10 Feet Down (Original Version)

Chapter 28

Whoever walks in integrity walks securely, but whoever takes crooked paths will be found out.
~Proverbs 10:9

"Stop looking at me Tre."

"I can't look at my girlfriend?"

"Not right now you can't." I put on my converse and tie up the laces quickly. I then look up and sigh. "I don't even know where to start with you."

"What?" Tre laughs, his back to me because he's getting a shirt out of his closet.

I sigh again and slouch on his bed. "You told me last night that you'd tell me what you did to fuck up your hand."

I know he was hoping that I wouldn't remember what he had said to me last night, but I woke up this morning with a lot of questioning thoughts and a mmassive headache. I am really irritated with him right now because he still won't tell me what happened like he said he would last night. He keeps changing the topic and skirting around the subject when I bring it up. It's normal for him to be evasive, but now I cannot tolerate it. I have so many questions about his hand and how he was able to find the person who stole my purse.

"My hand's not fucked up," Tre turns back around and holds his hand up in front of him. "It's just a little bruised."

I glare daggers at him and sit up straighter. "I don't appreciate your smart ass remarks right now, Trevante."

"Why are you mad at me?" He asks, coming over to stand in front of where I'm sitting on his bed.

"Because you won't tell me what happened last night and now I have to think the absolute worst." I say to him, irritated. "I know you don't think this is a big deal, but it is to me okay? You won't answer any of my questions when you said you would."

He sighs and I know his stubborn mind is a whirlwind of contradictory thoughts on whether he should tell me or not.

I reach out and grab both of his hands. "Just talk to me," I say now softly, rubbing my hands gently against his. "I'm right here, Tre. I'm not going anywhere."

I plead with him through my eyes and I pull him closer to me so he can sit down next to me on the bed. I don't speak again, letting him come to me and speak first. I have learned that I have to wait for him to go first otherwise he won't tell me anything, him still trying to overcome how closed off he always was since his childhood.

"I know who had taken your bag and attacked you," he says after a moment of silence. "And I'm handling it."

Okay. That answer did not satisfy my curiosity and  now I have more questions.

"How are you handling it?"

"I talked to him." He simply says.

"To who?"