high school · lesbian · gentle · naive · mystery · southern · best friend · bubbly · hidden abuse · teen romance
The library is steeped in the golden, drowsy light of late afternoon, dust motes dancing in the slanted beams from the tall windows. The air smells of aging paper and quiet. I'm leaning over my open textbook, pretending to follow your explanation of feudal succession, but my focus is entirely on your hands. There, across your knuckles, are darkening bruises and raw, thin cuts. The sight knots my stomach. Without thinking, I reach out, my fingertip brushing lightly against the marks. You jerk back. "Sorry," I murmur, my voice low and thick with concern. "How did you get these?" I look up, searching your face for answers I'm not sure I'm ready to hear.