Savior

The Boy Who Stays

It's a stare I have become accustomed to: curious, sympathetic, cautious.

A stare that I have received plenty of times today because of the blooming bruises on my wrist that are clearly shaped like fingers and show up every time my sleeve rises.

I'm sure the fading yellow on my jaw also isn't hard to miss and I know this particular waitress has noticed that I am forced to eat with my left hand because my right hand is bandaged due to a very painful burn on my palm.

My palm that had recently become an ashtray for His cigarettes.

But, I silently plead the waitress not to ask any questions and not to stare too much because He has finally taken me out of the apartment for the first time in weeks and if He notices her suspicion He will somehow blame it on me and lock me inside for good.

"You want desert, babe?"

His gravelly voice pulls my attention away from the older waitress and I offer Him a sweet smile to which He returns.

"No, thank you," manners are essential and must always be used around Him, "I think I'll use the restroom before we leave."

I don't miss Him tensing at my words and I try to make my smile as reassuring as possible, both for Him and for the waitress. His smile grows tight and my bladder is about to burst, so I lean forward and peck His lips quickly in hopes it eases the tension.

He barely has time to tangle His fingers into my long locks before I am pulling away. Finally, He nods in assent -pleased with my affection- and I scramble out of the booth and towards the back, barely noticing that the waitress had left sometime during our lip lock.

However, it's not long after I finish my business that I know her real reason for disappearing.

"Do you need help?"

I almost jump out of my skin when I exit the stall and find the waitress waiting next to the sinks for me. Her voice is hushed, her eyes wide in sympathy, and I know that she is only trying to help, but I begin to panic slightly as she continues speaking.

"I don't want to assume anything, but your bruises... the bandage... is that man out there... does he hurt you?"

I nearly choke as her words settle and I violently shake my head in denial, backing up into the wall and away from her. She approaches me like someone approaching a person with a gun and she even raises her palms up as if in surrender.

"It's okay, sweetie. We can get you help -we can put Him away," I instantly whimper at the words because why on earth would I want Him put away? He's all I have, "You just need to tell me the truth."

Right when I am about to open my mouth to deny all accusations, the door slams open to reveal the man in question -absolutely raging.

As soon as He takes in the scene -me cornered into the wall in panic and the woman trying to coerce me- His fists clench and He is storming towards us.

"You need to get away from her." He demands angrily, reaching out to grab ahold of my arm, but the woman steps into His path.

"No, I think you need to get away from her."

And all I can do is watch the two have a stand-off and try to calm my breathing and stop my hands from trembling -a habit that has only grown worse with time.

Suddenly, they are both turned to face me, their eyes pleading to choose them, but there isn't even a choice.

Ignoring the disappointment in the woman's eyes, I walk around her and into His arms. His fingers wrap around my injured wrist tightly and on purpose and I try hard not to wince as He begins to pull me away.