Opening the bottle of peroxide, I steady my jittery hand as much as possible and pour a little on some cotton. Reaching for his hand, he watches closely as I pick it up and bring it closer to me, resting it on my knee.
“This smelly stuff stings,” I warn before I dab the cotton on his wound.
He doesn’t flinch or make any sign that he’s in discomfort, but his pupils dilate as I wipe at his raw knuckles. Not liking the idea of him being in pain because of me, I bend at the waist, lean down, and blow lightly on his knuckles.
When he grips my knee tightly, I lift my head to look at him. His jaw set, his eyes hooded, he looks pissed. I whisper, “I think you’re good now.”
His face softens at my hushed tone, and he orders gently, “You need to go to sleep. You’ll be sore in the morning. Take ibuprofen.”
I don’t even get a word in before he stands, grips my upper arm firmly-but-gently, and pulls me up. Wrapping an arm around my waist, he walks me down to my room, lifts the covers of my bed, and helps me in.
I’m so relaxed right now. The ferocity of presence is alarming. I feel protected. And safe. I’m not scared of anything right now.
Laying my head down on my pillow, he pulls the covers up and over me before turning and walking away.
My head begins to pound, and my heart races.
What if you never see him again?
Just as I’m about to call out to him, he stops at the door and turns back. Looking a little unsure of himself, he watches me. I sit up, chest heaving. He searches my face for what seems like the billionth time, then asks, “You need my help sleeping?”
No hesitation. “Yes.”
He blinks. His brow furrows. Then he walks away.
Feeling very much alone right now, I can’t help the disappointment that courses through me. I accept the fact that this is how things are destined to be for me forever.
I’ve gone through everything in my life alone. I don’t need anyone now.
You don’t need anyone. It just would’ve been nice to have someone be there for you. Even if it was just for a little while.
Not wanting to think too hard, I close my eyes and lay my head down. But all I see is blackness in its bleakest form. All I feel is gripping fear. My body doesn’t feel like my own at this moment. It feels tarnished and defective.
Shutting my eyes so tight that it hurts, I hear his disgusting panting and bite my lip to stop my whimper. Covering my ear with my palm, I breathe heavily, only to inhale his rancid smell.
The bridge of my nose tingles. And I’m hurting.
I hate him for leaving me.
I hate myself more for wanting him to stay.
Tears slide out of the corner of my eyes, dampening my pillow. I push harder on my ear, trying hopelessly to block tonight out of my mind.
Things like this don’t happen to people like me. Maybe in my old life, but not anymore.
I’m not sure what I’m meant to be feeling after that, but I feel angry. And sad. And wounded. All at once.
I should be used to this. Comforting myself, that is. I revert back to my childhood and curl up on my side in a fetal position, lightly rocking. I need something to drown out my thoughts. Standing, I walk over to the CD player, press play, then all but throw myself back on the bed, once again curling up on my side.
I listen to Guy Sebastian sing about battle scars never fading. Keeping my eyes open for fear of what I’ll see if I close them, I stare into the void that is my room, wetness sliding out of the sides of my eyes.
A creak down by my door makes my ears prickle. Light footfalls follow. My body breaks out into goosebumps. The bed dips. Fright forces my heart to race.
Then…nothing.
I wait wide-eyed for an attack. An assault. Something.
Turning, I see his hood in the low light of the room. And my tight chest eases.
He didn’t leave.
Elation swirls through my troubled mind.
Curling up to watch him, I whisper, “You didn’t leave.”
But he doesn’t answer me. Lying above the covers, he pulls the hood lower onto his face, then places him arms behind his head. He says through a sigh, “Sleep, Lexi.”
Feeling safe, warm, and protected, I close my eyes and let slumber take me to a brighter place than today.
Tomorrow.
Waking with a start, my eyes snap open.
Disappointment fills me.
Twitch is gone.
I quell the urge to pout. Instead, I smile.
He might be gone now.
But he stayed.
Having done my best to cover the minor scrapes and bruising from the night before, Charlie looked at me a second too long and I jumped into panic mode. Immediately I forced a laugh and explained that I had a run in with a brick wall.
Charlie narrowed his eyes at me, but soon enough, smiled and shook his head in a ‘you’re a nut’ kind of way.
I managed to keep myself busy all morning, and before I knew it, lunchtime had come. Not wanting to stay inside and stuck in my head, I decided the park was the place to spend this fine sunny day. The urge to eat wasn’t very strong. My stomach still ached thinking about what could’ve happened the night before. Stopping at a local café, I bought a muffin and orange juice, then made my way over to the park across the street. Slipping off my shoes, I sat directly on the plush grass with my legs outstretched in front of me. Lifting my face, I took in the warm sun and sighed in bliss. I was beginning to relax again.
Which brings us to now.
My body hums in awareness. Awareness that I’m being watched.
My brows furrow. In the direct heat of the sun, I shouldn’t get goosebumps the way I just have. Suddenly, a feeling of contentment washes over me. Opening one eye, I turn and peer across the street as if I’m homing in on him.
And there he is.
A hooded figure, hands in his pockets, walking away from me.
Bubbles of warmth course through my body.
There he is. Watching me. Keeping me safe.
Or so my gut tells me. I know I should feel differently. I should feel uneasy. And even frightened. But I don’t. Something about this man puts my mind at rest. And I know deep down that I have nothing to fear. Twitch will protect me.
Just like he always does.
The front door to my unit opens and I hear familiar voices.
“Alexa, baby, we’re here!” Nicole Palmer, my very Aussie, very uninhibited best girl friend yells out. She quickly adds, “Where are you?”
Smiling, I shout back, “In the shower; be out in a minute!”
“Take your time, love. We’ll just open some bubbly and chill on the couch.” That’s David Allen, my best guy friend. He’s tall, strapping, and handsome, a complete sweetheart, and tragically enough for the female population of Sydney, a one-hundred-percent show-tune singing pansy.
Gay as they come.
Every year, he makes us dress up and attend the gay and lesbian Mardi Gras. And every single year, I make a fuss about going. The costumes are so damn revealing! But every single year, once we’re there, I have a blast. And knowing I’m there to support my friend is enough to get me there.
The bathroom door opens, and Nikki says quietly, “Hey, babe, just thought I’d let you know that Dave and Phil broke up last night.”
With my hands in my hair, working the shampoo into a froth, I gasp.
No way!
David and Phil have been together almost a year. Dave spotted Phil at the gym working as a personal trainer and made me sign up with him for sessions to get information out of him. I, of course, did this for my friend. He’s so adorably needy sometimes that it’s hard to say no to that sweet face. Three sessions in with Phil – and my body screaming in pain – I decided to ask him out. Not that I wanted to ask him out. Oh, no. See, I knew he was gay from the very first session we had together. It wasn’t as if the guy was hiding the fact that he went out of his way to check out the other guys’ asses while they trained.