a month later. we did not speak of your bruises. we didn't talk to each other much, actually. after i dropped you off, our communication was cut to only greetings and farewells. other than that, no words were exchanged.
i missed you like crazy. i missed your smile and your voice and i missed just talking to you. but above all, i was worried.
i think you knew i figured out it was your dad. i think you know that's why i didn't ask anymore questions, because they were already answered.
i didn't know what to do. i promised myself i wouldn't tell anyone, but you were getting hurt. you needed help and you needed it quick.
i didn't tell anyone. i should have. maybe we could have avoided everything.
it's my fault. you needed me and i didn't do anything about it.
YOU ARE READING
i'm sorry.
Short Story(Completed) your body was a canvas and your father's fist was the paintbrush. lowercase intended
