HIM .. Joe Goldberg

AFFECTION

I REMEMBER WHEN I WAS BRANDED, and more specifically the night that followed. Charlie was out, too busy with himself to make sure I was okay. That should've told me something. The girls offered looks of sympathy but none of them reached out to help clean my wound. It happened all too often, they watched many girls shed the same tears. They were desensitized, and I couldn't blame them.

But Hannah slipped into my bed when the night was at its most still. I thought I was forgotten, left to deal with the fire that lingered on my thigh. Hannah laid on her side and looked at me, tears in her dreamy eyes. "I'm sorry." She mouthed.

I couldn't talk. My throat was swollen shut, words couldn't form sentences in my head. The fire on my thigh had attacked my lower body. I just looked at her and cried silently and Hannah stroked my cheek as she stared, making sure my sorrow wouldn't go unnoticed.

I've been out of the apartment most of the night. I gave Hannah pain killers that I stole from the hospital and my own perscription of Ativan. She was dozing off as I slipped out the front door.

I didn't shatter her kneecaps, I'm not a total monster. I hit her leg once, gave her a clean break that I quickly wrapped up and kept leveled under pillows at the end of her bed. Although I also gave her a conciousion when I hit her on the head, by the way she was behaving I speculated that she should heal just fine.

Do I want her to?

There's no doubting that you're the best thing that ever happened to me, that will ever happen to me. Even when you were with Nicki I'd overhear conversations and you were always so, so nice. Much nicer than Nicki ever was, she yelled at me just a bit more than she yelled at you. My world was fucking dark, Joe, and you were always so supportive.

You were there one night, years ago. I don't look the same as I did, but I'm sure you'd remember everything if I ever brought it up. If I ever tell you my real name. When chaos broke out and Nicki was screaming at mom during dinner and a plate was thrown, you looked towards me with wide eyes and said, "Go out on the front porch, I'll meet you there in a second."

I was only fifteen, but already I was so depressed. Dad left six months prior, my mom was drinking too much because she felt abandoned. Nicki was three years older, she was combative and rebellious and outspoken while I hid in my bedroom and cried and thought about opening the window and jumping out.

I followed your quiet order and excuse myself to the front porch, not that anyone but you noticed. I have my cigarettes in my jacket pocket and when I walk outside, the summer air making me feel sweaty just in long sleeves, I sit on the floral pattern sofa and place a cigarette in my mouth. I started smoking years before, maybe when I was eleven. My leg bounced anxiously as I patted my jacket for a lighter. Nothing. I began to panic. I could hear the yelling and now you was shouting too and my teeth clenched around the tan filter in a sudden flare of terror.

I patted my jeans. A pink Bic lighter bulged from my front pocket. I closed my eyes and sighed as I lit my cigarette. My dark brown hair spilled passed my forehead and drifted in the wind, close to the flame. For a moment, I wondered what it would be like if I caught on fire, starting at my head and spreading all the way into the house.

A strand of my hair singed as it drew too close to the lighter. My cigarette was lit. I lifted my thumb and put the lighter on the coffee table in front of me.

You came out moments later, your round eyes searching anxiously for me, like there was a possibility I might have wandered off. I had no where else to go. You see me on the bench and relax, closing the door quietly behind you. "Hi." The first word you ever said directly to me, although I heard your voice many times before. My stomach twisted, I had to look away and fight against another wave of tears.