The Bold & Bruised

Hide-away

I watched her from across the street. Tufts of hair tucked behind her ears, the bulbous bruise on her forehead reflected and shined under the sun, gleaming brightly, illuminating the horrors of her home life.

A deep tissue scar ran through the middle, trickles of blood secreted effortlessly, leaking gently down the side of her face. Surely she felt it? Maybe she thought, if she ignored it enough, that it would vanish, simply disappear?

Alas, she swiped a piece of her fringe across to the other side of her face. Her face contorted and scrunched slightly, wincing as she had accidentally caught a scab. I watched her shake it out from beneath her nail, the cool wind carried it in a diagonal pattern, briskly and hurriedly down to the concrete floor.

I watched her walk from the edge of the path, where she'd been patiently waiting for cars to go past; she confidently strode across the road, her bruise black and blue and purple, dotted and mottled got bigger and bigger as she walked closer and closer to me.
The wind blew her hair relentlessly and she flailed desperately to tuck it once again behind her ears as she walked past myself.

I felt her hair graze my cheek, soft and warm, smelling of rosemary and tea tree, almost a sterile sort of smell, but beautiful nonetheless. I turned to the side, letting her breeze past me and as I felt the corners of my mouth twitch into a smile, it instantly dropped noticing the small almost discrete gaping wound at the base of her neck; the one she was so desperate to hide all along...