Good Enough

Mia - The End - Part 2

Julian's not answering his phone. I'm getting more and more worried as more and more calls and texts go unanswered. I saw that scar on his wrist. I felt the scars when I ran my hands under his shirt. I know they weren't just an accident. Are there more? Somewhere not on his stomach?

He's answered one of my calls a few minutes ago, but all I heard yelling in the background before Julian saying "shit", and then hanging up.

I start to pace around my room, waiting for the phone to ring. Or for a text to come. Something, anything, to tell me he's fine.

As I'm pacing, i catch a look at myself in the mirror. I remember when I was little, I used to stress eat. Not played with at recess? Popsicle. D on a test? Jolly Ranchers. Time out? Oreos.

Don't even think about it. You're doing great now! 

I've only eaten what Julian gave me yesterday. Not that I kept it down. But I'm not hungry. I'm not. I'm really not.

And that's not what's important here anyways. 

I start to bite on my nails nervously as I watit for some sign of Julian. God, I wished he would just tell me what's wrong. All those bruises...they're not from sports. Sports don't leave bruises in those places. Not unless he does wrestling - which he doesn't.

I pick up my phone and call Julian again. It rings once...twice...three times...but still nothing.

Julian please be okay. The realization hits me like a ton of bricks, and all at once the thoughts rush in....what if it's abuse? What if that's the bruises? What if they're cuts...that type of cuts. The type you make on yourself? What if that's why he doesn't like talking about home?

But no. That can't be what's wrong. Julian's smart. He'd tell someone if there was something happening.

Right? 

***

trust me, it gets worse. or maybe it doesn't. (the writing, not the story. maybe both tho)