Just Write

Hurting for Hurt

Song: Heart of Stone

For a Writing Competition by  @elizabethrami

Hurting for Hurt

Tears.

Tears filled my eyes as I just sat there, feeling the rough sensation of the crumpled paper on my hand and the soft mattress behind me.

It hurts.

The pain was unbearable, starting from my stomach to my throat, it hurts too much that it's hard to breath. Too much that I can hear my heart pounding against my ribs.

Waiting.

I've been waiting for a long time, patiently, always. Yet, why can't you come?

***

"I'll need to ice this soon." She muttered under her breath as she checked the patch of black and blue just below her knee, the shower hitting her naked body. "Just before he comes."

He never did like seeing those injuries, any of them but make-up was not enough to cover them, at least this past few days. He'd been on the edge for days now and there had been more bearable days.

How she missed those days.

When he'd wrap his arms around her as they slept, snuggling closer as if a kid seeking for his mother's attention, or when he'd play the piano just for her to listen, or when...

Sighing, she stood up and proceeded to finish her bath; she needed to cook soon.

Clothed in casual attire, she pulled her hair up in a bun, some of the brown curls escaping the grip of the band. Her small hands sliced through the onions, careful blue eyes minutely looking towards the entrance of the kitchen where he'd often lean on, just watching her.

She missed him again this time, she thought miserably as she felt strong arms wrapped around her waist and his nose tickling her neck, his breath lingering over her sensitive spots.

"You just took a bath?" He asked pushing away and leaning on the kitchen table behind them. But she didn't reply as he spoke again, "You're as cold as always," He started walking away from the kitchen, hands on pocket.

Cold?

Was that not you?

"Kyler," She called and he paused by the door, his grey eyes meeting hers, still as hard as stone. She clutched the apron tightly, gulping as the nervousness gripped on him.

What would he think?

This question plague her every minute. But she braved herself and spoke because this was the only time she could tell him.

"I..." She started, "I'm—" Just in time, the food started boiling behind her, jumping from shock; she smiled and turned, "I'll tell you later." And he was gone from the kitchen, the sounds of running water reaching her ears minutes later.

***

He was probably being unfair to her.

He ran a hand through his black hair, the water droplets falling just above her waist from his long locks. He needed a cut soon. Dressed in black trousers, he didn't bother to comb as he headed for the kitchen, the dinner already done and there she was, preparing him a meal, just like every day. Leaning by the entrance, he saw the bruise forming under her knees.

He was observing him again, looking for the telltale signs of discomfort, hurt, and just about everything. He hadn't meant to hurt her; he was just...pissed. Pissed because they didn't like his music, because they were obnoxious, because they didn't understand him like she does.