July 13, 2015
Dear diary,
I didn't come to the park yesterday, I was too tired. But today when I finally made it to the bench Elliott closed his book and took my wrist in his hands, lifting the sleeve and sighing in relief.
"Can you please talk to me again?" I whispered, wanting so bad for his eyes to meet my own.
He let go of my arm and stared striaght ahead, ignoring me. Anger was something I could so easily work up now, which is why i had no problem standing up and shouting, "You know people make mistakes!"
He didn't seem the least surprised at my outburst and I felt the lump in the back of my throat, and threatening tears stinging my eyes. "What do you expect?" I asked.
He reached for his book but I was faster, grabbing it before he could and holding it behind me like I did the first time we met.
He finally looked at me. "Elliott, I'm sorry." my voice quavered but I didn't care. I couldn't stand when he did this, I didn't want him to disappear again.
He stood up and his thumb gently wiped the tears I was unaware had fallen from under my eyes as his other hand circled around me, taking his book back.
He set it aside and took my hand in his, "I want to show you something." he said, pulling me to the edge of the lake and helping me sit against the large mound of rock's.
We were out of sight and the empty, inviting lake drew me toward it. I waited, patient like I was taught to be.
I was taken back when Elliott began to pull the bottom of his sweatshirt over his head but stayed quiet as he did.
Finally, I saw him. I saw his entire face.
I saw the outline of his jaw, his surprisingly shaggy blond hair that hung over his eyes in the most attractive way. His tan, soft looking skin had me standing to my feet and reaching out to touch him.
"Wait," he said, pulling back. "you said people make mistakes. I want you to see mine."
I swollowed, nervous all a sudden but evening out my breathing as he began pulling his t-shirt over his head.
I gasped, not believing my own eyes. His body held scar after scar, scattered bruises new and old.
I knew, I knew other than the scars on his wrists he hadn't been the one to do that. He hadn't been the one to make such a disgusting mark along his body.
I had to look away. I couldn't keep my eyes fixed on the gruesome imprints flawing his beautiful body.
With an uneasy stomach I tried pushing the images of Elliott being beaten, hit and whatever the hell else had to have been done to him to leave such a thing in its wake.
"Mia..." he said reaching for my hand. I don't know why but I pulled away. I pulled away so fast.
"Who?" I asked, voice shaky. I fought the tears. Enough crying. "Who did this to you?"
"My dad." he admitted. "But like you said, everyone makes mistakes. Look," he pointed to a scar on his chest and I turned away again, closing my eyes and covering my mouth with my hand. "talking back."
He went on saying things like "Bad grades", "Being forgetful", "Raising my voice", "Mentioning mom".
"Stop, just stop." I begged. "Bad grades...that's being grounded at the worse not..." I couldn't go on.
I wanted to see his green eyes but growing sick at the thought of his scars. I wasn't sure what time it was but I managed to say, "I have to go."
And I left him there.
Oh Elliott, I'm so sorry.
