Tired Of Being Hurt
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“It’s time to go,” said the nurse. “He’s been waiting for you.” She smiled brightly at him and waved goodbye as she led him into a small room with only one chair, which was placed in front of a large bed. Her voice became distant when they reached the doorway. As he stepped past her, he realized that his heart had missed a beat.
My eyes were still wet with tears and I couldn’t look up; she looked so beautiful. And then we both heard the sound of my own footsteps—and then another set. The moment the nurse left us alone, I turned away from him.
But he moved closer to me—so close that I could feel her warm breath on my face. He put an arm around my shoulders and pulled me to him gently—tugging my dress against my skin, leaving goosebumps. His lips brushed lightly over mine and he whispered in my ear.
The words came out of nowhere. They seemed so far away—as if I wasn’t here. Yet his touch felt warm on my neck when he pulled back and kissed me again. I didn’t know whether to pull away or press myself against him, and all I could do was watch as his eyes grew soft once more before he released me and stepped aside.
When I finally saw her face, it made no sense to me why she would choose to be alone with me. There had never been a night where I’d wanted this so much that I couldn’t stand it anymore. That night, she had come back to me.
I tried to hide the fear that had taken hold of me by looking away and closing my eyes. It was too hard for me to bear, but I knew what I needed. This was what she wanted to see. She didn’t ask me to say anything. My heart pounded painfully hard against my chest as he took a seat on the bed behind me.
And yet, he couldn’t see me like this.
His fingers were gentle on my hair. When they rested over my shoulder, it reminded me of the time when we first met, when I was a child sitting beside my father’s grave. I closed my eyes to shut off the light from the hallway that fell over us.
It took only one breath. And even though his touch was soft against my skin, it hurt. His hand ran through my hair softly and tenderly, as if to reassure himself that he really did have me. I opened my eyes.
A tear fell down each side of my face, falling onto his arm and making its way down to his wrist. It lingered there like a second shadow until it touched his chest, which brought tears to my eyes.
When he spoke, I could see how deep the hurt was inside him.
“You’re afraid?” he asked. “Afraid of being hurt.”
Her answer came quickly, just above a whisper. “No,” she whispered, and he nodded before kissing me on the forehead. Then he stood up and walked away from me, leaving me alone in darkness.
My hands were still trembling when I looked down at the floor and saw her lying in her own blood.
***
I couldn’t move—even when I tried. But then, after a few steps, I felt her arms wrap around me from behind.
“What am I doing? Why are you holding me? Please let go!” I cried out. I turned on the spot, trying to push her away. “Let me go! Please!” I begged, but she held me tighter.
As I tried to run past her, he grabbed my arm and pushed me toward the chair near the window. “Sit,” he whispered, and when I refused, he pushed me until I sat down in the chair, facing away from him.
But I couldn’t leave the room, so I watched her as she sat down in the chair across from me—with his hands on my hips. When I didn’t respond, he whispered, “Look at me,” before leaning forward and touching his cheek to my forehead. I jerked away from his hands, but he tightened his hold on me—pulling me closer to him, until he was lying over top of me, his lips next to my ear.
His body was heavy on me and my heart beat faster. I was sure the nurse could hear my heartbeat beating against her.
“Please tell me,” he breathed, “how do you feel?”
I tried to shake my head, but he kept me pinned to the chair. He was so warm on my back as he held me close, and I could hear every breath that escaped me. He lifted his face to look into my eyes, his thumb stroking my jawline. “Tell me,” he repeated. I looked away from him and stared at the ceiling.
He leaned back on his heels. “Don’t turn your head away. Please.”
I didn’t want to see her. I couldn’t look at her while she lay there with her legs splayed open and a bloody wound between her thighs. She was so beautiful that it hurt to look at her, and I was terrified of losing control—of hurting her more than she already was. I couldn’t bear the thought of it.
When I finally gave her a name, she smiled. I couldn’t remember how long it had been since the last time she had said anything.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice was shaky as she spoke. “I don’t know what happened. It was all a blur… But I know what he did to me.”
My eyes flew open at her words. She wasn’t crying—not even when he had touched me and put my hand against her. She hadn’t made a sound. How much worse could it have been? “Why didn’t you say anything?” I asked her again. The silence grew between us. I heard the sounds of her breathing and the rhythm of my own heart.
He sighed. “You can stop now,” he told me gently. “I know you’re afraid. You need to trust me. I won’t let anyone hurt you here.”
She nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. When I didn’t move, she looked over at me, her eyes filled with tears as she spoke. “You’ll be safe now.”
I wanted to ask more questions, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at her. My mind was screaming that he would kill her for talking, but I was too terrified to speak out loud. So, when she moved to kiss him on the neck, I felt a twinge of jealousy and anger.
But instead of pulling away from her touch, he kissed her back—and I found myself watching their bodies press together with longing—my heart pounding harder and harder until I couldn’t stand it anymore.
I was jealous that they were sharing a moment together, and I wanted it—even if it was forbidden. But I couldn’t look away. Instead, I looked back down at my hands, which were shaking with fear.
The door opened and the nurse entered. As soon as she saw me, she took out a penlight and shone it in my eyes. I couldn’t see her face, but I knew she was looking down at me like she didn’t believe a word that came out of my mouth. “What’s wrong with me?” I asked her quietly. “How am I going to get out of here? Who will care for us?”
“It isn’t safe to talk,” the nurse said sternly. “Please sit up straight and stay quiet.” She reached out to turn off the light before leaving the room, but I couldn’t take my eyes away from the woman who was lying beside me. Her hair was tangled and matted to her skin—as though she had spent hours sitting in wet sheets.
“What’s your name?” I asked her, and then looked toward the window, trying not to laugh. “Are we underwater?”
She laughed and turned to smile at me. “No, dearie. No one knows where I am, except you and this man,” she whispered to me, and I heard her whisper “thank you” in a hushed tone. Then she squeezed my hand in hers, just as he pulled her closer to him. They kissed once more before she said softly, “You know why the window is closed and locked?”
A tear slid down her cheek. She seemed happy—or relieved. I wanted to reach out and wipe it off of her face, but the nurse was staring at me impatiently. I couldn’t make myself look at the nurse, so I watched him kissing her and felt a pang of pain at knowing that they had only just met.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” she said, and I looked back at her—back toward the world outside the window.
The nurse had closed it, and when she was gone, I realized she hadn’t given me any medicine—that there had been no glass for me to drink from after the nurse left. How long had I been in here? Had I slept for days or only hours?
I could feel sweat trickling down my body and wondered if I had fallen asleep without eating anything. But I couldn’t hear anything beyond the walls of the room, nor could I see through the glassless windows. If the nurse hadn’t come and shut the door, it would be night outside.
I looked at her and felt a stab of loneliness in my chest—but I couldn’t speak about it, because the nurse was watching me. I tried to think of how I should begin my story—what would be best to tell first? And yet, when I saw the way he had touched her, I knew I couldn’t share the details. It would be too painful for her—especially if he found out.
“Do you remember me?” I asked her.
Her eyes widened in surprise. Then, as though she were trying to convince herself, she said, “Yes. Of course, I do. You saved me…” She stopped and shook her head, as though remembering all too clearly what happened next. “Don’t ask me why I’m here,” she told me. “We don’t have time for me to explain it.”
***
“You’ll be all right here now,” he told me softly. “They’ve got a special place for you, where no one will bother you. And they’ll give you food and a bed to sleep in. All you need to do is rest and get better.”
When I opened my eyes again, I felt something heavy resting over me. There was a faint buzzing sound in my ears, and I couldn’t breathe. It took some effort to pull away from him and rise up onto my elbows. My stomach lurched violently, but my legs trembled and wouldn’t hold me up.
I fell backward again, and he caught my arm. He was kneeling above me, but his voice sounded far away and distant as if we were speaking through a tunnel of thick cotton. “Please, sweetheart—”
My fingers brushed against her forehead; she had passed away while I lay sleeping, her head pressed into my chest. The nurse was standing near the bedside, listening with concern, and I tried to say something, but I could barely move. “It’s okay, darling,” I whispered, “you’re not alone.”
***
The nurse came to check on me every day. Every morning she came in with fresh towels and changed my dressings. She also gave me pills to swallow. I still didn’t understand how she had come to take care of me, since she had only arrived a few days ago.
As the days passed, I started feeling better, and I began to regain my strength until I was finally discharged.
Afterward, when I was walking home, I felt a sudden pain in my side, and I felt dizzy, but he was with me. When I looked up at him, he was frowning at me, and for some reason the thought that she would be angry with him made me cry. And yet, even so, I kept thinking, Why are you crying?
***
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring out into the darkness. I could feel a cool breeze blowing over me—not quite warm, nor cold, just pleasant. It reminded me of that night when we first met. It must be night; it was late afternoon, but it had turned dark early today. But then I remembered what he’d said last time: That there would be no one else to look after me anymore.
She would never forgive him for leaving her. Even if he promised that she would be taken care of by someone who could give her love and comfort, her eyes would always be filled with tears, and she would blame him.
But he did know. He had known from the beginning. And still, he had kissed her—and she had smiled at him. What kind of smile was that?
“What are you staring at?” he asked, and I looked up into his eyes—so blue, as deep as the sea. He was smiling.
“Why does it hurt here?” I said softly.
He put his hand on my hip. “No one else knows what your body has gone through—only you can describe your own pain to yourself. But I promise you this much—no matter how much it hurts, it won’t last forever.”
***
A little while later, when the sun had set and it was completely dark outside, I heard a knock at our door. The nurse had been telling me about the time before I was born, and she had told me about my mother—her name was Mrs. Davenport, but everyone called her Milly. She’d had a hard life, but she never cried.
I looked down at the bedside table and saw a bottle of medicine lying there. The bottle was labeled with a red cross symbol. It was probably meant for me, but it would be too dangerous to take it. There were instructions written on the label which told me not to touch it without an adult’s help.
The nurse had been right. It really wasn’t easy. The nurse came to see me every day, and I spent hours trying to write her a letter, but I never could make out the letters well enough to write them down.
“Don’t worry,” Mr. Davenport said as he came into the room, bringing the nurse with him. She was carrying a tray with two glasses of water on it. “You’ve done well,” he said, sitting next to me on the bed. I knew he meant I had done well because I had survived—but what exactly was he talking about? I felt like I had forgotten everything that had happened.
“It will all be over soon,” he said to me, putting his arms around me. I leaned my head against him. I wished I could stay like this forever.
I closed my eyes, listening to the quiet voices of the nurses coming and going. A few moments later, when I opened my eyes again, he had gone to sleep. It must have been the first time we had ever held each other. For a moment I was sad and missed him, but then I felt so much peace that I almost wanted to cry.
I couldn’t stop looking at his profile, and I felt like I was looking into a mirror. I stared at him while he slept and wondered if he felt the same way I did.
The next morning the nurse came to get me up. I sat in front of the window watching the light from the street lamps pass through the glass pane, and when I turned back to face the nurse, she was staring at me.
She smiled softly, but then a frown crossed her brows and she frowned again. She reached forward and tapped my nose lightly—and that was when I realized that she was trying to tell me something. So I went back to my desk and tried writing. I wrote as fast as I could.
“What do you want me to say?” I asked the nurse.
“Just write anything you feel like saying,” she replied.
So I wrote, “I’m sorry.” But when she left, the only thing that came to my mind was “I miss you,” and I didn’t know what to write after that.
That was the first day of school.
The End