My eyes finally bolt open. I had pushed myself up slightly on my arms, when I tried to move from Charlie’s chest, but being hit causes me to fall back to the bed. My head is turned in the opposite direction from where Charlie lies, but from the stillness, I can tell that he’s woken himself up.

“Stella,” he whispers, his voice is so strained.

I need to act like I’m asleep. I think to myself. If he knows that he’s hit me, he won’t forgive himself, and I know that he didn’t mean it.

I know that he didn’t mean it.

I know that I’m safe.

I feel proud of myself, saying those words. Well, for thinking them. And I honestly do intend to act like he didn’t wake me – to tell him in the morning that he must have just hit a pillow or something, because I slept peacefully through the whole night.

When he starts to gently move my shoulder though, I know that my plan has already failed.

I am lying on my side, and I turn my head to look up at Charlie, who is now hovering above me with panicked eyes.

“What is it?” I ask, still determined to pretend like it didn’t happen, only for his sake. I lift my hand to hold the side of his face in my palm.

“Stella, I hit you. Didn’t you feel me hit you?”

He scrunches his eyes shut. I can see how upset he is with himself.

“Charlie, stop.”

I speak firmly, sitting up and turning my entire body around to face him finally. I’ve taken my hand from his face, and now both of my palms rest on his shoulders. “You didn’t even hit me hard enough to wake me completely.”

He is frowning at me now, but his eyes aren’t on mine. He is fixated on my cheek that has been mostly hidden from him until now.

“Stella, your face is red. I hit you hard!”

He isn’t crying, but his deep, usually smooth voice breaks like he is in physical pain, and I feel so helpless.

I sigh and get up from the bed, leaving Charlie for a moment. I walk into the bathroom and turn on the light. I need to see for myself.

I wish he could understand what it means – to have this happen and for me not to feel the slightest bit afraid. I wish he knew how safe I feel with him, because I know that his intentions are good, and I know that he’ll never hurt me badly or deliberately.

I stand in front of the mirror above the sink and examine my cheek. It is quite red, and it may bruise slightly. I notice that the redness comes close to my eye, so I wouldn’t be surprised if the skin under my eye is slightly swollen tomorrow.

I hope not though, because I can’t really cover up swelling, and Charlie will go insane if he sees it.

I don’t even remember really feeling any pain when it happened, but as I bring my hand to my cheek, I flinch a little at the soreness.

I slowly and quietly reach for my makeup bag, thankful that I’ve left it in the bathroom.

I don’t want Charlie to hear me trying to cover it up, but I know that I need to do some pre-damage control, in case there is bruising tomorrow.

I blot on some liquid foundation, concealer, and add powder before emerging form the bathroom.

The bedside lamp is on and Charlie is setting a small tray on the bedside table that holds a glass of water, two aspirin, and a bag of ice.

The wool blanket from the porch swing is hung over his free arm and he reaches for one of the pillows on the bed.

“I’m going to sleep on the couch, Stella. I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t look at me as he exits the bedroom. I don’t say anything; I just walk slowly over to the bed and turn the lamp off before crawling back into the sheets.

Then, I cry. I do so silently, but someone hears – Cooper. He’d been lying in his bed the entire time, and I hear his paws on the floor as he walks over to the bedside and sits down. I scoot close to the edge and stroke his soft head as I continue to cry.

I feel really pathetic, and embarrassed, even though I’m sure Cooper isn’t judging me.

After a few minutes of me petting him, I’ve mostly stopped crying, and he finally lays down beside the bed, rather than on his. I decide to try to fall asleep, too.

I give up quickly and lean over, turning the bedside lamp back on.

I look down at Cooper, whispering an apology for waking him up again. He tilts his head at me and get up, walking back to his own bed, and I crawl out of Charlie’s and make my way into the living room.

I probably look frightening: mascara is most likely running down my cheeks and I’m sure that I’ve caused the base and powder to rub off, exposing my giant red mark, but I don’t care.

“Charlie?” I ask for him upon reaching the end of the dark hallway, the only light is far behind me, coming from the lamp in the bedroom.

“Yes?” He returns. I can tell he hasn’t fallen back asleep either.

“Can you please just come back to bed?” I choke on my words, and as terrible as it sounds, I almost hope that he realizes I’ve been crying. Maybe then he will forget about his prior guilt and just feel badly about leaving me alone in his king sized bed for a while – that wouldn’t hold nearly the same repercussions to his conscience.

“Baby,” His voice sounds like he is resisting, but I hear him get up from the couch and move towards me, finally coming into sight. His eyes are red and puffy, and I wonder if he’s been crying too, or if he is just stressed and tired.

He reaches out slowly for me and I reach back more quickly, pulling myself to him.

“Stella, I don’t want to hurt you again.”

“I can’t sleep without you.” I lay my sore cheek against his chest and the warmth of his body feels so nice on it.

He sighs and reaches down to my shoulders.

“Come on, baby,” He says, taking me gently back down the hallway.

I crawl back into bed and wait for Charlie to walk around to his side before turning off the lamp. I move towards him, but his body is rigid and he doesn’t pull me in. I’m so tired that I almost start to cry again. Instead, I just sigh and put only a little distance between Charlie and I, lying in the center of the bed.

I decide not to close my eyes yet. I take Charlie’s hand in mine and bring it very close, so that his arm is bent near me. He tries to lace our fingers together, but I let go, moving my small fingertips to his tattoos and tracing them lightly. He watches me at first. Then, he closes his eyes slowly, and I see his entire body finally relax.

When I know that he is asleep, I take my hand from his arm and turn my body away from him, trying to get comfortable so that I can drift off again. Within seconds, I feel arms around my waist and I am being pulled back into his broad chest.

His breathing is still slow and deep, so I believe that he’s still sleeping, and now that I’m back in his arms, I can sleep again, too.

***

When I hear Charlie’s alarm go off, I spend a few seconds hating myself for having already skipped my eight o’clock class on Monday, because I really want to lie in bed for a while longer.

I am happy, however, to find Charlie’s arms still wrapped around me. He removes one arm, of course, to turn off the alarm on his phone, but quickly brings it back to me, pulling me even closer than before and kissing my back through the fabric of his flannel shirt that I’m still wearing.

I close my eyes and breathe slowly, enjoying the morning peacefulness with Charlie before I feel his arms tense and pull away from my body.

“Stella,” He says.

“Yes,” I reply, my voice is still a morning whisper.

“Let me see the side of your face.”

No. I should have gotten up earlier and reapplied makeup.

I am lying on my side, so the mark on my face – whatever it looks like now – is covered from Charlie. My eyes had been closed, but I finally open them, without moving anything else.

“Charlie, let me go look at it first, I don’t want it to look worse than it – “

Charlie interrupts me by bringing his hands to my waist and turning me on my back. I still resist, keeping my left cheek firmly against my pillow, but Charlie hovers over me, bringing his hand to my face and turning my chin so that he can assess the damage.

His sighs heavily and drops his head, his hair falling forward. He withdraws his hand from my face and pushes his hair back, only to have it fall forward again, since his head is bowed.

“I’m so sorry, Stella. I can’t believe I did that.”

His voice is tight, like he is holding in so much.

“I don’t blame you for this, Charlie. I know you didn’t mean to.”

I crawl out from under the covers and go to the bathroom to, once again, see for myself. I stare at my feet the entire way, even after I’ve turned the light on.

I position myself in front of the sink, placing my hands on the counter in front of me and concentrating on them as I prepare to look in the mirror. I don’t know why I’m so afraid to see. I suppose a good guess would be that it will remind me of Jason, and the bruises that he used to give me, but I don’t think that is it.

I hear Charlie crawl out of bed and I think that he is going to come into the bathroom, but instead I hear him and Cooper make their way down the hall.

Then, I force myself to do it; I look up into my reflection.

It’s worse than I thought.

There is already a bluish bruise on my cheek, and where the bruise hasn’t surfaced, it is even redder than before. My left eye is swollen underneath and there is a small, dark purple mark near the corner.

My stomach drops at the sight because I know that Charlie will blame himself for everything. I don’t want him to decide that he isn’t good for me. I don’t want him to try to save me by keeping himself away. Most of all, I don’t want to go back to being scared of everything and everyone, because I would take this new fear of losing someone over the fear of letting someone in any day. I have something good now – Charlie – and I don’t want to lose him.

I don’t want to shower without Charlie, but I also want to get makeup on as soon as possible. I decide to simply tell him that I’m going to shower, and see if he’ll join me. Honestly though, I know that he doesn’t want to look at what he’s done to me. As I step out of the bathroom, back into the bedroom, I hear a loud crash from the kitchen, and Charlie groans angrily.

I forget about the marks on my face and hurry down the hallway, through the living room and into the kitchen.

Charlie’s hands are in fists, both resting far from each other on the counter that he’s leaning over. His breathing is ragged. His lips are open, but his teeth are clenched.

I can’t see the ground behind the bar and counter, but I assume that he’s thrown a pot or a pan.

I’m still standing in the doorway when he looks slowly up at me. He looks like he is in so much pain. There are no tears, but his eyes are watery and still swollen and red, like they were last night.

I don’t know what to say. I want to yell at him and tell him how stupid he is for blaming himself; I want to cry and soften him; I want to talk to him, and make him see that I’m alright, and that we’re alright; I just want to touch him, to hold his face and brush my fingers over his stressed eyes, and to kiss his jaw and try to make him relax.

But I don’t do anything – for a while, anyways. We only stare at one another. Then, I somewhat try to do it all at once.

“Charlie, stop being upset with yourself. I don’t like it and it makes me angry. You accidentally smacked me. I bruise easily, get over it!” I say it, somewhere in between a sob and a yell, as I begin to walk towards him. It sounds insensitive and inappropriate, but I’m desperate.

“Why are you so angry with yourself? What makes this such a big deal to you? This was an accident, you couldn’t help it.”

My voice is softer now and I’m finally close enough to reach out and touch him, but I don’t yet. He is still facing forward, towards where I’d stood in the doorway. His fists begin to relax but he keeps him arms far apart, leaning over the counter, and he hangs his head.

“Because, I’m going to keep doing things wrong and one day you’ll get tired of all of the little accidents and you won’t want to be around me anymore.”

“Charlie,” I speak quietly, and finally reach out for him. He turns to me rather quickly and picks me up, setting me on the counter in front of him and he leans forward again, this time with his now open palms on either side of my legs.

He starts to put his head down again, but I take it into my hands and lift his face so that I can look into his eyes, keeping my palms on either cheek.

“Parents don’t leave their children because of little accidents.”

Charlie narrows his eyes a bit. I wouldn’t blame his for glaring – for being upset with me after what I’ve just said, – but his narrowed eyes look more hurt than angry.

He speaks and his voice is deep and soft, but slightly cold, “Stella, do you think that I haven’t considered the possibility that I might have abandonment issues? I spent my entire childhood listening to people try to figure out what is wrong with me.”

“Charlie there isn’t anything wrong with you. You just – “

“Stella, there is something wrong with me. Just look what I’ve done to you,” He gestures towards my cheek, “The worst part is that I can’t promise that it won’t happen again. I hurt people, Stella, even in my sleep I do. I’m hard wired to hurt people. I’m a fighter! You shouldn’t feel safe around me, it’s wrong that you do. And you – you are the one who always gets hurt. It’s like cat and mouse. We found each other and we are a perfectly terrible match. I refuse to hurt you any more than I have though, Stella. I can’t.”

I’m only pissed off now. A more intelligent part of me is reasoning with what Charlie is saying and wants to talk him out of it, but a livid, hasty part of me is overshadowing her.

I hop down from the counter suddenly, causing Charlie to stand straight again, pulling his hands form the counter and taking a step back.

“Fine then, I’ll get my things and you can take me back to my room. I’m sorry that you feel like you’ve only victimized me, and it’s hard for you. You don’t have to be my friend anymore, but I would appreciate it if you would be my ride home. Just give me a few minutes to cover this hideous bruise.”

I instantly regret everything, of course. But I keep walking out of the kitchen because I know that if I turn back to Charlie, I won’t be able to stand myself for what I’ve just said.

I honestly can’t remember the last time that I was so cold with someone – I’m not sure that I ever have been. Maybe that is something else that Charlie is helping me to do – stand up for myself. Of course, I’m standing up to the wrong person.

As I pass through the living room, I look to the back door and see Cooper in the glass. I stop for a second, staring at him, and then I look around the living room, my eyes stop on the record player. I’m afraid that Charlie is watching me from the kitchen, so I turn around quickly and keep walking to the bedroom. I don’t want him to see that I’m crying again.

I grab my entire bag and walk quickly into the bathroom, throwing it onto the floor and closing the door before sliding my back down the bathroom counter. I cradle my knees, burying my head into them, and sob.

Seeing cooper, the record player, I’m only just starting to register what’s happened. My mind was already scattered from hearing Charlie throw things, and from seeing him so angry with himself. But then, hearing him say that we were like cat and mouse, I couldn’t think anymore. It hurt to hear him say that, but the smarter part of me says that he only did it so I would react like I had: become angry and leave, and then I wouldn’t have to wake up to him slapping me again. I listen to that smarter part of me this time, because my brash side certainly isn’t dependable.

I wonder, how many times do we hurt people without realizing that we’re only really trying to protect them from the hurt that we feel like we’re capable of causing?

The only way that Charlie can hurt me now is to not speak to me anymore, and I’ve basically just agreed to let him.

I haven’t a clue what time it is – I wonder if I’ll even be able to make it to class now. I don’t even care.

I’m still sobbing, trying to compose myself enough to walk out and apologize, when I hear a soft knock on the bathroom door.

“Yes?” I say, but it’s barely audible.

I hear the door open slowly, but I don’t look up. I put both of my hands on my face and attempt to wipe all of the tears away at once, but I just end up holding my hands over my eyes so that Charlie can’t see me crying.

“No, Stella, don’t cry,” He whispers.

I feel him near me as he bends down and picks me up effortlessly. I wrap my arms around his neck, but I keep my eyes squeezed shut and bury my face into the bare skin of his shoulder.

I’m still crying enough that I can’t hear what he’s saying to me as he carries me to the bed.

He lays me gently into the pillows, crawling under the covers beside me and holding me with one arm. With his other arm, he brushes through my hair, pulling it away from my tear soaked face.

My sobs are quieting now, and I’m pretty sure I have no tears left. Charlie starts to kiss my cheeks and continue his apologies.

“Stella, I didn’t mean what I said about you. I only said that so you would feel okay to leave if you wanted. I’m so sorry. I don’t want you to feel trapped, like you have to be here for me. I want you more than anything, but I’d rather you be happy than I. You make me so happy, Stella, but if I can’t do the same for you, then you should find someone who can.”

I finally relax and adjust my body, turning more on my side, towards Charlie. I let my fingers play at his chest, watching them while I speak to him.

“Charlie, I think you could make me happier than anyone in the whole word. But please, stop trying to convince me that I’m wrong for wanting to be with you. I should be the one who is worried about you getting tired and leaving. If you keep beating yourself up, like I said before, you’re eventually going to resent me, and I won’t be what makes you happy anymore.”

“No, baby, you’ll always – “

“Please, Charlie? Just promise me you’ll let us be. Trust that I care about you, and realize that you’ll only hurt me by pulling away when you’re afraid that you are doing something wrong with me.”

“Okay, baby, I’ll try. I’m sorry.”

He leans down and kisses me, this time near the corner of my lips, and it calms me so much that I’m falling asleep again in seconds.