For Crying Out Loud

20: Bruises

Jake's P.O.V.

     I believe that if I run fast enough, I can enter a time vortex and go back to before all of this happened. I slept for two days straight. I did not dream. For the first time in my life I am so numb that I can't even dream. I could easily blame it on pure exhaustion. I mean, I pretty much didn't actually sleep for a whole week, my body was probably to tired to dream. But Maybe, just maybe, I've given up on anything and everything and as a result, forfeited my ability to dream. I can still run though. So I do.

     I don't take my normal route. That's to easy. Instead I go left every place I would normally turn right. My normal route is calculated precisely. Run past two roads and turn right. I always go right. Right has gotten me no where. Maybe right isn't right. Maybe left is right. Maybe left can lead me to my unknown destination.

     After a while, I find myself in front of a barn. It's large and old and empty. It's perfect for someone like me. I don't go in, but I stare at it for a while, hoping something will happen, that maybe I can think like Sierra and actually do something worth doing. I give up, turn around, and run back.

     It's Tuesday morning, and I'm actually in a good mood. It's temporary- I'm fully aware it won't last- so I decide to take advantage of it and actually turn my phone on. I have like a hundred missed calls and texts from people. They check up on me like they actually care. I laugh.

     I scroll through my phone, not really paying much attention, but when I scroll up, I see a message from Sierra. It's from last night at 9:11 p.m. Her message makes my heart pulse with anger and a slight sense of relief. At least she texted me.

Sierra: My dad stopped by. Didn't go well.

     Then above that message is a picture of her torso, covered in blue and purple blotches. Oh I really hate that man.

     You're probably wondering why it took this to make her contact me. It all goes back to seventh grade when she told me.

Five Years Ago

She was shooting the basketball at P.E. because the coach said she'd fail if she didn't participate. After shooting a couple times, failing horribly, she walked off the court and leaned her back against the wall. I'll never forget the way she looked in that moment. Her blonde curls disheveled, and sweat shining on her forehead. She look defeated, and when she rubbed her shoulder, her sleeve slid up just enough to see bruises that were almost black against her porcelain skin.

"What the hell happened?" I ask her. She shrugs her shoulders, completely oblivious to what I am implying to.

"I'm not good at sports. I'm a writer, not a basketball star." She laughs. I don't laugh. I don't think anything is funny in that moment. I pull up her sleeve, and feel her entire body go rigid before jerking her sleeve down and glaring at me. "Never do that where people can see." She hisses. She turns away and walks to the always-empty weight room. I follow.

"How did it happen?" I get straight to it. She sighs and sits on one of the many unused benches before looking a me sadly.

"If I tell you, you can't tell anyone. If you do, it will ruin my life." She says. I nod, and sit next to her. That's when she pulls her shirt off- which would usually be very sexy to thirteen year old me- and reveals her purple back, black shoulder, and blue ribs. I can't help but stare for a moment, but then she begins to look ashamed so I help her put her shirt back on. "I was a mistake. My dad doesn't like mistakes. I wasn't supposed to happen, so since I was seven, he has attempted to beat me until I disappear. I'm nobody to him. I never will be."

     She stares of into the distance, lost in thought. Her entire body is rigid and her breaths are slow and helpless. She shifts on the bench and finally comes back to me. "I won't tell anybody." I whisper, looking into her green orbs. She looks relieved for a moment. "On one condition." Her eyes widen with a touch of fear. I can tell how deeply all of this carves at her, but if she won't allow me to tell anyone, then she will have to tell me. "Every time he does this, you tell me. No matter what. This is something I refuse to let you live with alone."

     She nods at me silently, as if she fears to say no. Maybe it's good she's scared to turn down the compromise, because this way I will always know when my solider is wounded.

     For a while we just stare at each other, trying to comprehend everything. I imagine how scary it is for her, and think about how strong she must be to hide it for so long. Much like her cutting, which also came out earlier that year. She swallows the obvious dryness in her throat before she whispers "Why are you so determined to help me?" The answer is easy.

     "Because you saved me Sierra Paige. You showed up here and gave me a reason to make my life worth living. I am eternally indebted to you, fore you taught me how to love, and I know for certain that Someday, you will be Somebody." Then she kisses me. It's nothing particular phenomenal. At least it wouldn't be to someone who wasn't me. That sweet, quick peck on my lips folded me over and forced me to realize just how much I loved that girl as she walked out.

My first love.

My first kiss.

My first everything.

     That girl was not only my soldier, but she was and is my only hero. No one will ever be able to save me the way she did, and I feel obligated to save her. Even if I can only save her from her father.

No more bruised Sierra Paige. I will Save You.

______~|~
That, my friends, is why Jake and Sierra cannot get over each other. You never get over your first love, and if you're anything like these characters; you refuse to allow those you love get hurt. LIKE! COMMENT! TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK! Love you my DARKLINGS.