she knows, from experience alone ⸻ that letting the tears fester, fall and stain the beat up couch did nothing to help. she also know, from experience again, that sitting on her couch, every single sound, of knuckles hitting skin, of a wail of pain into the cushions of the same stained beat up couch, the sound of smashing ceramic ( her mothers china, something she kept so close to her hear ) on the cold tiled floor, the knocking of bottles on the floor from shaking hands ... all of it, every single thing, could be heard through paper thin walls.
it was only temporary, until it wasn't. her husband wasn't always like this, he was kind. years ago. and then everything turned sour, like rotted fruit, left to die in pretty painted bowls. today was no different ⸻ he'd one too many to drink with his friends at the bar down the road, she'd made the mistake of not having dinner ready when he got home, laundry unfolded, washing machine still running, normal mundane activities that had she not also worked, would of okay, but his alcohol addled brain didn't allow that to process.
he'd always been careful, strategic almost with his hits. concealed beneath clothing, ankles and shins that could be passed as accidental knocks and all, but today was different, a blossoming bruise settling in on her cheek bone, the soft, membrane thin skin of her lip split, swollen and sore as she cried on her couch. she'd at least waited until his heavy footfalls had left the house before she broke down. but when they started, they simply wouldn't stop. thick rivulets that couldn't dry and just kept coming clung to burning skin. how had it all gone so wrong ?
she doesn't know how long she sat there in tears, but minutes could of turned to hours and she wouldn't have known ⸻ thoughts swirled only to be broken by a gentle knock, a familiar rhythm against the grained wood. chase. she moves softly, quietly as if her husband was still in the room. " hi chase. " it's sweetened with a slight saccharine falseness, the side of her face, beaten and bruised hidden by the barely cracked door in hopes that he'd never know, though she knew he knew, the sounds alone were damning. " uh, i don't think now is a really good time ? " she offered, though the smile she offered ached.
"I think it is. He's gone again, isn't he?" Chase breathed out watching half of her face -- the other half hidden by shadows, possibly bruised, maybe even cut and broken bones.
"Is your vision okay?" he asked ignorong entirely her tone and pleasantries. He knew that she knew the walls were paper thin. He didn't know if she knew he was a doctor, he old ladies from the building liked him and were all eager to find him a good woman so maybe she had heard.
