And, Love

Part 15

You hadn't noticed the little changes that had popped up from the state Mikey was in more often than not. You had never noticed before just how often and sometimes extensive his injuries were.

A first aid kit tucked into the kitchen cupboard by the coffee. A suture and stitches set in the bathroom. Pressure wrappings and bandaids hidden everywhere. Extra strength painkillers a la Donnie stuffed in the nightstand by your bed.

Even in the cafe you'd stocked extra sterile gloves and sanitizers. Duct Tape for any wounds to his plastron or shell.

And that was... fine. You lit your cigarette, stepping back from the wet paint.

It was fine.

You inhaled, the crisp burning, the smoldering sinking into your lungs. The bright orange of the burning tip, the smoke rising in a hypnotic twisting tendril into the warm summer air.

Eyes closed. Fist clenched.

It. Was. Fine.

Exhale, eyes opened to take in your newest piece. Dark twisting colors consuming the bright sun, pulling it down into the ocean. You hated it. You felt guilty over it.

The worries of everyday; what new wound, what new lie, what new pain Mikey would lay at your feet.

What new thing he'd ask you to forgive him for without ever telling you the truth. Lies and guilt etched into his eyes and lips.

You held up your phone, flashlight glaring against the image you'd painted. Each chain, each tentacle a representation of the resentment that had been building, orange sun sputtering as the darkness spread over its surface as it was pulled down into turbulent waters. Maybe that's why you hated it.

It wasn't the hopeful, longing picture of yearning love you'd started this adventure with.

You had known, you inhaled, that Mikey's line of work was dangerous. Life threatening. Stomped out the cigarette. Asphalt crunching beneath your tennis shoe.

You'd known how he'd acquired every scar, how they'd discovered they were bullet proof. You'd known they'd stopped an alien Invasion.

You uploaded the image, shouldering your bag.

But he couldn't tell you the truth now.

You sighed, climbing down the ladder, trudging to the cab you'd called on an app.

Almost on cue your phone rang. You answered instinctively, unable to muster the necessary enthusiasm.

"Hey, M."

"Hey babe." You could hear the question in his voice. "What are you... uh. You know. Up to?"

You sighed, slouching in the back seat of the cab. "I'm driving back home."

You refused to elaborate. Mikey was silent, you heard him swallow a breath.

"What-um. Were you doing?"

You shrugged. "I was just out. Admiring the views, having a smoke."

"Oh." Mikey's voice was hesitant. You could picture the anxiety on his face, it made you feel like shit.

You knew he was aware that you only smoked when you were stressed, but you could play that off as cafe shit. You groaned, rubbing your forehead. No matter how bad he made you feel, you just couldn't do the same.

"I mean it, Angelo." Tone softer. "I wasn't doing anything, really. Just out for some air."

"No!" But you could hear the tension leave him. "No, I know. And that's fine. Not like I can tell you what you can or can't do-" He started fumbling. "I just mean-"