The Bruise

Sarah

On the way home, I keep thinking about Matthew's hands on Lola's body. My fingers clench in my lap, nails biting into my palms. I don't know how I controlled myself from hitting him and then her.

Matthew sits beside me, a statue carved from ice and stone. The silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating. I want to scream, to shatter this brittle quiet, but the words catch in my throat.

"Nice turtleneck." Matthew's mocking voice breaks the silence. "Did you borrow that from your grandma's grave?"

Is he serious right now?

I turn to face him. "Actually," I say, my voice surprisingly calm despite the storm raging inside me, "I'm wearing this turtleneck to hide the bruises you left on my neck last night. I went to see Dad today. Would you rather I show them off to him?"

Matthew's jaw clenches, a muscle twitching beneath his skin. His eyes darken, and I see a flicker of something. Regret maybe?

"I don't give a fuck," he spits out, his words laced with venom. "Show him, don't show him. It makes no difference to me."

I feel a familiar ache in my chest, but I push it down. I won't let him see how much his words hurt.

Matthew shifts in his seat, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "You know, Lola is quite the entertainer," he says, his voice dripping with malice. "She knows how to please a man, unlike some people I know."

I dig my nails into my palms, willing myself to stay composed. He's trying to provoke me, to make me lash out or break down. I won't give him the satisfaction.

"She has this move," he continues, his eyes gleaming with calculated cruelty, "where she—"

"That's enough, Matthew," I interrupt, my voice steady despite the trembling in my hands. "I'm not interested in the sordid details of your evening."

He laughs, a harsh, grating sound that sends shivers down my spine. "Oh, but I think you are, Sarah. I think you're dying to know every little thing I did with her. It's eating you up inside, isn't it?"

I take a deep breath. "Actually, Lola seems like a nice girl," I say, my voice calm and measured.

The words taste like ash in my mouth, but I force a small smile. I won't let him see how deeply his barbs have cut.

Matthew's eyes narrow, his jaw clenching. For a moment, surprise flickers across his face before it's replaced by irritation. He hadn't expected this reaction, and I can see it's thrown him off balance.

"Oh really?" he snarls.

I shrug, maintaining my composure. "Yes. Really."

His expression hardens and he looks away.

Suddenly, he asks, "How bad are they?"

"What?" I blink, caught off guard by the abrupt change in topic.

"The bruises," he clarifies, his voice gruff. "On your neck. How bad are they?"

I swallow hard. "What do you care?" I ask.

"I don't," he replies.

Silence again.

"Why did you kiss me back there?" I ask him.

Matthew's eyes snap to mine. I hold my breath, waiting for his response, my stomach twisting.

Finally, Matthew's lips curl into a sardonic smirk. "Kiss you?" he scoffs, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Don't flatter yourself, princess. It was hardly a kiss. More like… pest control."

"That's not an answer," I press, my voice soft but insistent. "Why did you do it?"

"Why does it matter?" he sneers, his voice harsh. "Trying to build some romantic fantasy in that pretty little head of yours? Sorry to burst your bubble, but it meant nothing. Just a moment of boredom, nothing more."

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. "Right. Of course," I murmur.

The car pulls to a stop, and I realize we are home. Without another word, Matthew storms out, slamming the door behind him. I follow, my legs shaky as I climb the stairs to our room.

Inside, I peel off my turtleneck, desperate to escape its suffocating embrace. As I reach for the dress laid out on the bed, I catch sight of Matthew in the mirror. He's frozen in the doorway, his eyes fixed on me with an intensity that makes my breath catch.

I turn slowly, meeting his gaze. There's something different in his expression now, a hunger that sends a jolt of electricity through my body.

"I am just getting changed for dinner," I say.

Matthew stalks towards me, his eyes never leaving mine. I stand my ground, heart racing as he stops inches away. His hand reaches out, fingertip tracing the outline of the bruise on my neck. I flinch involuntarily, a mixture of pain and something else. Something I don't want to name coursing through me.

"Will you tell them?" he asks, his voice low and dangerous. "About these?" His finger presses slightly harder, making me gasp.

I swallow hard, trying to steady my voice. "Tell who?"

"Your parents," he clarifies, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "About the bruises. I wouldn't mind, you know. Might be worth a stint in prison if it means getting away from you."

The words sting, but I force out a dry laugh. "Not a chance, Matthew," I say, meeting his gaze defiantly. "You're not getting away from me that easily."

His eyebrow arches, surprise flickering across his face before it's replaced by that familiar mask of contempt. I turn my back to him, gathering my courage before speaking again.

"Zip me up?" I ask, gesturing to my dress.

There's a moment of tense silence before I feel his hands on my back, fingers grazing my skin as he slowly pulls the zipper up.

I close my eyes, trying to enjoy his touch. He will never touch me this gently on purpose, I know that. I might as well enjoy this short moment of bliss.

"There," he says, his breath hot against my ear. "All wrapped up like the gift you think you are. The one I never asked for."

"Good one," I say dryly.

He walks out, and I'm left standing alone, my skin still tingling from his touch.

~-~

I quickly applied concealer and foundation to the purple-colored bruise on my neck before carefully blending it in. I then selected a delicate necklace, its silver chain glinting under the bathroom light, and fastened it around my neck. I slather on my red lips to hide the fresh bite mark left on my lower lip. Is this going to be my life now? Covering bruises and cuts left by Matthew.

You did this to yourself, my inner me screams at me.

With a deep breath, I force a smile at my reflection in the mirror, determined to hide any trace of pain or sadness.

My father is about to retire, and I can't bear the thought of him worrying about me before he leaves for his well-deserved break. I would do whatever it takes to conceal them and make my dad believe that everything was fine.

"Ah, there she is," my dad says, his voice booming as I approach their table. "Come here, Sarah. Sit next to me."

I smile brightly and allow Matthew to pull a chair for me.

Matthew's hand lingers on the back of my chair for a fraction of a second too long as I sit down. My father doesn't notice the tension radiating between us. He's too busy pouring wine into my glass, his proud smile warming the atmosphere despite the frost clinging to my insides.

"How's work treating you, Matthew?" Dad asks, his tone jovial.

Matthew's lips curve into the kind of polite smile he reserves for occasions like these. "Busy, as always. But I enjoy the challenge," he replies smoothly.

Dad nods approvingly. "Good, good. A man who works hard is a man worth respecting. I take it Sarah already told you the good news."

"Yes, she did. I guess this means she will become my boss," Matthew says dryly.

"Oh, don't look at it that way, dear." My mother laughs lightly, her eyes twinkling with a patronizing amusement that makes my stomach clench. "You know our Sarah has never been particularly adept at taking charge."

Thanks for the support, Mom, I think sarcastically.

She takes a delicate sip of her wine before continuing. "One time she tried to organize that charity event in high school? The caterer never showed the decorations were a mess, and poor Sarah was running around like a headless chicken trying to salvage the situation. I do believe you will be the one running the company anyway, Matthew."

I feel my cheeks burn with humiliation. Leave it to my mother for downplaying everything I do. I glance at Matthew, expecting to see a smug satisfaction on his face, but instead, his expression is unreadable.

"And then there was the time she tried to lead that group project in college," my mother continues, oblivious to the discomfort her words are causing. "She had such grand ideas, but in the end, her teammates had to step in and take over. Our Sarah just doesn't have that natural leadership quality, I'm afraid."

She reaches over and pats my hand. "But that's alright, dear. Not everyone is cut out for such roles. I'm sure you'll do just fine working under Matthew's guidance."

My father clears his throat, his brow furrowed with concern. "Now, now, Evelyn," he says gently, "I'm sure Sarah will excel in her new position. She's a bright girl with a lot of potential."

But my mother merely waves her hand dismissively, as if my father's words are nothing more than a pesky fly to be swatted away. "Of course, Charles. I'm not saying she won't do well. I'm just pointing out that leadership has never been her strong suit. But I'm sure Matthew will be there to help her along the way, won't you, dear?"

She turns her gaze to Matthew, her eyes glinting with a knowing look that makes my skin crawl. I can't bear to see his reaction, so I focus on the intricate pattern of the tablecloth, tracing the swirls and loops with my eyes.

"I'll do whatever is necessary to support her," Matthew replies, his voice smooth and even. "And I have no doubt that Sarah will run it just as well as Charles."

I risk a glance at him, surprised by his words. For a moment, our eyes meet, and I see something flicker in their depths - a hint of understanding, perhaps even sympathy. But it's gone as quickly as it appeared.