"Young love tends to be based on nothing but feelings. The couple has not yet faced and overcome a challenge or difficulty together. They are passionate about each other. They think about each other constantly and want to spend all their time"
Isaac...
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The next day was probably one of the worst — not because of how I felt, but because of how much I had to cover it up. The bruises were easier to hide than usual, and somehow, the pain wasn't as sharp. I didn't know why this time felt different, but part of me already knew who to thank.
My first thought when I woke up was of Angie. How kind she'd been last night — cleaning me up, giving me something for the pain, and acting like it wasn't a burden. I didn't expect it to help as much as it did.
The bruises faded quicker, the soreness dulled. Not unless you were as close as me could you tell they were even there. And I knew it wasn't luck.
I was fine... until it was time to leave. Angie had offered for me to stay, but I didn't want to overstep. She'd already done too much. I knew she wasn't okay with it — with any of this — but it seemed like she was starting to understand. Starting to figure out ways to help without getting other people involved.
And even though I knew what was happening to me wasn't okay — even though sometimes I hated my dad for it — a part of me clung to the times when I didn't. I held onto the version of him I didn't hate. Maybe one day, I'd get him back. That was the lie I told myself to survive.
I'd be lying if I said Angie hadn't been on my mind all night. The way she hugged me... it felt like love. I knew it wasn't. I was probably just overthinking it. She was kind — too kind, maybe — and decided to help me when she didn't have to. But she didn't deserve to carry all my problems. She had her own, I knew that. Still, I couldn't shake it. There was a comfort I'd felt with her that I hadn't known in a long time.
And now... there she was, waiting for me in her car, and inside, I was grinning like an idiot.
"Hey..." she greeted softly as I slid into the passenger seat.
I shut the door and buckled my seatbelt, catching the way her eyes lingered on me — inspecting, searching.
"How do you feel?" she asked, her hand coming up to gently turn my face toward her.
That feeling again. Her hand was soft, careful, and the way her eyes settled on mine made my stomach twist. I knew I shouldn't be thinking about her like that — not after everything that happened last night — but I'd taught myself to focus on the good things when the bad got too heavy. I couldn't carry both.
"I'm fine. Whatever you gave me worked... almost too well," I admitted. "My wound's basically healed, and I'm not as sore as usual."
I regretted saying it the moment it left my mouth because the worry in her expression deepened. I didn't want her to worry about me.
