Love

Chapter8

I said I was writing it–and I have been–but I haven't written in a while, whole bunch of stuff going on. But here's 8 and from now on I'm going to attempt to do triweekly updates, to keep myself accountable and active in my writing.

Here it is. [none of my chapters are really "finished"]

Still not finished, WILL edit 7 & 8 this week!

Sorry.

"Holy shit Tyler," Thomas yelled as Tyler inched his shirt off of his hidden pale skin. Thomas' mother delivered an disapproving scowl as Thomas uttered the words, shutting him up to future comment.

I was standing there feeling ashamed and embarrassed as Thomas' words slammed into me like a car crash, mangling the metal of my exterior and disrupting what resided inside. His words reminded me of how bad I really must have looked (my body decorated in bruises and gashes)– his words reminded me of how much pain I was in– pain that I was forced to feel because of one man's hate and disgust. Jeff: The Role Model to shitty uncles everywhere. Thomas' mother seemed unfazed by my bruises and cuts, but when I looked into her eyes I saw that they held a tinge of lingering concern. She was probably imagining that something like this could have happened to Thomas, her sweet, innocent, "little" boy. But she was an ER nurse; she was trained for this sort of thing–trauma, and not showing emotion when it was evident that there was some lingering just beneath the surface, like dirt under a fingernail. But she held her composure as she applied slight pressure to my ribs.

"How does this feel," she asked kindly.

Jumping at her soft touch, I gave her the answer she expected. Her fingers continued to apply light pressure across my bruised and tender ribs. I jumped and yelped slightly at each small amount of pressure applied, I mean it wasn't voluntary but, it hurt okay.

Fuck Jeff...for hurting me like this

She nodded at me slightly, signally that I could put my shirt back on. I was weary about taking it off in the first place, I hated how I looked– now more than ever– but she insisted that examining the severity of my injuries up close. Racing to put on my shirt, I slid it over my head before she sat me down on an ottoman and examined my gashed and injured on my face. Palming my face, she asked me a question that I knew was inevitable, but I prayed wouldn't be brought up, only because I didn't have a good enough lie to feed her.

"So, Tyler honey, how did this happen?"

My wide, eyes darted desperately in Thomas direction, as if this lanky boy held the answer to his mother's question, when he and I both know how this happened. One word: Jeff.

"Uuumm, I fell off my bike," I said, eyes slid back to her gaze.

"Uh-hu... riiight, because a fall can bruise your ribs like that. Tell me the truth," she said, lightly tapping my ribs, sending a shock of pain through my body.

UUUgghh!! That hurts! Oh my gosh that hurts soo much. I'm gonna have to tell her or she'll probably hit me harder. No! I can't tell her, fuck, screw it

"Jeff," I said lowly and in a whisper. Okay, it was more of a whimper, I just didn't want to think about him, or what he did to me.

Looking at Thomas persistently she asked, "And who is this Jeff?"

Thomas glanced my direction with a question in his eyes, he wanted to lie for me– I could tell– but I wouldn't let him, so I gave him a nod of approval.