Finally, he replied bluntly, “I’m talking about the bruise.”

Jacob’s expression changed so quickly that it seemed as if a mask had been ripped from his face. The bruise. He blew an amused huff through his nose. Revie didn’t react, returning his focus on the street ahead, but he had definitely heard him.  

“You know, he might ask questions,” he added a second later, sounding annoyed.

“Oh, no,” Jacob exclaimed, shaking his head, “he probably won’t even notice.” He was sure of what he was saying, more or less, but the fact that he kept smiling nervously didn’t lend him much credibility. Because he really couldn’t understand why they were having a conversation about that… bruise. Could it really be that visible?

He genuinely had no idea. Jacob wasn’t aware of how much he avoided looking at his reflection. He avoided it normally, but on those days he had something to hide from himself, he did it even more than usual. He’d caught a glimpse of it at Revie’s house, shortly after he got hurt, and it hadn’t seemed like a big deal to him. Just a slight redness, which he could pass off as a pink eye, or something like that.

Up until that moment, he’d avoided every mirror, every pane of glass, every puddle - even the black screen of his phone - as had come naturally to him, after all. And he could feel it, he couldn’t deny it. The pain had been there, pulsing on his skin the whole time. But he’d tried so hard to pretend it wasn’t there. So why did they have to talk about it now?

He couldn’t help but turn toward the window, and then, for a split second, he saw it. He held his breath for a few moments. He wanted to disappear.

The area around his right eye was swollen, dark, and redder than before. He’d figured it would leave a mark, of course, but not this much. If it was in this state after less than an hour… what would it look like the next day?

Maybe his boyfriend was right: his father wouldn’t let it go unnoticed.

“Maybe you think your father’s an idiot,” Revie retorted, “but with his job, he’s used to noticing certain details. So if he asks, tell him you fell or make up an excuse, okay? You’re good at talking shit anyway.”

Jacob shook his head, ignoring the dig. “My dad adores you, really, he could never think that you-”

The car braked suddenly, violently, and Jacob clung to the door instinctively. Revie turned to look at him with cold, reproachful eyes. He was gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles went white. He leaned slightly toward him, closing the distance between them.

“I said,” he emphasized, spelling each word slow and clear, “if he asks any questions, you fell. Is that clear?”

He didn’t wait for an answer and let the brake go, nonchalantly. He already knew he’d made himself clear. Jacob felt so uncomfortable  he wished the seat would swallow him up so he could vanish from that car. He had to make a huge effort to fight back the tears stinging his eyes. He nodded slowly.

“I slipped in the bathroom. My dad knows I’m clumsy,” he whispered, his weak voice betraying how hard he was trying not to cry.

He curled up in his hoodie, as if the soft fabric could comfort him with a hug. The last few minutes of silence were brutal, but he had no intention of letting even a single tear escape. He focused on his breathing and tried to distract himself by looking at whatever happened to be outside the window. The sun had now almost completely set.

“I’m so sorry,” Revie said suddenly. “I shouldn’t have.” Jacob turned to look at him, incredulous.

He felt deeply unsettled by that apology and couldn’t explain why. Revie reached out and, for the first time during the ride, took his hand, gently stroking its back with his thumb. Jacob felt a sense of emptiness tighten in his chest. He felt he should have been feeling comforted, but he couldn’t read that shift as a happy ending.

“You don't need to apologize.” I don't want to talk about it anymore.

“I did something horrible. You'd have every right to leave me.” He pulled his hand back to shift gears. 

Leave him? Jacob would never leave him.

“What? What are you talking about?” he stammered, failing to hide the panic in his voice. He could feel his heart racing again. “I’m not mad. I’m serious.”

Revie retreated back into a bubble of silence, and Jacob realized how much his hands were shaking. He tried to hide them in the big pocket of his hoodie. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. Pleasedontleaveme.

“Seriously, I’m not mad at you,” he insisted, letting out a nervous chuckle. “Everything’s fine, okay?”

“If everything’s  fine, why haven’t you spoken to me for an hour?” Revie asked sharply. Jacob felt a stab in his chest. What did he mean, that he ‘hadn’t spoken to him’? That wasn’t how it went… Revie had ignored him and he…

“I…” he hesitated, “I’m sorry, Revie.”

Jacob felt constantly guilty, even though he loved Revie. And he loved him so very much. Because, deep down, he knew full well that Revie deserved better than a guy who always managed to make him lose his temper. A guy who wasn’t good enough for him. Who, unlike him, was a total mess around people and constantly embarrassed him. He was aware of his thousand flaws. A disaster from head to toe. Every time they were having a good time, Jacob always managed to say the wrong thing. And then Revie would stare at him, silently, with that look. That look he now knew very well - impassive, yet hard, cold, judgmental - that made him feel tiny and disgusting. And every time he found those eyes staring at him, he knew he’d screwed up yet again. That evening, he kept screwing things up more and more.

It didn’t matter who had ignored whom. Beneath layers of arguments, misunderstandings, and awkward silences, there  were always Jacob and his inadequacy, ruining everything, every time.

When, finally, he saw Revie smiling in his direction, he felt like a sudden ray of sunshine shined down on him, warming him. Then his world came crashing down again, when he realized it wasn’t directed to him: Revie raised a hand to wave someone hello. Then he hurried to find Jacob’s hand and squeezed it - not gently. A squeeze that had a very specific purpose: correcting him.

Revie would do that whenever Jacob didn’t behave properly around others. He figured it out quickly.

Trapped in his own increasingly overwhelming thoughts, Jacob hadn’t realized that Revie was parking. His father, who was in the garden throwing out the trash, was waving at them from a few meters away with the enthusiasm of a child. He hurried to wave back, shyly raising his hand. He wondered if his father could see the bruise from there, and pretended to scratch his forehead in a desperate attempt to hide it.

His father went back inside, and they both let their smiles slip away. Revie got out of the car with a sigh, retrieving his coat from the front seats. Although he didn’t slam the door, Jacob flinched in anticipation of the noise.

He stepped out hesitantly. His legs felt weak. Meanwhile, Revie had walked around the car, joining him on the sidewalk. He stood in front of him, by the gate of the house, as if he wanted to block his path. He moved closer to Jacob, caressing his shoulder, then his cheek. And for the first time that evening, he smiled gently.

“I love you, Jacob,” Revie said. It sounded melancholic, as if loving him was a burden. “Do you still love me, after today?”

He answered quickly, “Of course. At the end of each day, I’ll still love you tomorrow. You know that…”

And he truly believed it, with all his heart. It didn’t matter that Revie had laid hands on him. It didn’t matter how much they fought. All the secrets, the lies, the terror, the nightmares - none of it mattered.

The worst thing that could happen was for Revie to leave him.

***

His family loved Revie. Who didn’t, though?

The evening went wonderfully for everybody. Little less so for Jacob. But that was fine, because any signs of distress his body tried to signal went largely unnoticed.

No one noticed how he appeared to be eating, but in reality he spent half the time shuffling food around his plate and chewing the same bite for minutes on end. How he’d dash off to the bathroom  with some excuse, only to come back with eyes red from crying. Or how his arms and legs were constantly shaking.

No one saw Revie’s hand squeezing his under the table for saying one word too many, or as a reminder to smile more, or whatever else was wrong.

Even the bruise didn’t end up being a problem. His sister pointed it out after a while, sarcastically. Kathleen was fourteen, and Jacob was deeply relieved when she assumed it was nothing serious. Revie and her joked together about how clumsy Jacob was.

His father laughed, and it was better that way - that he had no suspicions. Jacob, however, couldn’t stop thinking… if his sister never pointed it out, maybe his dad wouldn’t really have noticed it at all.

He tried not to blame his father if something slipped his mind every now and then. He had been suffering from a chronic illness for years, one that caused him quite a few problems - not only in a physical way, but  mostly in a cognitive sense. He was often confused, brain fogged, trapped in his own bubble.

He didn’t want to blame him, but the truth was that anger was consuming him from the inside out, day by day. He would never admit it, but he wished so bad for his father to notice, just once, how much he was suffering.

Jacob slept at Revie’s house that night as well. He couldn’t bring himself to say no; he needed that closeness, even though guilt was eating him alive. He waited for Revie to fall asleep before getting dressed, as if Revie might discover how his own nudity reminded him of the corpses from his nightmare.

Being careful not to make a sound, he grabbed his phone and locked himself in the bathroom.

You're good at talking shit anyway. Those words echoed in his head.

Unknown Number: Let me know how it goes. Be careful. 3:03 p.m.

He read the message from the preview of that chat, which he’d kept archived for weeks, constantly deleting his history. Because if Revie found out…

Jacob would say - as he constantly tried to justify himself - that it wasn’t what it looked like. He had to keep it hidden until the situation had settled.

He hurried to write a reply.

I didn’t leave him. I couldn’t do it. I need some time; it’s been a rough day. :(

And then:

Don’t reply. I’m with him. I’ll call you tomorrow.

And then:

I’m sorry, Bastian, I love you.

Archive. Block. Delete chat.

He flushed the toilet in panic, because if Revie had woken up, it was better to have an excuse ready for why he went to the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face to calm down, then hid the phone in the back pocket of his pajama shorts. He felt watched, judged, and dirty.

When he returned to the bedroom, apparently Revie was still sleeping. He gently placed the phone on the nightstand and slipped under the blankets, turning his back to his boyfriend.

I’m sorry, Revie.

I love you.