Why can't I demand he leave? Why won't the words come out?
Ellie jumps up on the sofa beside me, dropping her chin onto my lap with a chuff. I settle my fingers into her fur and relax a fraction.
"Sorry, Ellie," I whisper, stroking that soft little spot at the top of her nose. "I'm okay."
Atticus opens the first aid kit and pulls out some supplies, dousing some gauze in alcohol. When he rises onto his knees and his eyes meet mine, there's a question in them.
Can I?
I clench my teeth, glancing down for the first time at the scrapes on my arm. They're not crazy deep, but they are covered in dirt and gravel. This is going to suck.
I nod and squeeze my eyes shut as he presses the damp gauze to the wound, and I'm unable to fully suppress my gasp of pain at the sting.
But I'm glad it hurts.
It should hurt.
How could I be so stupid?
Atticus begins to dab away the dirt and bits of pavement, intently focused on his work. His hair is a mess of tarnished gold around his face, wild and unbound. He might not be saying anything out loud, but I can see the gears shifting behind his eyes, and I know it's loud in his head.
When he's finished cleaning the wound, he applies some ointment with delicate brushes of his fingers and tapes on a bandage, all the while so focused on the task and whatever he's thinking that it's like he's forgotten I'm here.
Until his hands fall away and he lifts his gaze to mine.
I'm not fast enough to look away before I'm held hostage in his eyes.
They say a thousand things without saying anything at all.
His lips part, and I brace myself, but he doesn't say anything.
And then just as quickly, he looks away.
Atticus cleans up the first aid kit, putting it back in the bathroom. When he returns, he pushes a hand into his jeans pocket and pulls out a folded sheet of paper that's wrinkled to shit.
I can see the blue ink of the words written on the inside and hug the blanket tighter around myself.
He sets it down on the low coffee table, and hesitates only long enough to give Ellie a quick goodbye scratch—then as quietly as he came in, he exits, locking the door behind himself.
The only evidence he was ever here is the note, bandage on my arm, and the soft, sad sounds Ellie makes as he starts his motorcycle and drives away.
I don't realize how little I've been allowing myself to breathe until the sound of his engine is gone, and I feel everything I've been trying not to.
For a while all I can do is sit here, numb, staring at the note Atticus must've written before coming after me tonight. Not sure if I should read it or destroy it before it can destroy me.
Ellie looks between me and the little rumpled square of paper and back again.
Then she's up, jumping down from the sofa to go to the table. She nudges the note with her snout, barking softly at it before cocking her head at me.
"What?"
She barks again, and I hush her. She's going to wake the neighbors.
I rise and shrug out of the blanket, cursing when it pulls on my necklace, which is apparently caught in my hair. I groan and head for the bathroom, ignoring Ellie's little stamps of impatience at my ignoring her.
My teeth grind as I work to free the knot of hair around the necklace's clasp in the bathroom mirror. Purposefully not paying any attention to how pale I look or the dark circles beneath my eyes—the way their rims are red.
When I finally get the hair free, I fix the chain, letting the small diamond-studded charm rest against my collar.
