In The Dark

Number Four. Bruised Lover

I didn't wait up for him all night, I didn't stay curled up on the couch, looking out the window only to see my own puffy faced reflection staring back at me. Why would I wait around for the man who almost choked me to death for no good reason, maybe I shouldn't be surprised.

I have always known why I shouldn't retaliate, Carter has no emotional regulation and yeah, maybe calling him a fucking psychowas a bad move, but his reaction doesn't justify it. I intended to keep my mouth shout, but all of a sudden, I was screaming back at him and proving that there was some validity to his jealousy.

He isn't a saint, truly he couldn't be further from one though he could try, but even when I would push his buttons there was never lone violence, it was always a rough fuck with my ass bright red and his fingers around my neck. Never attempted murder against out living room wall.

In the end all I was in that moment was a punching bag, I said the wrong thing at the wrong time and all of his stresses of the day were aimed in my direction. I think it reminds me off my Dad, though he was never violent he would get angry, and all that rage would be pointed in my direction. Though it was always Mum, Toby or his work that got under his skin, I was always the relief.

My throat is marked blue and purple, the old mixing with the new, I covered it with makeup in the early hours of the morning as though covering it up would make the memories go away. My reflection has never been my best friend, but I don't remember hating it as much as I do at the moment.

He's a broken man, for reasons I doubt I will ever learn but it is his callousness that has shattered me in return, and I feel no better than him sometimes this rage that fills me. Sometimes it fills me so completely that I feel I could kill or seriously harm someone.

I jump slightly, sitting up and letting the thin blanket fall from my shoulders to peer over the couch, the front door is creaking open close to midday. Carter stops at the dining table, careful eyes observing me, checking to see I am alive and not some hallucination he has conjured up, a ghost haunting him for his actions.

I waited up all night to see him.

Slowly I get up off the couch to face him, resentment picks at my bones as I am reminded that he left me here when I was hurt, no apology he just left, so why should I be the one who makes the first move. Carter looks conflicted, trying to decipher what the best next move could be but he looks so exhausted.

I am glad he didn't sleep well last night.

After a moment of hesitation, he takes a step to the side and my heart leaps in my chest, only to be crushed a second later when he reroutes, changing course and disappearing into our bedroom. I fall back onto the couch, tears burning my eyes even when I know he isn't worth it, despite my pleas logic doesn't stop the ache.

His footsteps stop next to where I am sat on the couch with my face buried in my hands, his hands pull against mine, but I refuse to meet his eyes as he crouches down in front of me. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he slips two black trainers onto my feet and ties them in tiny bow's, grabbing my shaking hands next and slipping fluffy gloves over them.

After gently pulling me to my feet, he slots and beanie over my ears, one that matches his when I look up at his exhausted features, I don't see any regret though and so, I don't dare speak. The hope bubbling in my chest is dangerous and I can't bare for it to pop this time.

Carter slips a thick brown coat up my arms, buttoning it up without a word and slipping a woollen scarf around my neck, his fingers lingering over the bruises beneath my concealer. Without a single word he pulls me up from the sofa more carefully than he has ever been with me before, it gives me whiplash and makes my stomach clench.