Broken

• Chapter 48 •

- CLEMENTINE -

What?

I want to scream at him and shove him, slap him. But I can't. He wants to take care of me? He could barely stand me yesterday. What the fuck is this bullshit?

Ashton rolls his eyes at me, "Clementine, your vocal cords are sore. The doctor's writing up excuses for us for school. You can't go, you can barely walk. Who's going to watch over you?"

I scribble furiously onto the notebook.

ME! I DON'T NEED YOU. I'M FINE! THANK YOU!!!

He purses his lips at me, seeing that this conversation is going nowhere. He blows air out and shrugs, "Fine. But will you stay tonight? In case you do need anything? You still can't even walk by yourself."

Anger boils up inside of me, tears sting my eyes. He's pitying me, isn't he? I clench my jaw and stare away from him, refusing to let him see me like this. I hear him take a deep breath, he slides the notebook towards me.

Fine. Just tonight. You're taking me home first thing in the morning.

He reads my response, his lips twitch slightly. He looks back up at me with an expression I can't pinpoint and nods once, clenching his jaw. He stands and extends his arm to me, I give him a questioning look.

"You said you needed to take a shower earlier, and I agree."

I snort at this, and it comes out as a painful whine instead. Pain flashes through his features, then his face softens into the faintest of smiles. I give him my hand and he helps me to the bathroom.

"Turn left for the hot water, right for cold. Pretty straightforward," he says as he pulls out a fresh towel from the drawers and sets it on top of the counter.

He scratches the top of his head awkwardly, "So um, I'll just be out here. If you need me, squeal."

I grin despite the facial-muscle pain, and he seems satisfied with my response. I shut the door when he steps out and begin getting undressed. I don't dare look at myself in the mirror as I step into the tub. My body trembles as I sit and let the water run along my back.

I close my eyes, and I see him. I feel his hand on my upper thigh, my waist. His lips against my neck. His tobacco breath on my skin. I fight the urge to hurl and decide to examine my body instead. A handprint taking up almost the entire left side of my torso is imprinted onto my waist, and it's beginning to bruise.

I turn the tap fully to the left and let it burn me, burn the bruise off, burn his touch off. I scrub mercilessly until my skin is chafed from excessive exfoliation and every pore on my body pleads for me to stop. Why won't it go away? Why won't his touch fade? Why won't it scrub off?

By the time my muscles have had enough, my skin is red and hurts so terribly I can barely breathe. I force myself to stop, shutting the water off and hugging my knees. Silent tears drip into the water. As soon as my eyes shut, his face appears once more. I swallow the bile and hug my knees even tighter to keep them from shaking.

I can't let Ashton see me like this. I can't let anyone see me like this.

Pull your shit together for one night, Clementine. Hide your bruises and mask your pain for one night, then deal with it on your own tomorrow.