I was itching to ask how he got his huge bruise as I was asking if it needed more ice. Like burning with the need to know.
Once it all came out, I wished I had stayed in the dark.
It was bad enough to know he'd got drunk because of me and my stupid past. And then knowing he got hurt from it physically as well. But to know it was Alex?
I know you don't know much about Alex. I don't like to talk about it, but for the sake of context, I'll go over a couple of things real quick.
- He isn't hard to annoy, but he is hard to piss off completely
- He doesn't often respond with violence, unless really provoked
- He can get possessive
- He does not spontaneously explode in a fit of anger the way Cay said he did. He might land a few punches to get his point across, but no further
But... I guess, as disheartening as it is, there's an exception to every rule.
And he might have changed a lot over the last couple of years. Who knows? I wouldn't, he didn't bother to stay in touch, and ignored my efforts.
Despite Cayden's assurances that it would take more than this to get rid of him, I can't help but feel a little nervous. I trace a finger lightly over the marks on his chest, biting back tears for the second time in as many days, and doing a much better job of it than before, I might add. I didn't like the thought of Cay being in pain.
I didn't like the idea of Alex being the cause of it. Especially considering it's taken me so long to really begin moving on after a lot of false starts and hopes raised and shot down again. I'd just been getting him out of my head for good and here he is, back to reclaim me as his own.
This isn't doing good things to my head.
I don't know where my loyalties are supposed to lie. With my oldest friend, who has stuck with me through so much and known me since I was fourteen? With my new boyfriend, who I still don't know as well as I'd like to.
I don't even know the guy's last name. Do you really think that "Smith" is his last name? Really?
I want to pick Cay without hesitation, and what Alex apparently did should make me find that easier. But it doesn't.
And I'm suddenly scared that this is a relationship falling apart before it really has a chance to get going. Carefully, I lie back against Cay's chest, pulling his shirt back down and slide my arms around his waist. I feel uncomfortably like a child clinging to either a comfort toy, or its parent, vulnerable and scared of the monsters under the bed. Monsters sporting Alex's face.
Suddenly, I realize he had spoken and I hadn't said anything. I go with pressing my face carefully into his shoulder and hoping everything will go away and leave me alone, instead of replying. I think my clinging to him is answer enough, don't you?