ROTTEN LOVE

CONFINE| 8

I try to recollect last night's events. I think and think until it clicked. I remember feeling a sting, but I was overwhelmed by extreme heat. I did not think much of it.

Zain marked me. I roll my eyes. Great. Now, I have to figure out how to hide it.

I get in the shower, but I opt for a cooler temperature. Anything that touches the burn marks sting. I curse the whole time but manage to get myself clean.

Once I am out, I grab the ointment and rub a generous amount on the wound. I hiss here and there but get the areas bandaged up.

I look at my work. One on my forearm and the other near my bicep. I look broken. Yet, I still can't seem to shake this happy jitter in me. I walk out of the restroom and get my suitcases.

I grab a pair of jean shorts and a white tank. I wear my white nikes. It's hot outside and as I learned yesterday, open-toe shoes are not ideal.

I go to the mirror and observe Zain's mark. I place my hair over my shoulders. It cascades down my front. I move my hair around, and look at myself from different angles, ensuring that my hair will cover the mark at all times.

Then, I put away all my clothes. Satisfied, I hear my stomach grumble. I wonder if the food is ready. I get out of my room and walk across my door to Marisa's room.

Seconds later, she opens it. I don't know how to start the conversation with her. A lot of words were exchanged. Some I meant but most I did not. She must have felt cornered.

I attempt to say something, but she swings her arms around my neck.

"I am sorry, Helena, I am so sorry," she says to me.

I relax, hugging her back, "It's okay. I am sorry too."

She squeezes me more, but the pressure goes against my arms, and I whine. She lets go and looks at my bandaged arms. Another sad look on her face. I peek at her arms and there are no remnants of me or the burns.

"This is all my fault," she says sadly.

"I mean, I was the one who technically did the burning. This is on me."

"Why would you do it? You knew what it meant."

I sigh, "Yeah, well, someone wanted to throw down."

I laugh. She laughs.

"I would have won," she counters.

I scoff, "Yeah, right. I had you."

"A couple more minutes and the wounds would have stopped you before me."

I roll my eyes, "so not fair."

She kisses my cheek, and I smile at her. She grabs my hand, and seriousness glosses over her features.

"We have never fought like that before," she says.

"Yeah, I know. It won't happen again," I promise, looking into her beautiful grey eyes.

She shakes her head agreeing, "swear it. We can't. You will end up more hurt at the end of the day. I won't forgive myself ever if something happens to you."

"I swear it," I say to her.

We hear a door open, and it's Jason's.

"Oh, look who's made up," he greets walking to us.

I look at his face and see our similar features. His green eyes, the same olive skin, but he has dark brown hair. It's hard sometimes recalling my parent's image but they say Jason is a spitting image of my father.

I smile at his familiar face.

I greet, "Put a shirt on. We are not home."

He is barefoot with jeans on.