— Wren—
Waking up in the darkness felt unusual, yet it was counteracted by the blazing lights radiating from every corner of the house. Such illumination was expected when Josh was home. Josh stayed.
I ventured out of the bedroom, finding Josh seated on the living room floor, legs crossed, and his head cradled in his hands. As I approached cautiously, he raised his hand, signaling me to stop, his words concise, "There's blood."
Dread washed over me as my gaze fell upon the floor around him. Most of the glass shards had been cleared, but the crimson stains still marred the flooring. It better not stain; otherwise, my landlord will have my head.
Hurriedly, I dashed into the kitchen, gathering supplies to aid Josh in rectifying my mess. My mess.
"What do I need?" I called out.
"Well, I looked it up, and it suggested using dishwashing soap and water, though I'm not entirely sure if that's going to work," he responded.
"It's worth a shot."
"You're not helping me, Wren," Josh remarked.
"Why not?"
He met my gaze with sorrowful eyes. "Because you're uncomfortable with blood, and it's late. Your doctor said you need plenty of rest."
"But this is my mess. My fault." Josh's expression shifted into an indiscernible one. "Right?"
"No, not at all," he replied, clearly struggling to explain. "Wren, it's not your fault that Tyler hit you. You did nothing wrong."
"Then why do I feel like I did?" I whispered, prompting a look of imminent tears in Josh.
He approached me, pulling me into a tight embrace. I wrapped my arms around his neck, a comforting smile forming as I breathed in his familiar scent, remembering that Josh's embrace was where I felt the safest.
"How's your head doing?" he murmured into my hair.
"I'm getting a migraine," I confessed quietly.
Josh hummed in acknowledgment before lifting and carrying me down the hallway.
"Is the aspirin still in the bathroom?" he asked.
I nodded, and he set me on the counter before retrieving the medicine and a glass of water. Upon his return, he appeared melancholic once more.
"What happened, anyway?" I asked casually.
"It's a long story, Wren."
"Are you still friends with Ty?"
"Friends?" Josh frowned. "Look at what he did to you." Gently, he turned my chin towards the mirror behind me. I hadn't observed my reflection since awakening. I hadn't realized how severe the black eye truly was. It had hurt, but its unsightliness took me aback, and I began to shed tears at the sight.
"I thought he was my best friend," I murmured.
"Me too," Josh said with a sad chuckle.
As tears flowed, I continued to scrutinize my nearly unrecognizable reflection.
"Hey, no more crying," Josh whispered, swiping his thumbs across my cheeks to erase the fallen tears. "You're too pretty to cry," he teased.
"Not anymore," I pointed to my eye.
"You're beautiful no matter what, Wren," he declared seriously, causing me to blush faintly.
"Shut up."
"I mean it." Josh kissed my cheekbone gently, right beneath the bruise. "No matter what."
He leaned in and kissed my lips; it felt different from what I remembered. My heart melted anyway, and a slight smile formed on his lips.
"Wren?"
"Josh."
"I love you."
"Cross your heart?"
"Hope to die." His smile brightened, and he kissed me once more, more fervently this time. He lifted me from the counter and carried me into the bedroom, placing me on the bed. Leaning in for another kiss, he withdrew with a playful smirk.
"Your doctor said you need lots of rest."
"But—"
"Goodnight." He kissed my forehead, finally extinguishing the lights as he left the room.
