Companion

Chapter 6: I'm Not Okay

The rest of the day is filled with quiet gossip. At lunch, I find Nate. We don't mention what happened this morning. But I can tell he wants to.

On our way out of the building at the end if the day, he walks with me. I'm extremely grateful for his protection, and I feel like an ass for not thanking him. But I don't. I feel like it's not the time.

He stays with me all of the way to the bus stop, at which point I excuse myself and walk up to Physics Girl.

"Do you have my answer?"

"Yes." At this, she actually looks at me for the first time.

"And?"

"If I could keep any memory, I would keep the memory of what happened to me this morning."

"Do explain why."

"Because then I could remember how not to treat people. I could remember how it felt. And I would have a source of anger and adrenaline to keep things like that from happening. If that was my only memory, I could stop it from being other people's memory."

"Do you need help with physics by any chance?" She asks. Shocked, I nod. The bus pulls up. She hands me a folded piece of paper, and I thank her before she boards.

For what seems like the first time today, I smile a real, genuine, cannot-be-suppressed smile. And it feels delicious.

+++++

Nate and I board last. There are more stares, but I pull an Edge and pretend not to notice. I feel Nate's hand on my lower back, guiding me forward.

And then I see Edge.

"Holy shit," I gasp. He looks at me. No expression crosses his badly bruised face. His eye is blacking and starting to swell because he hasn't iced it. His bottom lip is completely swollen and covered in dried blood. And that's just his face. I reluctantly sit next to him as the bus doors shut.

"I would ask you if you're okay, but I know you're not."

"Your fork marks are showing," he says darkly. I stare at him.

"Your entire face is swollen and you're worried about my fork scratches?" I ask in disbelief. Edge shrugs.

"You put so much effort into covering them up."

"Let's just say there were some tears this morning."

"Sounds like we both had lovely days."

"Oh yes. I think I'm getting a bruise on my stomach."

"Will you let me see it when we get home?" Edge winks. I laugh. "That's not an answer!"

"I'll show you if it's worth showing."

"Oh, trust me," Edge smirks seductively at me, "it's worth showing me." I shove him, laughing again. There are no more words for the rest of the ride, but I think we've definitely bonded over what shitty days we've had.

+++++

When we get home, Edge passes out on the couch and I do my homework at the kitchen table. Physics Girl, whose name is actually Violet, had taken notes for me during the few minutes I missed in class. Apparently someone can miss a lot in a few minutes.

I finish all of my homework, and pray that my work load stays this small. Which it won't.

Quietly, I tiptoe up the stairs. I can't help but look at Edge on my way. He's completely knocked out. His black eye looks awful. I continue upstairs and climb into the attic.

+++++

Too lazy to actually clean out the boxes in the attic, I resort to stacking them in a more efficient, condensed manner along the left wall. As I begin to clean, not only do I discover a desk on the right wall, but I also uncover a small window. With an old rag, I dust off the window and the attic is ten times brighter than before.

After what feels like a few hours, and once I see the sun just beginning to set, I decide to go downstairs and make dinner.

When I reach the living room, Edge is awake. And doing push-ups. In the middle of the living room. With each rep, he shakes a little more. I can't help but watch. Until he stops and puts his knees down on the carpet. But he doesn't look at me. My eyes dart away from him and towards the kitchen, afraid of what he might do for some weird reason.

Then, Edge covers his face with his hands, and I see his shoulders start to shake. Slowly, unsure of what I'm about to do, I walk towards Edge. I timidly put my hand between his shoulder blades.

Edge grabs my wrist and flips me. I land on my back, and all of the air is knocked from my lungs. As I struggle for my breath, Edge straddles me, pinning my wrists to the floor. His face is red and wet from crying. Hot tears roll from his face onto mine, and for a fleeting moment I feel bad for him. But then I sweep my arms downward, knocking him forward, and use all of my strength to flip so that I'm on top of him, pinning his arms down.

I feel extremely victorious. But it only lasts about twenty seconds, because Edge easily flips me back over, putting his full weight on me, anticipating my possible next moves. I have no clue what to do. Throwing away all rational reason, I thrash all over the place, and Edge lets go of my wrists. I blindly claw my hands at him, never making any pain-inflicting contact. I feel a painful slap across my right cheek, and another on my left cheek.

Tears of frustration and rage stream from my eyes into my ears, and I try to suck in more air as Edge lands a punch to my stomach. I'm screaming now. Hoarse, ugly screams, laced with coughs. Edge slaps me again, and my ears start ringing.

I shove myself backwards, away from Edge, and he grabs my ankle dragging me back towards him. I yank my leg back and out of his grasp, thrusting it forcefully back in his direction in vain. Edge straddles me again, and wraps his fingers around my throat. My eyes manufacture more tears than I thought possible, and I struggle for air. I watch Edge's face, still red with fury, eyebrows furrowed, no longer crying. Just angry. I start to see spots. I shut my eyes, attempting to help the dizziness. I'm going to pass out. I'm going to die.

Terrifying scenarios pass through my head so quickly, that I don't even feel Edge's grip soften. I barely register the fact that he's off of me. I curl up in a tight ball on the floor, sobbing disgusting, ugly sobs.

I hear him kneel down beside me. He puts a hand on my shoulder, and I flinch away, swinging my arm back and making contact.

"Fuck," he swears under his breath. "Look, I--"

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" I scream, standing up and whirling to facing him. I keep my eyes focused on his, in case his expression causes me to soften. Tears are still flowing from my eyes, down my face, and collecting at my chin, but I ignore them. We stand there like that for what seems like forever, just staring at each other when I want nothing more than to look away. Finally, I slap him and run back upstairs.

I pitifully, disgustingly sob into my pillow until I'm too exhausted to function, and fall asleep.