The Boy with the Whiplash Tattoo

Five

We sat in silence except for the scraping of our forks on ceramic.

"Where did you go?" I finally plucked up the courage to ask.

He glanced at me, and then, startled when my eyes met his, looked away.

"Out," he answered quietly.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, afraid to open up the subject between us.

He didn't answer, but I saw his shoulders stiffen.

And that made me want to explain.

"I'm sorry about last night. You were crying in your sleep, so I came to quiet you."

He froze, mug of steaming coffee halfway to his mouth, and turned slowly to stare at me.

I saw the anger in his wide brown eyes, his pupils dilated and his lips slightly parted. I shouldn't have thought so, but he was breathtakingly beautiful that way.

"I think you were mistaken," he said, his voice soft and clipped, his tone level. And yet his chest rose and fell rapidly with the effort it took to contain his temper.

"I wasn't crying," he continued. "I never cry." His throat caught as he said it, stumbling over his words, his gaze dropped.

"Sorry," I whispered, because I didn't know what else to say. I wondered if the rest of my life would be nothing more than an apology.

He mumbled something incoherent and stood up, knocking his chair over.

It made me jump violently, and he looked round at me, an expression of mild sympathy flashing briefly across his features.

Aaron looked away again, his dark eyebrows pulling together into a frown.

"Ami is coming to visit later," I told his back.

Ami, my best friend. Well, at least that's what I used to think, until all this. It was alright for her, she had married the man she'd always wanted to.

"I'm going out," he grunted.

"But..."

Why did he think it was ok to leave me here to deal with all this? While he just ran away?

Remembering him last night, curled up and sobbing like a child, my heart softened a little.

He didn't say anything, just walked to the front door and pulled it open. A blast of freezing cold air blew his hair back from his face.

"Aaron, wait!"

He paused, one foot still raised to step out into the winter morning.

I grabbed his coat from the back of a chair and ran to catch him.

"Here," I said, thrusting it towards him. "You'll get a cold otherwise."

He stared at me for several silent moments, making me feel distinctly uncomfortable.