Chapter 7: The Bruise
Sarah
On the way home, I keep thinking about Matthew's hands on Lola's body. My fingers clench in my lap, nails biting into my palms. I don't know how I controlled myself from hitting him and then her.
Matthew sits beside me, a statue carved from ice and stone. The silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating. I want to scream, to shatter this brittle quiet, but the words catch in my throat.
"Nice turtleneck." Matthew's mocking voice breaks the silence. "Did you borrow that from your grandma's grave?"
Is he serious right now?
I turn to face him. "Actually," I say, my voice surprisingly calm despite the storm raging inside me, "I'm wearing this turtleneck to hide the bruises you left on my neck last night. I went to see Dad today. Would you rather I show them off to him?"
Matthew's jaw clenches, a muscle twitching beneath his skin. His eyes darken, and I see a flicker of something. Regret maybe?
"I don't give a fuck," he spits out, his words laced with venom. "Show him, don't show him. It makes no difference to me."
I feel a familiar ache in my chest, but I push it down. I won't let him see how much his words hurt.
Matthew shifts in his seat, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "You know, Lola is quite the entertainer," he says, his voice dripping with malice. "She knows how to please a man, unlike some people I know."
I dig my nails into my palms, willing myself to stay composed. He's trying to provoke me, to make me lash out or break down. I won't give him the satisfaction.