Aftertaste (Sin #2)

XII.

"Goddamn it all to fucking hell," is the first thing I hear when I open my eyes. Something hits the floor. "Fuuuck," comes from the kitchen again.

I feel like hell when I sit up. My eyes hurt from all the crying and I feel they're swollen. I also feel the start of a headache. I don't even have to look at the time to know that I'm running late for my lectures.

I go to the bathroom and wince. I look like a disaster. Not even make-up could fix this. I splash a lot of cold water on my face, hoping the swell in my eyes will go away, but it's no use. This is why I hate crying.

I brush my teeth and then throw on some faded jeans and an oversized sweater. I have to take a deep breath before I walk to the kitchen. I don't know how it'll go with him. I don't know what to even say to him. I'm so hurt and so angry, I just want to crawl into a hole and stop existing for a little while until I could pull myself together.

Alexander is leaning over the counter when I come in, a glass of water in front of him. He looks unwell.

I grab a glass of water for myself and drink it quickly, wanting to get the hell out of here as soon as I can. I don't go unnoticed by Alexander, of course.

His body turns towards me and I feel him literally staring at me. I don't look at him. When I put the glass down, he's right there, in my personal space. He puts his hand under my chin and turns my face in his direction. He frowns. "You were crying. Why?" he asks.

I wonder how much he remembers. From the night out and when he came back. I see his lip looks better, but his eye looks worse. It's swollen and red, turning blue.

I step away from him and turn my head away. "I have to go. I'm late for my classes."

"I'll take you," he offers.

"No," I refuse immediately. "I'll take the bus. You can't drive like that, anyway," I say. I can't even look at him.

I take my phone and put it in my backpack. "You're not going to eat?"

"No time," I murmur. I'm already on my way out. Alexander doesn't try to stop me. I honestly think I don't want to know what happened last night when he went out. I don't want to know why he came back smelling of a woman's perfume and having a red lipstick on his neck. I don't want to know why his face is bruised and his shirt was ripped.

I don't want to know anything. That's why I don't ask any questions.

˙˙˙

Classes are hell. I can't concentrate, I have a headache and I feel so drained. I haven't eaten anything. June notices it, too. She asked me about the tutor thing and I told her I didn't get the position because no one reached back to me. But that's the least of my worries right now.

She doesn't ask me about it and I don't tell her anything. I don't tend to go around talking about my personal problems to people.

I text Sam if she's willing to meet me after classes and she's up for it. I don't want to go home. And, honestly, I just need a friend. I don't think Sam will understand, but she'll at least listen.