Attenuated || Book 1 || ✔

·{ Cut }·

Jonathan's POV

It had been two weeks since the whole 'I-got-kicked-out-of-Evan's-house' incident. It wasn't awkward between us the Monday after, thankfully, but he kept apologizing.

Today was Friday, June 3rd, and yesterday I had a lovely encounter with an alcoholic withdrawn from alcohol. That alcoholic being more commonly known as Greta. Ever since then my left cheekbone has been stinging; I checked it a couple times yesterday, but I couldn't see anything.

Speaking of not being able to see anything, I couldn't see the board with all the notes for class very well. For the first couple classes I thought it might have been the fact that I got knocked in the head yesterday, which could have been the case, but every time I looked down at my paper I could see clearly. There was a possibility I needed glasses, which I was hoping I didn't because A, I didn't have the money because no one has called me back from the many job interviews I had gone to
and B, Greta would break them.

I snapped out of my thoughts and squinted my eyes to try to see the board more clearly. With no success, I looked down at my paper, and noticed a couple drops of red had fallen on it.

This shade of red I was very familiar with. It was blood, which made me panic.

I stood abruptly, grabbing my bag and keeping my head down as I rushed out of class, ignoring the calls from the teacher.

I entered the bathroom I had become so familiar with and placed my bag on the counter before looking at my face. That stinging was from a cut on my face that was now bleeding. How come I didn't see it before?

I took a paper towel and wet it a bit so I could wipe the blood off, but it just kept bleeding. I wasn't good at stopping bleeding, it was always Jackie who handled the medical type stuff. How do you stop bleeding? Just hold the towel there? I didn't know, so I just went with keeping it on the cut.

I heard the bathroom door open. Instead of looking over I ducked my head away, hoping whoever it was wouldn't see my face. That plan wasn't the best because there was a mirror in front of me.

"Jonathan...why is there blood on your worksheet?" The concerned Canadians voice asked and I looked over at the paper he was holding beside me. My hand was still holding the paper towel to my cheek, which seemed to catch his attention instantly.

"What happened?" Evan questioned, setting the paper down on the bathroom counter, water seeping through parts of it. He stepped closer to me, taking my hand away from my cheek and looking at the cut.

"I uh…ran into a wall….?" The uncertainty seemed into my voice. He let a small frown settle over his features as he took the paper towel from my hand and dabbed the cut.

"You got into another fight, didn't you?" He looked at me with sad, disappointed eyes and I couldn't help but look down at my feet. "Who was it with?" He quizzed, probably knowing by now I wouldn’t tell him.

"I don't-" I started, but he cut me off.

"No. You know. You have to know. Every single day I see a new bruise on you. A new cut, a new stain of blood. You may think you have covered it all, but I can see them. Sometimes your sleeves ride up…" his voice faded near the end as he briefly took a look at my wrists. My arms always had bruises on them. Especially on the wrists. Greta gripped them harshly a lot. "And your knuckles are covered in bruises and cuts." I panicked at this. I glanced down at my knuckles and they, in fact, did have faded bruises on them. That was from me working out…and me defending myself against Greta the weekend before, which was a grave mistake.

"Who is it, Jonathan?" I looked into his brown eyes and shrugged. His frown deepened. "I really hope someday you trust me enough to tell me. I won't push you. Hopefully, you'll tell me on your own." He tried to smile, but his eyes showed his clear sadness. That hurt me. I don't want to see that.

"I'm sorry, Evan…" My voice cracked, and he shook his head. He was still trying to keep that smile on his face as he finished tending the cut.

He didn't say anything more as he threw the paper towel away. He didn't mutter a sound as he took my backpack and worksheet off the counter, handing them to me. He didn't say a thing as he held the bathroom door open for me.

Honestly, I appreciated that he didn't push, but part of me wanted him too. Part of me wanted to tell him everything, no matter the consequences.

But the consequences stopped me the most from doing anything. I couldn't lose Jackie to a stupid foster system. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I never will.

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Whoa! Two days in row? :D
Just want to thank my friend for editing. They can't see this, but I thank them here anyways!

Sorry for any grammatical errors.

~NES