The City | GirlxGirl

seven ➳

Blue eyes blinked through the bright sun that slipped between the open window and the blinds of Jude and Thom's bedroom. Thinking it was late morning from the luminosity of light that filled the room and reflected on the grey walls, Jude was surprised to find that it was only 8AM.

And yet Thom was gone.

Sitting up rapidly, Jude felt her entire body come alive with adrenaline. Heart rate, respiration, overall energy increasing.

Did he leave?

And by leave, Jude meant gone. Forever. Moved out.

After what had happened last night, she wouldn't be surprised. But she found herself terrified at the thought of Thom leaving her, at him breaking their eight-year relationship that had always run so smooth. What was it about this city, this place that they were in, that poured on what had previously been a warm and dry relationship? She felt the need for an umbrella to protect her from the troubles that had ensued in only a matter of weeks since she and Thom had moved here.

Thom's side of the bed felt cold. Like he had been gone for a long time-like he was never really there.

Jude stood, watching her hands shake as she held them at her sides. Thom was organized. He never left his things laying around like Jude did. Their room was decorated with notebooks and pencils and hair elastics and perfume bottles laying on any surface Jude could find. But Thom didn't have much to leave around, and he kept the things he had tucked away, obscured from view, and secured.

She opened the closet. Relief washed over her-a flood of air she exhaled deeply-as she saw all his clothing still in the closet. And then she walked quickly into the bathroom, and found his toothbrush, his razor, his comb. Everything where it was supposed to be.

In the process of searching for Thom's belongings in the bathroom, Jude caught sight of herself in the mirror. Just above her tender jawline, a circular bruise had formed. Its shade was dark blue-not at all a soft colour.

This wasn't uncommon.

This happened to a lot of couples.

As Jude stood in front of the mirror, her bare feet cold against the white tiles on the floor, goosebumps gradually growing upon her forearms and neck, she tried to convince herself of several different things.

It was alarming, yes. It's alarming when anyone hits you-it doesn't matter who. But it wasn't Thom's fault. It was the mixture of the stress of his job, the change of the city, and the booze he'd been drinking seconds before it happened. It wasn't his fault, but it wasn't Jude's, either.

She didn't provoke him. She knew this, and yet she had a hard time believing it.

As she squeezed toothpaste onto her toothbrush and held it, shaking, to her mouth, she fought the urge to find a statistic on how many girls are abused by their boyfriends. Surely there would be a number somewhere online.

But "abused" was the wrong word. It had only happened once. Thom hadn't meant it. He wasn't a violent man-Jude had never seen him angry before a few weeks ago. What had happened last night was a one-time thing, a rarity. It would never happen again.

What Jude wanted was to talk about it. To sit down with Thom, their nervous bodies separated only by their kitchen table that was barely broken in, and discuss what had happened. Like adults. Like a proper boyfriend and girlfriend.

She knew that wouldn't happen.

But she could still hope, like she sometimes hoped that Thom would burst through the door after his shift, a smile on his face the moment he saw her. She wished he'd pull her into his arms and hug her tightly to him. She missed the scent of his skin, his hair; the taste of his lips.