Broken, Imperfect

Chapter 14

It had been two days since I had talked to Austin. He officially knew that I could play his bullshit games too. I wasn't mad, exactly. Just annoyed. I was tired, and ill, and I didn't feel like myself at this point in time. I knew he was having a tough time, and me ignoring him probably wasn't helping but I was a stubborn person. I had been sitting in his driveway for 10 minutes although he had gotten out right away. I guess it bothered me because today, he tried to talk to me once at lunch before giving up. He didn't say goodbye. He didn't say see you tomorrow. None of that. I guess his subtle leave felt final. I hated it when things felt final. There was something in my head that sent everything screeching to a halt. If one tiny part of me saw something as 'final' I panicked. Everything spun out of control.

I guess that's what caused me to hop out of my beloved jeep and head to the front door. It was locked and I really didn't want to knock. It made me feel kind of small. Too announced for this occasion. I went over to the garage door and was about to open it when I heard a bump accompanied by a voice. I focused on the sounds, and I knew the voice belonged to Austin.

"Fucking faggot" I heard his voice hiss. My heart plummeted. Silence ensued. A moment later, "I wish you'd just fucking die." and everything else seemed to be silent too. No kids down the street playing. No leaves rustling. No dogs barking. Nothing except his voice. I knew I'd made him angry. But this? Why this? Did he have to take it so far? The question was asking myself the most fiercely was, did he really truly want me to die? "Nobody is ever gonna fucking like you." he spat. "They all leave, Austin. Every last one of them. You're fucking worthless" and his voice was so terribly strained. He was referring to himself. All the previous weight was lifted from my chest and I hung my head in relief. But as soon as the weight had left, it returned.

Faggot? Worthless? They all leave? He felt that way about himself. He called me a faggot not that long ago. He made me feel worthless. One side of me knew he needed a taste of his own medicine, but the other part wondered how long he had felt that way. Had he felt that way a lot longer. So long he had to get it off of his own shoulders. Maybe he did that by putting it on someone else's. Did he really think I was that angry? I couldn't sit around much longer hearing him do this. Hearing him beat himself up. "Fucking rot!" He roared. And I opened the door as quickly as I could.

Austins head snapped up, face res, eyes glassy. I glanced over for a split second at the wall and all I saw was smeared, soft red stains. Blood.

I didn't even say anything as I approached him. He backed up a couple of steps and shook his head. Everything about him screamed how angry he was, and my legs felt so weak. But I kept going.

"It felt too final" I admitted as I kept walking towards him. His hands were torn up at the knuckles, and he trembled slightly, like me, but most likely from anger. I had no idea why I wasn't at all fearful. He really looked like he could kill someone right now but I didn't care. I closed the space between us and just wrapped my arms around his waist.

"You're not any of those things and I need you to understand that." I told him. He hadn't moved and he said nothing. "I'm not mad. I wasn't mad. I'm not myself and I make mistakes. You do too. Being here is not one of them." Still no reply. "Tell me that you understand that." I demanded. He stared at me blankly after I stepped back. "Fucking tell me Austin!" I yelled at him suddenly.

"I understand" he choked out.

I grabbed his hands in mine and he tensed up, grunting in pain. "Oh shut up you oaf" I muttered. "You did this to yourself, so don't whine. This is technically a form of self harm, y'know. My cousin would bust his hands up on purpose. It gets real bad. Then it morphed into self harm with blunt objects. That's not cool." I informed him. "We are gonna patch this up." I told him. I led him through his house, my fingers just barely grasping his, and to the bathroom to make him help me find the first aid kit. I wiped his knuckles with an alcohol wipe before applying some sort of antiseptic cream to his busted, torn up knuckles. I finished by wrapping them messily before kissing each hand gently.