Blunt

Battered Blue

"STOP!"

Hit. Hit. Hit.

"STOP, STOP! For-forgive me! STOP!"

Hit. Throw. Hit.

"Stop... please, stop..."

Copper invaded my mouth. The scenery was hazy, but from the blurs I could see, it was no longer the room we used to sleep in, the harbor for our weary hearts. Feathers strewn accross, glass shards scatterred, and the desk lamp flickered weakly. Thousands of memories flooded my mind, battling the suffocating smell of alcohol - and blood - and I felt myself plunge into darkness, another palm risen to deliver another blow.

The apartment was a wrecked mess.

The bathroom was in no better condition than the bedroom. The mirror was broken, and the sink torn apart. The cheap curtain had fallen from the hanger, and the smell of vomit colored the air around. I slammed the door, not wanting to stay in the damned room any longer.

Just like the bathroom and the bedroom, the living room was destroyed. The small palm trees we had bought as our first moving in celebration had fell over, the dirt piled up near its pot. I stumbled upon broken frames and vases. Dead daisies scattered upon the wooden flooring, and the rug felt no longer comforting. The sofa and coffee table had been flipped and severely damaged. I would need to buy a new table. I inspected the room, and the only untouched stuff were my paintings. I walked over and unhung them, the rough canvas brushing against my battered skin. I stared at the blue and purple and red bruises on my arm. Good thing I stocked up on long sleeve sweaters.

I paced back into my bedroom, dumping the paintings onto my bed. Our bed. Mine. My head spun so fast and I grabbed onto the empty air to hold on. What was I thinking again?

I tied back my hair, careful not to pull the parts where my head throbbed most - and lathered my face and neck with foundation. The bag under my eyes were visible even under the covet of the foundation, but it wasn't a big deal. I've always had dark eyebags. The cut on my lips wasn't hard to miss, but I'll conjure up a good lie later. I threw on my sweater, even though it was in the middle of summer, and a dark jeans, and picked up my duffel bag. I stashed the housekey and some painkiller into the bag. It was time for work.

The family café bustled with happy murmurs from the happy families who came for lunch. I stood still, sometimes letting my eyes wonder around the cream painted café, watching the kids who laughed cheerfully when the waiters came with their food and the parents who praised their kids. I felt a tug in my chest and huffed. My muscles hurt, but again, it wasn't a new thing. Nothing was a new thing anymore.

I abruptly fixed a smile onto my face when a group of small family appproached me. One, two, three, four. I gave them a wide smile as they reached my podium thingy. "A table for four, sir and madam?"

The father of the family nodded, his arms locked with his wife's. I led them to an empty table around the corner because the other four seaters were full. "I'll call a waiter now. Please enjoy your time," I smiled again, and turned back, but I heard the smallest boy asked his mother, "mom, why is she bruised everywhere?"

I clamped my mouth before a gasp escaped. Calm down, I tried to chant, he's a kid.

I hurried over to the group of available waiters and talked to one of them. "Mike, table seven please."

Mike looked at me for a while before a worried expression appeared on his face. "He's been beating you up again, hasn't he?"

I answered with a silent eye roll. "Not your business. Table seven, Mike."

"But Kels, you're hurting. Your bruises and cuts are visible. Those foundation did you no good, Kels. Your lie did you no good. That man did you no good," he grabbed my arm and I flinched from the pain. His tone was bitter and hurt, like he was the one he hits every night. Like he was the one donning these bruises.

"What do you know?" I asked, gritting my teeth. His words of concern was getting under my skin.

Mike frowned, and exhaled in defeat. He tapped my shoulder, and whispered in low voice, "Always remember that my place is available whenever you need a time out, Kels."

I tensed, not realizing that tears had gathered around my eyes. I quickly rubbed them away before marching back to my host podium. It was a mistake. Selling myself to that guy in the past was a mistake. At least he didn't force me to sleep with him using money.

When work time was over, I literally ran to the changing room, not wanting to see Mike. I gathered my belongings and said farewell to some other waiters.

The bus ride passed by quickly, and before I know, I had arrived in front of our apartment door. I unlocked the place in haste. My eyes fell when I saw that someone - or rather, two person - were on the ripped coach, making out, their saliva pooling, a bottle of vodka on each their hands. The man broke off the kiss and took a swig before noticing my presence.

"Ah," his voice was drawling, slurred. "Clean this fucking place, Kelsey."

One two three four five six seven eight---

Oh, who was I kidding. I threw the nearest empty bottle at his head and the impact knocked him out cold before I could realize what I had done, blood trickling from the small gash on his forehead.

The woman screamed. I fished out my phone and dialled the police, and locked the door again before she could escape. "Police? I have a report."

I stared at the empty wall which once donned my paintings. I moved my luggage, dragging out a cart of my canvases and painting supplies. The police arrived early and they believed my defend-from-the-violent-man story because I showed them all the fresh bruises and wounds. The woman was traumatized. I was ready to move out.

Maybe to Kentucky. Maybe to Montana. I don't know. Somewhere faraway, where no one knows me. Where my past is buried and my scars dismissed.

The door slammed open and I whipped my head at the person who broke in. "Kels," Mike panted, his body clad in white polo shirt and washed out jeans. He scooted closer to me and wrapped me with his arms before I got a chance to yell at him. "Let's go back to my place. Not in the way you did in the past. Let's go to my place."

I blinked. Twice. He whispered down to the pile of my hair in his hug.

"It'll all be alright, Kels. Everything will be alright."