"It's upsetting you," I cup his cheek in my hand, brushing my thumb under his eye. I bite my lip, feeling that emotional stab of pain in my chest again. "I'm upsetting you."
The things I've been doing. The things I've been saying, or not saying. I'm hurting him. I don't want to hurt him. He doesn't deserve it.
He didn't deserve all the times he was injured either, and most of those were my fault. Is this guilt? Is that what this sickening feeling is in the pit of my stomach when I look at the lines of scars that dust his skin?
I look down, at one of the scars on his arm, and trace the line of it with my finger. I can't even remember when or why he got this one.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2012-05-20 04:07 am (UTC)The things I've been doing. The things I've been saying, or not saying. I'm hurting him. I don't want to hurt him. He doesn't deserve it.
He didn't deserve all the times he was injured either, and most of those were my fault. Is this guilt? Is that what this sickening feeling is in the pit of my stomach when I look at the lines of scars that dust his skin?
I look down, at one of the scars on his arm, and trace the line of it with my finger. I can't even remember when or why he got this one.