I was very grateful to Nick. He basically saved me when I was on the streets. But I wasn't sure If I could trust him...just not yet at least. I mean, sure. I told him everything, but inside I was secretly still wondering if trust was something I could have again.
Ever since Nick found out about the abuse I suffered at home, he's been pestering me more about the scars. When I didn't show him, he'd come back again and start asking the same question. I was scared though. To show him them, I mean. What if he freaked out? What if he...called the police?
A pair of crutches laid on the side of my bed, Nick giving me them till the numbness fades. Grunting, I pulled the crutches to my side and stood up carefully, not wanting to topple over onto the floor. As I stood up, I noticed the feeling of the wooden surface on my right foot but not my left.
"Max? What...are you doing?" He gazed at the crutches in my hands, slowly pulling them away and ushering me back to the bed.
"No, no, no. You need to rest." I rolled my eyes, feeling the plush comforter across my body, encasing me tightly. He sighed and sat down on my bed, glaring at my arms. I tucked them uncomfortably under the covers, hiding them from Nick.
"Please Max? I just want to see them once." Hesitant for a second, I shook my head. He mumbled something, and turned back around, ready to leave the room. My stomach boiled with guilt as I watched him leave, knowing everything he did for me this far.
I pounded hardly on the nightstand next to me, catching his attention. I waved my hands for him to come by the bed, making up the decision to show him. He sped to the bedside and crouched slightly, burning holes through the area where my arms rested.
Sighing, I lifted the covers up, exposing my black jacket and dirty tank top. My breath hitched as I felt my hands curl around the ends of the sweatshirt, pulling it off my body slightly. I looked up at Nick, his gaze still on the only place where he had seen the scars.
In one swift movement, I had the jacket tossed on the far end of the bed, hanging limply off the side. And then I saw his eyes. They were wide, shock and fear swirling within. My arms were covered in various shaped bruises, scars old and new. Blood-red cuts strewn across the surface of my skin, some still not completely healed.
He tilted his head up, directing his eyesight on my face. Sighing, I licked my thumbs and spread them on my caked cheeks. The tan-colored concealer rubbed off on my fingers, me furiously wiping the make-up away. By the time I was done, my hands were covered in the goop. I wiped my fingers disgustedly on my pants, spreading the thin substance on my pants.
"Max..." His voice sounded so worried, so concerned. His hands wrapped around my arms, lifting them up and down to examine. With each inch of wounds, he seemed more and more tense, stiffening beside me.
"You...never told me they were..t-this bad." I could tell he was struggling, trying to control the emotions inside him. My notebook laid near me, curling my fingers around the metal hoops.
'You're the only one who knows.' I lifted the paper to eye-level, exhibiting the scrawled out, blue inked writing.
"Why? Why only me?" I shrugged and placed the cap of the Bic pen onto the end, making it easier for me to write.
'You're the only one who really asked before.' His breaths seemed more controlled, his body seeming less tense.
"Hold on..." I cocked my head to the side as he rose from the ground and off to a nearby room. He came back with a handful of supplies and such, all dealing with first-aid supplies. I backed away slowly, heart pounding. I hated the sting of my cuts being cleaned, especially the deep ones.
"What? You're...scared?" I nodded quickly, a smirk placing itself on his lips. He sighed and grabbed my hand, now grinning.
"How about this. I hold your hand while the medical thingy's get applied to the cuts. It will hurt less. Swear." I thought for a moment before nodding slowly.
He grabbed a cotton ball with his right hand, left hand still intertwined with mine. The gesture sent heat rushing to my face, my cheeks growing hot, but I ignored it and watched him dab the cotton in a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. His fingers slowly inched closer to my cuts, checking to see if I was okay. I nodded, feeling like a coward.
In a matter of time, the cotton balls were finally placed on my skin, Nick spreading the liquid across my arms. I gasped loudly, feeling the burn of the cuts being cleaned out. His hand held tighter onto mine, realizing I was in pain. The liquid pouring in the wounds bubbled, the tingling yet aching sensation of the surface being washed out.
"It's okay. Almost done..." He grabbed a couple more cotton balls, holding them between his index finger and thumb. Finally stopping the procedure, I looked up to see him packing away the supplies.
"Anddddddddd...done." I smiled gratefully, him nodding his head and descending once again into the bathroom.
"I'm going to take a shower. Stay in bed, okay?" Nodding quickly, I let my muscles rest under the soft covers, my brain dulling as I felt more and more sleepier.
A sudden ringing noise woke me up. Nick's phone. The pounding noises of the shower emitted from the bathroom, alerting me that Nick was still inside. His phone rang again, vibrating against the desk beneath. My mind wandered curiously, wanting to know who was texting him so much.
I slowly stood up, crutches too. The phone was but a few inches away from me as I reached over, feeling the sleek texture on my palms. I was a little surprised at what the phone said, but still continued on looking through the technology: 3 new messages...from Lissa.
I clicked the IM page and opened up a list of texts between Nick and Lissa. As I began reading through them, I felt my heartbeat grow weaker and weaker. They were insults...meant for me. Through the time he had helped me, he had still been making fun of me. My heart strings twanged, feeling rejected and lonesome once more.
This close, I thought. This close to trusting him. Through the corner of my eyes, I saw Nick head for the room, hair dripping but clothed. He stopped at the door, looking at my pale face.
"What's up?" His voice was calm and cool, showing no panic or fear of the messages before me. Anger boiled inside me, my eyes flicking toward him. How dare he think that I would ever trust him? And I almost did.
I limped to the side of the door quickly, pushing Nick aside, and heading for escape out of the house. He toppled over and stumbled on the ground, quickly gathering himself up and running towards me.
"What the hell, Max! What's wrong with you?" I pointed to his phone furiously, his face growing nervous and sweaty.
"The messages..." He whispered softly, not noticing my hand reach toward the door knob to his house.
"Max! Stop! That was before..." I turned around and glared at him, tears streaming down my cheeks. His mouth opened slightly but closed, finally deciding to shut up.
And once again I ran. I ran away from the cops. And most of all... I ran from the arrogant bastard who once again, betrayed my trust.
