#please don't request

“There.” He rubs his hands together. With a playful slap for emphasis, he stands up straight. “Now we can begin.”

You had done these before. Alex was always either on his phone or on his camera when you were with him. You exhale a little forcefully to shake off any fearful dispositions or that stagnant face that he really hated in his pictures. You side onto the top of the vanity, pulling his jacket warmly around your body. The soft click of his camera fills the room. Then another, and another before the clicks stop.

“You’re distracted.” He notes from behind the camera. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.” You say, clearly lying to him and well, yourself. You slide the jacket down to your wrist, obnoxiously concerned about every non-existant bruise, blemish and burn that hides behind the lingerie.

“You can tell me.”

I wish I could, you think. Your eyes settle upon the floor, chasing the lines until Alex’s obnoxious white sneakers come into view. His camera dangles around his neck now.

“Smukke…”

“Alex please.” You turn up your cheeks, suddenly cognizant of the dampness running down your cheeks. You don’t want to cry any more than you already have, but he’s testing the patience you have left. You wipe the tears, looking down to his hanging camera while fanning your eyes. “I’m going to smear my make up.”

“I don’t care about your make up.” He says. “I care that you’ve been pushing me out. For a year? Two? How long--”

“He wouldn’t let me see you.” You cut him short, irate with the thought of being responsible for something you had no handle on. He makes a small huff not quite understanding before, yeah, it all comes crashing down on him. He extends his head slightly toward you, quirking his lips down.

“William?”

“Who else.” You bite a bit less than intentionally. His name is still raw on your tongue. “He didn’t like you.”

“What does that have to do with today?” He asks. “Did he threaten you?”

It wasn’t unheard of. Two years ago, months into a brand new relationship with William, Alex and he had gotten into it at a bar. On top of feeling threatened, William had been sure that he was going to shove Alex out of your life. You guess he shoved himself out through sheer paranoia.

“Not this time.”

“Not this time?” Alex repeats. He stares at you determinedly, lines creasing his forehead as he lifts his eyebrow.“What does that mean?”

It was Alex, it wasn’t William. It was Alex-- it wasn’t William. He wasn’t going to slap you if you didn’t answer in time. You lift your head, putting a hand upon Alex’s firm chest for some source of stability in trying to tell Alex what you deleted a hundred times over text messages at odd hours of the day when only cold chills consoled you.

“He’s done it before-- when you came home from Dublin. Sometimes he would do worse than that. I see marks you don’t see.” You say, running a sigh. “I know you just want me to look beautiful but… what you see? What I see? Those are two different things. I’m not pretty anymore Alex. I’m just… left over.”

Alex grips the hand on his chest, tugging your wrist up to push your hands over his shoulders. You drape there like a limp doll, momentarily frozen by touch. Rather than jerk back when his hands come around your waist, you actually feel-- well, like you can relax. You slacken against his chest.

“I’m sorry.” --that I wasn’t there. Your hand comes around to his shaggy short hair, cupping the back of his head. It isn’t an apology he owes you, but guilt, heavy and thick must carry heavy on his broad shoulders.

“You don’t need to be.” You whisper back into his ear. Then, burying your head against his neck, you take in the scent of his familiar cologne. “I’m safe now.”