought he'd shoot a kid or hit me in the face either.

I lean in closer to the mirror, getting a better look. I frown, realizing that this either needs to be gone within the next day or I need to come up with a really good excuse because If Gilner sees me looking like this, he'll definitely ask me about it, and probably tell my case worker.

Shit.

I turn on the cold tap, filling my hands like a cup and slowly pouring the water over my face. It stings at first, but eventually gets better and starts to go numb. It might be wishful thinking, but after a minute or two, I think it's already looking less obvious. I pat my face dry with a towel and give myself one last look over before making my way out into the living room. Coming down the hallway, I stop in my tracks to see Vince is home.

"Damn, Gav!" He cackles. "I meant to set you straight, but I didn't think I set you that straight!"

I know that Vince is the one who walked away, and that I could have killed him, but it's better to let him have this one.

"Yeah." I mumble, collapsing onto the sofa.

He looks me up and down for a second before speaking again. "You coming to work today, man?"