Waiting

I took in a deep breath, leaning against the classroom door, before entering. A couple of people glanced over as I limped across the room, and I avoided looking at them. Half-way to my desk, though, a voice stopped me.

“What happened to you?”

Putting on a smile, I turned around to face her. “Ah, good morning-”

“Don't you 'good morning' me when I asked you a question.”

Her eyes ran over my arms and then to my face, seemingly taking stock of every bruise and cut. I cleared my throat, bringing her gaze back to mine. “It's nothing, don't worry about me.”

“Could you say anything to make me more worried about you?” she asked, and I cringed.

I brought my hand across to rub my arm, looking away from her. “Just, don't,” I whispered. Though I expected her to say something, I started walking away, and found myself surprised by her silence. When I made it to my seat and eased myself down, I checked on her.

Glistening eyes, and I had to look away, had to look down and swallow the shame I felt.

~~

“I, I know things have been tough since your father passed away,” she said, so softly I leant closer. “Whatever you're doing, though, it's not right. You're hurting yourself and you won't tell me why and.... Seeing you look half-dead hurts, and refusing to tell me why hurts.”

Calming words languished on the tip of my tongue, as I couldn't bring myself to say them. “I won't lie to you, and I can't tell you the truth.”

Slap me, punch me, scream at me, any of those would have been better than hearing a sigh that lasted far too long. “I hate that I can't hate you,” she whispered.

~~

I waited for her to look over or to say something, to acknowledge me. She didn't, though. Never once did she so much as glance towards me. Not even once.

~~

The night air felt good, almost like an icepack on the aches. I took a deep breath in, leaning against the gate to my lonely apartment. For a moment, just sleeping outside on the piece of grass that passed as a lawn tempted me.

In slow steps, I moved towards the front door. I must have been half-asleep already, because I only noticed her hunched up on the floor when I had the key in the lock. “Shouldn't you be home?” I asked, offering my hand.

Standing up, she didn't take it. “Come on, I'll clean you up,” she said, so softly, without looking me in the eye.

“Okay,” I said, though I wanted to tell her to go home – both of us knew she wouldn't listen.

“Where's your first-aid kit?” she asked, stepping inside and taking off her shoes.

I copied her, though I usually didn't. “Kitchen table.”

She nodded and walked down the little hallway, glancing at the rooms before getting to the kitchen at the end. By the time I joined her, she'd gotten most of what she needed out, already preparing the anti-septic and a damp cloth.

Leading me to a chair, she didn't waste any time and said, “Take off your shirt.”

I almost replied with a jab, like I would have before it all happened. Instead, I complied, fumbling my way down the line of buttons. Whenever I glanced up at her expression, it hadn't changed from empty eyes.

The cool cloth felt wonderful as she wiped away the sweat and grime and trickles of blood. Yet, the silence between us started to get to me.

“I told the teachers that I took up boxing, to help cope,” I said.

Her ministrations didn't pause. “Is that the truth?”

“No.”

She moved on to the anti-septic, dabbing at the few cuts and leaving a familiar burning sensation. I yawned when she moved away, stretching my arms up. “Do you need any painkillers?” she asked.

“No.”

After putting on a couple of plasters, she packed everything away. “I'll be going now.”

I wished I could give her a reason to stay. “Thank you,” I said, stopping her in the doorway. “I appreciate this, but you don't need to. I can clean myself up.”

Her hands clenched for a moment. Then, she was gone, and I was alone.