“You don’t know about this,” he said as he pulled up the long sleeve on his left arm and then I saw it.
That’s why he wears long sleeves. I thought.
I shuddered slightly seeing all the white scars and scrapes all up and down his arm.
“What is this? I mean, why? Why did you?” I stuttered slightly.
“This…” he gestured to his arm again, “is how much I cared.”
I suddenly started to feel very guilty. I realized then that I wasn’t the only one who had been hurt in the relationship. Maybe he hadn’t been affected in the same way, but still.
It even hurt now to be looking at this one whole year later after it had all happened.
“How long has it been like this for?” I asked.
“It started pretty much during last summer right after…” his voice trailed off. I nodded listening to him.
There was an awkward silence again.
“Do you still?” I asked.
“No,” he said.
Silence.
But he took a couple of steps closer to me and kissed me.
This time, though, compared to the last time he’d kissed me, it was okay.