Purple Hearts

He says he has no time for me.

Aaron’s a writer, you see. He constantly has loads of deadlines to hit, and I always seem to get in the way. It makes him upset and angry with me.

My brother Dominic says that’s no reason for him to hit me all the time.

I wait quietly, curled up in the old red couch at the back of the room. The sound of Aaron’s fingers going clickety-clack on the keyboard calms me. I go cold with fear whenever it stops, coming out of my stupor to look up at him.

His eyes are looking at me, and I feel like a dear caught in headlights. His grey eyes are beautiful, but they make me scared. His blond hair is cut short, because that’s how he says men should look. He makes me grow my hair long, because he sees me as more woman than man, I think. Not that I mind, of course; its just painful when he gets mad at pulls it out in clumps.

‘Bryer.’

He says my name softly, a small smile lightly gracing his pale lips. He never calls me by my first name. He only ever calls me by my last name; Bryer, or ‘poof’ or ‘idiot’ or something of that liking.

I start immediately, swinging my feet onto the floor as I stand.

‘Yeah, Aaron?’

‘Get me another cup of coffee.’

Nodding like an imbecile, I take the offered mug, shivering as his fingers graze mine.

The hallway is dark. I dislike it. I always think some monster is going to jump out and eat me for supper. For crying out loud, I’m twenty, not some ten-year-old who still wets the bed.

The cat clock in the kitchen tells me it’s already two AM. My stomach grumbles angrily; I haven’t eaten for over thirty hours. I often loose track of time like that.

Kissa, the tortishell mix, mews softly up from her empty bowl. She paws it, and mews again, louder.

‘You and me both,’ I mumble, switching on the kettle. There isn’t any food in the cellar for Kissa, so I make a mental note to go out and buy her some when the shop is open. I just hope she won’t bring in a dead mouse or such of the like. Aaron thinks that’s disgusting.

I spoon out the coffee grains to exactly two and three quarter spoonfuls. He can always tell when I haven’t taken care with the amounts.

Hot water next. Stir it clockwise twice, and then once anti. God, I hope I’ve done this right. I’m always forgetting things. Aaron reminds me enough of that. I really should remember things by now.

I scoot back into the studio, holding the mug carefully in my hands.

‘Didn’t I tell you to stop biting your nails?’ he asks quietly, taking the mug from me.

‘Sorry.’

‘They look positively repulsive.’

‘Sorry.’

He sighs, and I go back to the couch, waiting to hear the familiar clickety-clack of the keyboard. I don’t though.

He watches me silently, blowing on the hot surface of the coffee. I try to avoid eye contact, but I can’t help staring at him. He’s gorgeous. I don’t deserve him.

‘Aaron?’

His eyebrows lift a little in response.

‘What’s your story called?’

He never lets me see his work in progress, and I have to go out and buy final copies in secret if I want to read them.

So it’s a surprise when he rolls his eyes down to the screen and says, ‘Kingdom Come.’

‘What?’ God, I’m stupid.

‘The end of the world.’

I frown, biting a little on my solitary lip ring.

‘Do we die?’ I ask, worried. I’ve read his books before, and there are usually references to us hidden in them.

‘It’s a long way off yet,’ he smiles, taking a sip of his coffee. ‘Don’t you worry.’

Aaron’s not a sentimental kind of guy. I want to tell him that I want to be with him for all of eternity, even after the world has withered. I don’t though. He’d probably just laugh at me.

‘Come on, let’s go to bed,’ he sighs, shutting down his computer. I go directly to his side, following as he makes his way slowly to the bedroom.

Aaron never brushes his teeth except once in the morning and after oral. I always feel self-conscious brushing my teeth alone at night.

After doing just that, I slide into the bed beside him, and let him hold me tight. He hasn’t yelled or hit me today. It’s scary. Yesterday he did. My black eye tells that story.

‘I love you,’ I whisper against his chest.

‘I love you too,’ he soothes, running his fingers through my hair.

I flinch a little at his response, but otherwise don’t acknowledge it. Aaron never says he loves me. He thinks love is for idiots.

I wake the next day and he’s not in the bed, or the house. I don’t see him that day, or the next.

A week passes. Dominic says it’s for the best.

Two weeks. He’s not coming back, is he?

Three weeks. He’s left the computer with Kingdom Come on it. I guess I’ll have to finish it for him.

A month. I hope he reads it.

Six months. I love him.

A year. I don’t think I’ll ever stop.