Symbol☀️Mike Nesmith

Chapter Seven

I swallow harshly and blink back tears. I know what's coming when Mike goes home. "Oh, hey... hey Matthew. You're home early." Matthew scoffs, but other then hat he ignores my comment.

"Who's this? The guy you've been screwing?" I shake my head rapidly.

"Wha- No! I would never!" I ball up my fists and I can already feel blood where my nails dig into the palm of my hands. The metallic taste in my throat rises again, and it tastes of blood.

"T-thanks Mike. I appreciate you getting the door unlocked for me." Mike nods his head and glances at Matthew.

"I should git goin'" I give Mike the most rehearsed fake smile I have- The one I've been practicing for scenarios like this one.

"It was nice seeing you." He matches my smile and makes his way down the stairs to the front door. Matthew pulls me inside and slams the door.

(Trigger Warning)

"Who the hell was he?!" I cant look in his eyes. I know what will happen if I look in his eyes. So I keep my head down. I keep my head down as he hits me- and I can feel bruises form almost immediately. But it could be worse- It could be so much worse for other people.

That thought echoes in my head as he continues on, hitting my head against walls, repeating slurs. The thought reflects itself as he pulls me apart at the seams, scarring me in a way that I will never be able to fix.

He shatters me like broken glass, that can be re-glued but never un-cracked. I will never be whole again. I will always look at a man and wonder if he could hurt me half as bad as Matthew does.

It's well into the afternoon when Matthew stops- he needs a drink. I watch him kick his shoes off and take a seat on the couch.

I go to our room and unpack his belongings. He packs lightly, so it doesn't take me long to finish, but when Im finished Matthew is already passed out. He's exhausted, which is understandable. So I start dinner, and try not to break down in tears for what seems like the millionth time that day.

I finish the food- but by that time Matthew is still asleep, so I simply write him a note and head out the door.

It's like most of my walks- the kind that you don't know where you're going until you're there.

Sure, I get many a weird looks as I walk down the street, people gawking at the cuts on my head and hands, the pale blue bruises on my neck and cheeks. But I don't notice, because for once in my life, I am numb.

I wish it were something I could turn on and off. My papa had always told me that I'm too emotional- definitely too emotional to work on a cattle farm. The feeling I get when Matthew hurts me; it's similar to what I felt watching the cows die. The only difference is that the cows were killed humanely- or as humanely as possible.

I feel too deeply- whether or not if its falling in love, or if its just getting too upset over the fact that I can't help the homeless dog on the street.

And just like that, the numb feeing is gone- it's replaced by agony. Maybe that's too dramatic of a word. Its the feeling in your gut that you get when you're caught doing something you're not supposed to be doing. It's the feeling you get when you found out you're childhood pet died. It's the feeling you get when you're waiting for death. Not quite empty, not quite ashamed. Its some unhealthy mix between the two, because you knew it was coming.

I still don't know where I'm going, but it does seem that I've arrived. I'm at San Antonio community college campus, at the pond in the middle. It's surrounded by buildings, and it has a nice fountain in the middle of the pond. People sit on the provided benches, studying, or making out with their significant other. I can hear someone playing guitar, and the tune is familiar, though I'm sure I've never heard it on the radio before.

I follow the sound of the guitar and do something that I never thought I would be doing today. I laugh.

I laugh because the guitarist is a lanky, tall man with dark hair and a green wool hat. He sits by the lake, and every once in awhile he'll look up from his guitar to scribble something out.

I take a seat beside him. It takes around ten minutes for him to notice me, but when he does he sets his guitar down.

"What happened to you-"

"I thought you were just coming here to waste time." I tilt my head to the side in mock questioning. He laughs a deep, hearty laugh.

"Isn't that what I'm doing right now?" I pull my legs up and cross them, so that I'm sitting Indian style.

"Your song was nice." He blushes and fidgets with his hat.

"Thanks." He doesn't say anything else, instead opting for closing his notebook and putting up his guitar. He yawns and lays down in the grass.

"You look really nice like that. I wish I had my camera." I watch him. His eyes stare up at the sky, which is starting to turn dark and his arms are folded comfortably behind his head. He adorns an amused look on his face.

"Are you, Anna Penny, calling me cute?" I laugh.

"I'm pretty surprised myself, Mr. Mike." I move  so that I'm leaning over him. He shields his eyes from the sunlight and looks up at me. We sit like this for awhile, comfortable silence lacing the air, the only noises were the quacking of the ducks and the way the branches of the trees rustles when the wind blew.

I lay down, resting my head on Mike's chest. He runs his hands through my hair and starts to hum the song he has been working on before I had arrived.

I know that I'll get hell for this.

I don't know if it's Mike's calm humming, or the sun in my eyes, or maybe it's that I feel safe here, but I fall asleep.