3 | brad is waiting

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brad is waiting

Rose doesn't say anything else the entire drive to Pine Street. She's looking out of the window, hiding her face behind her black hair, lifting her hand up from time to time to wipe away the tears streaming down her cheeks.

I know I should try to comfort her somehow but to be honest, I have no idea how. I can barely deal with people when they are at ease so I can't even imagine how terribly my attempt to soothe her would end up if I tried to comfort her while crying.

Gripping the steering-wheel a little tighter, I watch my knuckles whiten a little. "Rose?" I begin quietly, my voice coming out as a cracked whisper. "Are you okay?"

I know there isn't anything that could be more stupid than asking her that question but I don't know how to start a conversation with her. What happened at the parking lot definitely didn't look okay and I have to make sure the situation isn't much worse than I assume.

She's silent for a long moment, almost prompting me to repeat the question again but at last, she swipes the sleeve of her long-sleeved sweatshirt across her nose. Though she still doesn't make an attempt to face me. "Yeah."

Her voice cracks at the end and something in my chest tightens. Her guarded response should be enough of a sign for me to drop it, but I can't. I know she's lying, judging by the way she's acting right now.

"I know I'm not in any position to stick my nose into your business," I tell her, silently praying I'm not overstepping any boundaries here, "and I don't want to come off as nosy or anything but if you want to talk about what just happened, I'm here to listen."

I turn my head to look at her at the exactly same moment she does. Her eyes are puffy, the black mascara smeared underneath them, the tender skin around her nose worn out.

"Nothing happened." She tells me weakly, her dark eyes burning into mine. "I appreciate your . . . offer, but there's nothing to talk about."A long strand of her black hair falls in front of her eyes and she reaches up, pushing it behind her ear. That's when I notice.

Almost her entire cheek is bright red, though that's not what catches my attention. What does however, is the slightly purple bruise forming across her cheekbone. My breath hitches a little and she apparently notices her mistake because she quickly slips the strand of her hair from behind her ear to cover the side of her cheek back up.

"What the hell?" I search her face with my eyes but she averts her gaze to her lap, the regret written all over her. "Rose. . . Did. . .Did Roger hit you?"

"No." She says, a little too quickly as she looks back up at me. "He didn't hit me."

She's trying to force me to think that with the words that spill out of her mouth but I'm not sure she believes them herself. I've been in her situation too many times to know how this works. Most people would never willingly confess to something like that.

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