This Doesn’t Hurt

Title taken from “Face Down” by The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus

I was standing there, fully clothed, looking at myself in the mirror. I was wearing sky blue short-short track shorts and a white tank top with spaghetti straps. The shorts were falling off my waist, or what used to be my waist. But the tank revealed some things that were much, much worse.

You see, I’ve been going out with my boyfriend Alex for about eight months. He’s a great guy, and I really love him a lot. I do. But do I have to remind myself of that every day when I wake up and I see the fresh purple bruise that has magically flowered on my arms or legs or, occasionally face, overnight.

When I first saw Alex, I was floored. Still am, whenever I look at him. He’s pretty hot. He has these gorgeous green eyes, and his hair is perfect. It’s the kind where, no matter how many times you run your hands through it, it always stays perfectly in place. Thick, black, and long. But not too long.

From the beginning, everyone was jealous that I was dating Alex Long. He’s also on the soccer team, and at our school, if you’re on the soccer team, you’re one of the blessed. I’m basically a wallflower, and after I started dating him, my status skyrocketed practically overnight.

While everyone was jealous, my best friend, Emily, who’s my rock, was not. When I told her that Alex Long had asked me out after the soccer game she’d missed because she was at her dad’s, I thought the phone was going to jump out of my hand from her screaming.

“OH MY GOD, ALEX LONG?! Pretty hot for a first boyfriend, Cass.”

“Shut up, Ems…” I muttered. It wasn’t like I hadn’t been self conscious enough that I was 16, almost 17, and had never had my first love. I was thinking that Alex would be him.

xXx

At first, Alex was the picture of sweetness. On our first date, we went to a really expensive restaurant where he would open door’s, hold out my chair, and said amazingly sweet things. His first words when he picked me up that night was “You look beautiful, Cassie.” I just blushed and thanked him.

At the restaurant, Alex told me he had been thinking about me for a long time. “I’ve been thinking of asking you out for…a long time,” he’d said shyly, toying with his napkin. “I really like you.”

After we left the restaurant, we made out in the back of his car for an hour, steaming up the windows and him running his hand down my back. We didn’t do anything but make out, I promise, but it was just…amazing.

He asked me to go out with him officially the next day, and what can I say? I said yes. If you didn’t say yes when Alex Long asked you out, (and after you made out with him), you were pretty stupid.

xXx

He didn’t start hurting me until we’d been going out for two months. And by then, I was already hooked. It wasn’t much at first. He wanted to go to some party at Richie Anderson’s house, some other soccer “god” I didn’t really care for.

“Come on, baby.” He whispered in my ear, sliding his arms around my waist. We were sitting in my living room. My parents were at my aunt and uncle’s dinner that Saturday. I was wearing his soccer hoodie and a pair of baggy jeans. I wasn’t dressed for a party and I didn’t feel like going through the motions of getting ready for one. I had been sick earlier, and all I really wanted to do was lay on the couch with my head on his chest and watch a movie.

“No, Alex, I don’t want to. I still don’t feel good. We go out every weekend, can’t we just…” I touched his chest lightly.

It was then that he grabbed my arm and squeezed, hard. I was pretty sure it was as hard as he could. “I said, we’re going!”

I started to cry immediately and tried to wrench my arm out of his grip, but it didn’t work. He just dug in harder. Eventually I wiggled out of it and landed on the floor, sobbing. I jumped up and started to back away, but he came towards me. He held his hand up threateningly, and I started to scream. I knew, and he knew, that if my brother upstairs heard me and came downstairs, he’d be in for it. My brother’s huge.

He lowered his hand and started to cry himself. “Oh, honey. Oh, baby. I’m so sorry. So sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. So sorry. Please. Please…” he pleaded with me, but I was already at the banister.

“Get out of here! Get the hell out of here!” I screamed and ran upstairs.

I curled up in a ball at the top of the landing where he couldn’t see me until I heard the front door close behind him with a soft click.

I hurled myself on my bed and sobbed into my pillow, and then when the tears had dried, I lifted my sleeve up and looked at the purple bruises in the shape of finger tips. There were four of them on the top of my arm and below it was his thumb print. They looked like jewels, and I was mesmerized by them. I never thought Alex, Alex of all people, would hurt me. I changed into pajamas with long sleeves and fell asleep instantly.

The next day, Alex sent me several text messages before showing up at my house with two dozen red roses and tears. “Please, Cassie. I can’t live without you. Please. Forgive me.”

So, what did I do? I forgave him.

XXx

Since then, it’s gotten worse. He’s punched me a few times, leaving purple marks on my face and other places. But I doubt he’d ever do anything worse. I really doubt it.

Emily doesn’t know. Alex’s real careful about only doing it when we’re alone. I know that if Emily knew…she’d kill him. Not to mention Brent, my big brother. Or my parents. At first I thought they’d know instantly just by looking at me. The bruises that first time weren’t on my face, but I thought they’d look at me and see buzzers going off overhead, but they didn’t.

My dad just looked up from his paper and nodded at me, and my mom smiled weakly and asked if I wanted pancakes. That’s it.

Even the bruises on my face they dismiss. I’ll just tell them I ran into the door or tripped down the stairs, and they buy it.

Well, I have to meet Alex in a few minutes at a club. Guess I better get ready.

xXx

I’m late. I can see him sitting in his car, fuming. He’s pissed. It’s dark out, and I can tell just from the way he’s sitting in his dark car that he’s pissed. Which doesn’t bode well for me.

I slip over to the car in the darkness and open the passenger door. “Hey, babe.” I wrap my arms around him briefly, hoping this’ll dull his anger. “Sorry, I’m late. My dad’s being a dick. He didn’t want to drive me and it took me ten minutes just to get him thinking about it and and- -“

He brings his hand up and slaps me as hard as he can in the face. Then he backhands me in the nose. Warm blood starts gushing from it. The tears start to come not long after, obviously.

“Alex, please…” I whisper.

“Fuck you!” he yells, and starts punching me in the face and everywhere else, over and over.

My head starts swimming, and the thought of unconsciousness threatens to engulf me. I try to fight it, because I don’t want him to knock me unconscious. That would change everything, obviously.

But the punches keep coming, and the slaps, and I can’t do it anymore. I start to give into the darkness when I see him pick up the glass ashtray that he found in the car when he bought it. It’s heavy and thick, and just as he raises it to hit me in the head, I think, “Tonight will be the night my boyfriend kills me. I guess it was worse than I thought.”

He brings the ashtray down on my temple, and the darkness swallows me…forever.