Punk!Michael Bruised&Scarred (Part 7)
written by: Sam + me
Part 7 in our mini punk!michael series. Michael shows up bloody and bruised and Sonia cares for him
word count: 2k
You know when you read something, but you don’t actually read it? Like, your mind skims over he words and you get it, you’re reading. You’re taking in the letters, but your brain reads it like code. You’re not consciously recognizing these words, and it’s like your imagination’s somewhere else.
That’s what was going on while I was trying to read over my summer assignment. My eyes scanned the page in front of me once, twice, three times before ultimately giving up and putting the book down. What was this book even about anyway? A quick look at the cover told me the title was Revenge of the Whale the apparently true story of the well known Moby Dick story. Lovely. How interesting. This is really the type of literature that’ll get high schoolers really excited to go back to school.
I was laying on my floor on my stomach, a pen in my mouth and a lock of my hair being twirled around my finger subconsciously when I heard knocking on my door, which after a sudden pause turned into banging. With my heart beating out of my chest, I ran out my bedroom and bounded down the stairs. Once in the foyer I heard a familiar voice yelling “Sonia, baby it’s me, please let me in,” and then more hasty, determined banging.
Ripping open the door, I came face to face with my boyfriend, hanging on the side of my railing for support, blood trickling down his chin and across his cheekbone, with matted down, sweaty hair and what looked to be teeny, tiny shards of glass shimmering across the expanse of his t-shirt.
“Michael, what the happened to you?” I almost screamed. He looked behind him and around my front yard hastily as if making sure no one was behind him before staggering through the door frame and closing it behind him, making sure to lock it.
“Baby girl, I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t know where else to go. I tried calling you but you wouldn’t pick up.” Michael said quickly.
“Michael, Michael, slow down, my-my phone was off, I was studying. W-where’s your truck, Michael, who did this to you?” I asked hastily, helping him to the floor as it was becoming apparent that he could only put pressure on one of his legs.
Still out of breath, Michael leaned back on his elbows, outstretching his injured leg. “I had to leave my truck at the house, I didn’t want him to follow me here.”
“Who didn’t you want to follow you here?” I asked, eyes wide, my lip trembling, although I already knew the answer.
Michael swallowed before responding, eyes not meeting mine, “My dad.”
It was very apparent he was losing a lot of blood and very apparent that he was in a lot of pain. “Michael, do you think you can make it up the stairs?” He nodded, although he didn’t seem too sure of it himself. Upon standing, he tried to put pressure on his injured leg and cried out in pain, trying not to put too much of his weight on me as I tried to help him walk. Once he made it to the first step I suggested with shaky hands that he sit down and use one of his legs to push his butt up backwards. He made it upstairs the best he could, and made the walk to my bedroom from the hall with gritted teeth. He plopped down on the floor of my bathroom, resting his head on the edge of the bathtub. It was then that I realized his shoulder was bleeding – very badly, actually. As he leaned back he unknowingly turned the white of my tub pink, and my gasp was heard over the sound of his heavy breathing, as the pain was making his heart race.
“I-oh my god, okay. Are you in a lot of pain?” I asked, voice wary.
“I mean, well, yeah,” he strained, arching his back so he could breathe properly.
“O-okay, do-do you need me to call 911? I- I don't”
“No!” he cut me off, “You cannot call an ambulance.” His eyes locked with mine.
“Michael, I can’t.. I don’t know.. oh my god Michael I have to you need help we can’t just..”
“Sonia.” His eyes stilled locked on mine, his tone of voice low and serious. “Listen to me, okay angel? Everything is going to be fine, but if you call 911 everything will just be more chaotic and complicated, alright?”
“I… you can’t just… o-okay y-you need to take your shirt off.” I stammered.
“Mm, I don’t think this is the right time for that, princess.” He responded cheekily with a smirk.
I could feel the blood rush to my cheeks at his comment. “I need to make sure you don’t need stitches, Mike.” I couldn’t help the small smile on my face.
Michael pulled the black t shirt off his body, and I tried to suppress my gasp. Shades of yellow, blue, and purple littered spots from his shoulder to his ribs, and I made him sit forward to see marks even worse on his back. The gash that was causing the blood loss was on his left shoulder blade, and although it was bleeding rapidly, it didn’t look deep or wide enough to need any stitches.
“Michael I don’t think..” I started, going to once again suggest that we get him actual professional medical help. He shut me up with another pointed look. Grabbing the first aid kid from the cabinet underneath my sink, I pulled out gauze pads, tape, and ointment and eyed them reluctantly, before grabbing what I needed with shaky hands as I started to care for his wounds, stuttering out apologies every time he’d flinch.
Once I knew that was okay, I let him sit back again, wetting some paper towels and straddling his thighs so I could clean up his face. A small cut on his temple and just below his lip were the cause of the blood swept across the right side of his face, and when I tipped his head back a bit to clean up a bit that trickled across his jaw, I saw the faint purple marks of a hand print across the expanse of his throat, and I fought the urge to cry.
Still looking up at the ceiling, Michael sighed. “Don’t be sad, princess.”
“I’m not sad.” I replied after a pause. I wasn’t sad, but I did feel horrible, even if I wasn’t the one to do this to him. Just knowing that someone, especially someone like Michael had to go through this was enough to bring tears to my eyes.
“I don’t like seeing you worked up like this,” his eyebrows furrowed, and his hands moved up and down my thighs, as if trying to calm me down, when it should be the other way around.
“Well I don’t like seeing you beat up.” I bit back, regretting the words as soon as they came out of my mouth. I knew neither of us could help it, and I felt awful. “I’m sorry,” I choked out.
“Don’t be sorry,” he pushed my hands away from his face and pulled a piece of my hair away from my face.
“Come on, lay down.” I got up from him, pulling him up to help him stand. He could put pressure on it now after the break he gave it, but he was still far from walking correctly. “Michael, what if your leg’s fractured?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, not facing me as he walked toward my bed.
“But Michael, it could swell or get even worse-” he cut me off.
“Don’t worry about it,” he repeated, sitting down on the bed and unbuttoning his pants.
“I should go get you ice packs, your abdomen’s gonna hurt so much worse in the morning.” I took a step towards my bedroom door, but his eyes gave me a look that told me to not take another step.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said once again, pulling down the sheet and getting on his side.
“Michael!” I was becoming exasperated at this point. “You show up on my porch bloody and bruised how can you ask me not to worry?”
“Don’t worry about it. Just let me hold you right now.” He held his arms open, waiting for me to join him. When he noticed my reluctance, he plopped his arms down. “Baby, please do this for me right now? I’m really really sore, I had a shitty night, I just want to spend some time with you before I have to go back.”
“You.you’re not..” I shook my head.
“You don’t think I’m going to seriously let you go back home after that.”
“I-is it okay that I sleep over?” He bit his lip, wincing a bit when he remembered he was cut there.
At that, my feet carried me so fast across the room, I was in bed with him in less than a second, wordlessly replying to his question. His arms pulled me into him, and I worried that I was pressing against any spots that were causing him pain. We laid like that for a half an hour, and when I realized neither of us were going to get any sleep, I decided to ask him, “Do you want to talk about it?” really quietly.
I held my breath while I waited for his reply. We weren’t face to face, my forehead buried in his chest and his in my hair. Finally, he croaked, “He pushed me into the fireplace… It wasn’t lit or anything, but I busted up the gate and the brick hit my shin.” That explained the limping. “Held me up against the wall next to it. Choked me out a bit… Once I got loose he threw a bottle at me when I reached the front door.” He said it as if he were reading the morning paper.
“Michael, I-” I was choked up, feeling the tears well up in my eyes.
“Don’t say you’re sorry. You didn’t do this. He did.” We were silent for a long while after that.
“I love you.” I
sponged feather light kisses over the purple marks on his neck, and I felt him
smile a bit into my hair.
“I love you too, angel.” He held me tighter, and soon fell asleep.
The morning after, I woke up to Michael playing with my hair and staring at the ceiling, my head on his chest. I immediately sat up, fingers grazing across the purple bruises. “How are you feeling?” I croaked in my unattractive morning voice.
“I’ll feel a lot better if you lay back down.” He murmured back to me.
I slowly retreated to my previous position, and he resumed the twirling of my bed head. “You have to get up eventually and see how hurt you are.” I pointed out.
“Yeah, well, for now we can just stay like this for a little bit.” he almost whispered, pulling me closer to him.
“Do you wanna talk?” I whispered into his chest.
“No.” He whispered back.
“Do you wanna –”
“Babe, I just want to lay with you for a little, is that okay?” I nodded in response.
A half an hour later, he started groaning. The pain was catching up with him. He tried to hide it from me, but he was unsuccessful. He kept insisting that he was okay, that I didn’t need to do anything for him, that he wasn’t in pain, that he was fine. I knew he wasn’t, and stupid me got so frustrated after a while that I started to cry.
“Michael will you just hold the fucking ice pack for me?” Angry tears started running down my face.
“Why are you crying baby girl?” He cupped my jaw with his hand. I could tell my cursing took him by surprise, but I was just so upset.
“I’m just angry, Mi-ichael.” I hiccuped.
“I’m sorry, baby, I’ll hold the ice if it makes you happy, I just-”
“I’m not angry at y-you, Michael, I’m angry at him!” I wiped at the tears, frustrated that I was crying in the first place. “At this. That you have to go through this!”
Michael sighed. “Hey don’t cry alright? I’ll take the stupid ice pack okay?” He ran his fingers through my hair, and I just nodded in response. Hastily I threw my legs over the side of the bed and made my way to exit the room, but stopped by the doorway when Michael called my name out.
“Yeah babe?” I asked, turning around to face him.
“Do you think you could maybe, uh, get me some painkillers too?” He asked shyly, a pinkish blush painting his cheeks as he scratched the stubble that was coming in on his chin and jawline.
I smiled softly and nodded my head. “Of course. Anything for you."
I turned and exited the room, getting the ice and pills, then returning to my room for a morning filled with soft kisses and cuddles.