Broken- And Fixed Again- (A Jamilton Fanfic)

Chapter 2: Bruises

//TW: domestic violence, physical abuse, self-harm, panic attacks, swearing\\

Alexander

Bruises.

When his scarf slipped a little while he was looking up at me, that was all I could see. The trail of new and fading bruises running up and down his neck, clashing against the warm, brown skin. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the collage they created, a sick painting that didn't belong. They burned into the back of my mind, and as I tried my best to focus on the lecture, they were all I could see. The bruises marring his flesh, the colors of pain, the colors of fear. I had to force my eyes anywhere but him. I had to force myself away from staring at him and unlocking the secret the bruises posed.

And there was something about his eyes, when he looked at me. So fearful, so cautious. Like a wild animal, caught in the headlights, the touch of death drawing dangerously close with each moment that passed.

My fingers curled around the pen tightly as I watched the second hand on the clock slowly tick by, something I hadn't done in years. But I had to talk to him again, before he disappeared altogether.

Why was he acting so strange?

The only time he smiled was when I complimented the drawing of the bird. Truly smiled. Dropped his barricades and let that smile poke through. It was such a shame to let such a wonderful smile go to waste. What I wouldn't give to see it again, even if it was just for a moment.

And I saw the way he flinched when I raised my hand—why the fuck had he flinch when I raised my hand? Another memory I couldn't purge from my mind, the sight of him recoiling as though waiting for a strike.

My foot tapped against the ground, bouncing wildly as I waited. Washington was finishing up, but he really was taking his time, wasn't he? It felt like every second I wasn't talking to Jefferson was a second wasted. And I couldn't stop myself from glancing over every now and again. His head was bowed, staring intently at the page of notes in front of him, but his fingers clutched the sticky note as tightly as they could. As though it was his lifeline, his savior. I glanced back at the clock, and Professor Washington finally drew the lecture to an end, wishing us all a good weekend and whatever shit he usually did.

I crammed all of my stuff in my bag without any sense of organization and shot to my feet, but somehow, he was already gone. My eyes scanned the flurry of the class before spotting him at the front, pulled aside by his boyfriend. I could see their lips move just enough to where I knew they were talking, but I had no idea what about. But judging by the way James gripped Jefferson's arm, he wasn't happy. His expression was guarded, but the way his fingers dug into Jefferson's arm revealed more than anything else could, especially when coupled with Jefferson's uneasy wince, his scared countenance. It filled me with such an inexplicable rage, a hatred that burned hotter than a fire and brighter than the sun.

But that was always the thing with James. He was a silent person, and even when the two of us were friends before, it was impossible to know where you fell with him. He was quiet by nature, but always watching. I hadn't known him well enough to know his tells, but the way he grabbed his boyfriend, the way his plastered-on smile wavered when Jefferson tried to defend himself? It sent alarm bells echoing in my head.

I inched closer, trying to stay unnoticed, but as more people cleared out of the room, that became harder and harder. I finally managed to get close enough to make a guess at what James was saying.

"I don't ever want to see you talking to him again, you understand?"

I froze, my heart dropping. Jefferson nodded, never meeting James's eyes. How could you, when they were cold enough to send that ghostly chill winding its way up your spine even in the unbearable temperature of a classroom heated as far as it could go? James opened his mouth to say something else, but Jefferson hurried past him. I winced as he disappeared in the crowd of people rushing through the hallways, making me marvel at how such a tall and noticeable person could become nothing more than another face in the crowd in a matter of seconds.