Whispering Pages

The bruise beneath

Ethan woke to the low hum of early morning, a dull light bleeding through the guest bedroom curtains. For a moment, he laid still, staring at the ceiling, unsure of where he was—until the weight of the previous day came crashing back. The black eye. His dad's fury. Haley's call. The quiet comfort of Max's home.

He rolled onto his side and checked his phone: one missed call from his dad, no message. He sighed, locking the screen.

A soft knock came at the door.

"Yo, you up?" Max's voice drifted in.

"Yeah," Ethan called back.

The door creaked open, and Max stepped inside holding two mugs of hot coffee. "Brought you something. It's not Starbucks-level, but it's warm and has sugar."

Ethan sat up, taking the mug. "Thanks."

They sat in silence for a bit, sipping coffee. Max was the first to speak.

"So... about yesterday. You said your dad hit you after he caught you and Haley?"

Ethan nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the rising steam from his cup.

"He ever done that before?" Max asked, voice careful but firm.

Ethan hesitated. "Once. After the funeral. I was acting out, skipping class, staying out late. He snapped. But I figured... maybe he was just grieving."

Max didn't respond right away. He just stared into his coffee, brows furrowed.

"You don't have to make excuses for him, you know," Max finally said.

"I'm not," Ethan muttered. "I just... I don't want to believe that he's really like this."

"I get that," Max said. "But there's a difference between someone who's hurting and someone who hurts you. And man... I saw your eye. That wasn't grief. That was rage."

Ethan rubbed his hand over his face, exhausted. "I don't know what to do. I don't want to go back there. But I also don't want people feeling sorry for me or trying to 'fix' me."

"No one's trying to fix you," Max said gently. "But people do care. Merida. Haley. Me. You don't have to carry this alone."

Ethan didn't reply, but the words stuck. After a few moments, Max stood up and stretched.

"Come on," he said. "Let's go out for a bit."

Ethan looked up, puzzled. "Where?"

Max grinned. "My favorite hangout spot. It's peaceful, no people around. You need a break, and I think you'll like it."

Ethan hesitated, but something in Max's smile pushed through his doubt. "Alright," he said softly. "Let's go."

Max tossed him a hoodie. "Cool. Let's breathe some air that doesn't smell like beanbags and old weed."

Ethan chuckled weakly, but it was the most genuine sound he'd made in days. He pulled the hoodie over his head and followed Max out the door—toward whatever came next.

They hopped on bikes from max's garage and pedaled toward the edge of town, where neon signs still flickered over the crumbling facade of a decades-old arcade. It looked abandoned from the outside—most people drove past it without a second glance. But Max walked straight up to the rusted door, knocked three times, waited, then knocked twice more. Ethan gave him a skeptical look.

Before he could speak, the door creaked open, and a kid about their age gave Max a nod before disappearing inside. Max motioned for Ethan to follow.

They stepped into the dusty front room of the arcade, which looked like a graveyard of forgotten games. Dim fluorescent lights buzzed above, and broken cabinets lined the walls. But then Max led Ethan to a wall of old vending machines and pushed one aside, revealing a narrow staircase lit by strips of red LED tape.

"No way," Ethan whispered.

Max smirked. "Welcome to the underground."

They descended into the glow of pulsing lights and bass-heavy music. The basement opened up into a massive room alive with movement—teens laughing, lounging on couches, playing music, passing snacks, and dancing under colored strobes. Graffiti-covered walls and murals gave the space an edge that felt raw and real.

"This place is insane," Ethan said, wide-eyed.

Max clapped him on the back. "Told you. It's kind of a sanctuary. No parents. No teachers. No drama. Just vibes."

They made their way to a corner booth near a glowing jukebox. Max handed Ethan a soda from a cooler and nodded toward a nearby group playing cards. "You can jump in if you want. Or we can just chill."

Ethan sank into the booth, looking around at all the faces. Some he recognized from school, others were strangers—but there was a sense of freedom in the room he hadn't felt in a long time. For once, the heaviness inside him felt a little lighter.

He took a sip of the soda and leaned back. "Thanks for bringing me here, Max."

Max kicked his feet up on the table. "Anytime, man. You've been carrying a lot lately. You deserve a place to just be."

Ethan nodded slowly, letting the moment wash over him. The music, the laughter, the soft hum of arcade machines in the background—it all blended into something that felt almost like peace.