Black & Blue |C. Cullen|

ONE

I stumbled into the hospital, my husband aided me in walking. He gripped onto my arm and his nails dug indents into my skin, this wasn't noticeable from the outside party. We approached triage and a nurse asked us to describe what had happened.

"She fell," Aaron answered for me, I stayed quiet.

"Can you fill these out? Someone will be with you shortly," the nurse smiled at us.

Aaron took the clipboard and helped me walk over to a chair in the waiting room, "Come on, darling, let's sit."

It was more of a command than an offer, I knew better than to alert anyone to what had been occurring. My torso was covered with a sweater and my neck was covered by a scarf; extra precautions to ensure that people would not notice the bruises. Aaron filled out the required paperwork and returned it to the nurse at the front desk while I continued to sit silently in the waiting room chair.

He returned to my side and placed his arm around me as though he was protecting me, the reality was far from that. He whispered things in my ear, "Everything is going to be okay."

Sure, I thought. I was allowed to think whatever came to my mind, I didn't dare vocalise any of it. The nurse from behind the desk ushered us to a bay in the emergency room, I was sat on a bed and my vital signs were taken. I was ordered to say that I preferred my left arm in regards to blood pressure so that no one would see the bruises on my right arm; Aaron had everything very meticulously planned out.

After my vitals were assessed, the nurse moved to the nurses' station and placed my chart in the pile of patients that needed to be seen. Our curtain was drawn, so Aaron leant over and whispered to me, "Remember, if you hint at anything you will get punished for it."

I nodded in understanding, what else was I supposed to do? We waited for a doctor to show up, while we waited, Aaron scrolled through his phone. I was aware that he was speaking with other women, it didn't seem right that he was so possessive over me when he had other women to comfort him. But, again, what was I supposed to do?

Our curtain pulled back and Doctor Cullen looked over my chart, "Good afternoon, Mrs Clark, what brings you here today?" His eyes lifted from the chart and glanced at my face.

"I fell down the stairs this morning," I lied.

"Oh, well, we can stitch you up, give you some pain medication, and you'll be able to go on your way," he smiled.

"Thank you," I said quietly.

He turned to retrieve supplies from the room behind the nurses' station and Aaron leant over to me, "Good girl."

I mentally cringed, physically I simply looked down at my hands. Doctor Cullen came back to us and started unwrapping supplies to sew the cut up on my forehead. "Sir, there is some paperwork that needs to be filled out, you can retrieve it at the nurses' station."

"I'll get right to that," Aaron squeezed my hand and stood to retrieve the paperwork.

"This will only take a moment," Doctor Cullen said and patted my right arm gently.

I recoiled and bit my lip, "I'm sorry, I just worked out yesterday so my arms are sore," I lied again.

"No worries," he smiled and began the sutures.

Aaron came back after filling out the paperwork and Doctor Cullen snipped the last bit of the thread before covering the wound with a bandage. "You're good to go, here's your prescription, feel better," he smiled and scribbled something on a piece of paper that my husband took.

I nodded and Aaron helped me stand. We walked out of the hospital and he helped me into the car. Once the car was moving, things returned to normal. "What did you say?"

"Nothing," I replied.

"I need to know exactly what you said to him," Aaron growled.

"I told him thank you, that's all. I didn't speak other than to thank him," I explained.

"Good girl," Aaron replied and drove into town to the pharmacy.

He ordered me to stay in the car and he locked it, windows up, in the middle of the Summer. He stepped into the pharmacy and retrieved my medicine. Sweat began to bead on my forehead and I waved my hand to produce air, although the action technically made a person warmer instead of cooler.

He came out of the pharmacy after ten minutes, as soon as I saw him I stopped fanning myself and I returned to my neutral position; my hands in my lap and my gaze straight ahead. He stepped into the car and threw my medicine at me. "Thank you," I replied.

"Time to go home," he tore out of the parking lot and made the ten minute trip from the town to our secluded home, the trip was completely silent.

We got out of the car and I followed him as he unlocked the front door and pushed me inside. I caught my footing before I could fall and I walked into the house and stood until I was given a command.

"Take your sweater off," he ordered. I did as I was told, he admired his work on my arms; he was a painter and I was the canvas. He painted in black, blue, and purple and his art was restricted to one viewer; himself. "Take your scarf off," he told me.

I did as I was told and revealed the red marks on my neck that took the form of a handprint. I lost my grip on my scarf and it fell to the ground, I held my breath for what was to come. Aaron's hand came across my face and made a high-pitched noise on contact. I shut my eyes closed to stop the tears from forming at the brim. I mean, what else was I supposed to do?