Some people don't fall apart all at once. They crack in corners no one checks. They smile too wide. They laugh too loud. They walk into school with a bruise blooming like ink beneath their collarbone, and no one says a goddamn word. Ava bleeds in silence. She wears it well, lipstick too red, eyeliner too sharp. You'd think she's invincible. She isn't. She walked into homeroom that morning with sunglasses on. In October. Said she had a migraine. Said it like she rehearsed it.
I knew it wasn't true. The last time I saw her smile for real was a month ago. We were in the art room, and she accidentally got paint on my shirt. She apologized for five minutes straight, laughing so hard she snorted. That kind of laugh doesn't survive in a war zone. "He's just stressed," she said once, when I asked why she flinched when her phone buzzed. "He's been going through stuff." As if that made it okay. As if bruises had expiration dates. One day, I passed by the senior parking lot and saw them in his car. She was in the passenger seat, fists clenched in her lap. He was talking fast, like he was trying to sell her something or maybe guilt her into staying. I couldn't hear the words, just the tone. His hands moved too fast. Hers didn't move at all. That night, she didn't answer my texts. The next morning, she laughed like nothing had happened. Wore a scarf even though it was 70 degrees.
"Aren't you hot?" someone asked. She smiled. "Not really." I didn't push her.
But I started noticing things I hadn't before. The way her grip tightened on her phone when she read his messages. How she started skipping art club. How she stopped painting altogether. One afternoon, she showed up at my place without warning. Just walked in. No greeting. No explanation. She went straight to the kitchen, grabbed a soda, and sat on the couch like it was the only place she felt safe. I sat next to her. She didn't speak for twenty minutes. Then, finally: "He said he's sorry." I didn't say anything. She looked at me. "You think I'm stupid." "No," I said. "I think you're trying to survive." That broke her. Just a little. Her lip trembled, and she looked away. "I don't even know who I am when I'm not with him." And I got that. Not because I've been there, but because I've felt it, the way someone can wrap around your ribs so tight, you forget how to breathe without them. I didn't give her advice. I didn't tell her to leave. She already knew she should. That's not the problem. The problem is: what do you do with the emptiness they leave behind?
At school the next day, she walked beside me in the hallway. Someone asked her if she and her boyfriend were okay. She smiled like a weapon. "We're perfect." And I hated him. Because I could see the outline of a new bruise hiding beneath her sleeve. Because she didn't flinch when someone touched her shoulder but she did when her phone rang. Because she was disappearing and no one was saying anything. Some people drown in silence. Ava? She burns. And sometimes, I wonder how long a person can stay on fire before they turn to ash. She sat on the floor of her bedroom, back against the door. It was the only place in the house that didn't feel like it was closing in. Landon's messages lit up her phone like sparks from a live wire. Where the fuck are you? Pick up. Don't make me come find you. She turned it over. Let it buzz against the hardwood. On her dresser was the bracelet he bought her. Silver. Cheap. The clasp always stuck. But he got mad when she didn't wear it. Last time she forgot, he left a handprint on her thigh. She covered it up with fishnets and told herself she was imagining the pain. Her mother's voice cut through the paper-thin walls. "You left your damn shoes in the hallway again!" Ava stayed silent. Her mother stomped to the door. Knocked once. No, not a knock. A warning. "You're not gonna be some lazy bitch living in my house like your father. Get your ass up." Ava didn't move. The door rattled under a fist. "You hear me?" She swallowed. "I'll clean it up in a minute."
"You think I've got all day? You want to end up in a group home like your cousin?" Silence. Eventually, the footsteps faded. The front door slammed. Ava exhaled. Only then. The first time Landon hit her, she laughed. Not because it was funny, but because it felt like a mistake. Like he'd drop to his knees and cry and say he didn't mean it. He didn't. He just stared at her, eyes cold, and said, "You shouldn't have said that." She spent an hour convincing herself it wasn't abuse. It was just a bad moment. Everyone has bad moments. Now, the moments came more often than not. She still remembered the first time they kissed. Behind the gym, after homecoming. She was drunk on spiked soda and adrenaline, and he was the first person who ever looked at her like she was too much and wanted her anyway. That's what she thought, back then. Now, he looked at her like she was a problem that needed solving. Something broken he could keep in a cage.
She stared at the texts again. You better be home. Ava stood up, walked to the mirror. Took off her hoodie. A fresh bruise curved beneath her ribs. Purple. Green. Ugly. She traced it with her fingers like it was someone else's body. And then, for the first time, she didn't cry. She looked at herself, really looked, and whispered, "He's gonna kill me someday." The silence after that was deafening. She sat back down on the bed, eyes fixed on the bruise. It pulsed like a warning. Numbness crawled under her skin, cold and heavy. She wanted to disappear. To become nothing so the pain couldn't touch her anymore. But the silence in the room screamed louder than her thoughts. She pressed her palm against the bruised skin, swallowed the sharp taste of tears she refused to shed. Later, when Landon finally stormed in, slamming the door like it was the last thing standing between him and control, she was waiting. His breath was ragged, eyes wild, like a storm ready to rip apart everything in its path.
"What the fuck, Ava? Where were you all day?" His voice was low, dangerous, like a beast stalking its prey. "I told you, I was at school," she said, voice barely above a whisper.
Landon's laugh was bitter, hollow. "Don't lie to me." She swallowed hard, heart hammering. "I'm not lying." "Then why did I hear from Jason that you were at that party, uh? I'm not fucking retarded!" His hand shot up, slapping the wall inches from her face. Her breath hitched. "I didn't go anywhere."
He stepped closer, too close. "You think I won't find out? You think you can just—" Before he could finish, Ava bolted. "What the fuck you are doing?!" She sprinted through the hallway, her footsteps loud against the hardwood floors. Screaming tears clawed at her throat, but she didn't stop. She could hear him behind her, shouting curses, footsteps pounding after hers. "Stop running, Ava! Don't make me break your fucking door down!" She crashed into the kitchen, hands trembling as she yanked open the drawer. Her fingers closed around the cold steel of a small knife. Her eyes burned with a mix of terror and defiance. Landon burst in, eyes wild, chest heaving. "Put that down."
"No." Her voice cracked but was fierce. "Back off." His face twisted with rage. He swung his arm, and she dodged just in time, the knife flashing in her hand. "Don't make me do this," he snarled. "I'm not scared of you anymore." She held the knife steady, legs shaking but stance firm. His eyes flickered with something unreadable, hurt? Betrayal? "You think you're better than me? You fucking cheated, didn't you? With Jason."
"No! I didn't!" Her voice broke. "I never—" But the doubt was already eating him alive. He lunged again, and this time, Ava pushed him back, tears streaming as she shouted, "Get out! Get the fuck out of my house!" He staggered back, breathing hard, rage simmering beneath the surface. Before he left, he spat, "You'll regret this." The door slammed. Silence crushed the room. Ava dropped the knife, knees buckling as the weight of what just happened settled like a storm cloud. She stumbled through the front door, slamming it behind her harder than she meant to. The house was too quiet. Too empty. "Where the hell have you been?" her mom snapped, voice sharp as broken glass. Ava didn't answer. She could barely stand, bruises blooming like dark flowers across her skin. Her mom's eyes caught the purple and red on Ava's arms and face. The sharp breath she tried to hide. The tremble in her hands.
"Oh my God…" Her voice cracked, softening for the first time. She stepped forward, reaching out but stopping herself. "Why didn't you say anything?" she whispered. Ava shook her head, bitter. "What's the point? You don't care."
"I do," her mom said, voice low and rough. "I just... didn't know how to help." For a moment, they just stood there, broken and scared and silent. Then her mom pulled her into a shaky hug. "We're gonna figure this out. No more hiding." After she told her that she did this to herself. Not Landon. Saying that she was about to commit suicide with the knife she dropped on the floor. She wanted her to not know about Landon. Days later, Ava found herself in the cracked bathroom mirror at school, wiping off the remnants of makeup she used like armor.
Her phone buzzed. It was a new message. You're not alone. No sender. No name. Her heart hammered in her chest like a secret finally leaking out. She started sketching again. Sharp lines. Dark shadows. Faces that looked scared and angry but refused to break. Her art teacher, Ms. Daniels, noticed. "Those are powerful," she said one afternoon after class, eyes soft with understanding. Ava shrugged. "They're just drawings." "No," Ms. Daniels said quietly. "They're your truth." For the first time in a long time, Ava felt seen. That night, Ava packed a small bag. Just enough for a few days. She didn't know where she was going. She only knew she had to leave.
The house felt smaller, suffocating. The walls whispered threats, promises of pain. She slipped out through the back door, heart pounding, breath shallow.
Freedom was terrifying. But it was better than dying in silence.
January 15 2008
January 15 - 18 (The few days)