They Changed My Life, chapter 14

Mike helped me up from the sodden ground. I had started crying again, and he put an arm around my shoulder. That was a good thing. I didn't think that my knees could fully support me anyway. "Let's go home," he suggested. I nodded, felling stupid. Awhile later, Mike and I walked into the house, dripping wet.
"Hello? Anyone home yet?" Mike called. "Eh, I guess everyone's still out looking for you."
I sat, burying my head in my hands. "Oh Mike, how could I have been so stupid? Trying to commit suicide? That's not like me at all."
Mike sat next to me. "If you don't mind me asking, what happened? Aside from attempting to kill yourself, you have a humongous gash across your face. I'm a little worried."
I sighed, "It's just some stuff. My sister and I have the house to ourselves for a week, and we got into a pretty heated argument about yesterday. Then I come here and see Laurie and Billie Joe together and I dunno. I guess I just lost it. This piled on top of a lot of other things I was dealing with."
"So, you like Billie Joe, eh?" Mike said quietly, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.
"I never said that!" I answered defensively. Mike gave me a look, and I blushed. "Well... maybe a little bit... but like I said, I just thought I couldn't handle things anymore. I just wanted it all to be over."
"If I may ask, what 'other stuff' were you dealing with?"
I grinned at Mike weakly. "I promise to tell you, but first you've got to make me some coffee."
Mike jumped up and said, "I believe that can be arranged."
He proceeded to make some coffee, and I walked up behind him, shivering. He looked down at me and said, "Oh man, we're both dripping wet! I'm so sorry, I forgot we were both dripping wet if you can believe that. Yeah, let's get changed. I'm sure I have clean clothes somewhere."
"Actually," I said, picking up my bag. "I brought some clothes. I dunno what shape they're in, but the bag's supposedly waterproof."
Mike looked in my bag and announced, "It looks pretty wet in there to me."
"Damn liars," I muttered, throwing the clothes and bag into the drier, and then following Mike to his room. Digging in his dresser, he pulled out two shirts and two pairs of boxers.
"There we go," he said and turned his back after grabbing a set of clothes.
I stripped down to my bra and panties, wincing as the fabric of the shirt rubbed across my torn face. "Fuck!" I whispered fiercely. Obviously Mike heard my outburst and turned around.
"Holy shit Estelle! What are those?!" Mike walked up behind me, studying the fresh bruises on my back.
"Uh, they're nothing," I muttered, caught off guard.
"Bullshit," he said. "You need to tell me," he added gently.
I blinked tears back, sitting on his bed. "My sister gave them to me," I choked out. Mike sat next to me, not trying to take advantage of the fact that we were both still almost naked. He gently touched a larger, yellowing bruise on my back.
"Did she give you this, too?"
I nodded, my head aching. I knew what the next question he would ask would be.
"Holy hell, Estelle," Mike said shakily. "What are these?" he asked, tracing the scars scattered across lower back. I sighed, and turned around.
"Mike, you're the first person I'm going to tell this to voluntarily. These scars aren't from my sister. They're from my ex-boyfriend, Stephen. See-there's some here, too," I said, showing him the marks that Stephen had carved into my stomach. Mike's features were clenched with worry, and he held my hand. "Stephen's dead now, but he caused me a lot of, well, too much grief when he was still alive. He murdered my best friend in front of me."
I started to shake, and Mike pulled me into a much needed hug. "Oh Estelle, I'm so sorry. I had no clue."
"That's why my mom made us move here. To get away from all of that, like it's actually possible." Tears had started rolling down my cheeks again.
"I think I may vaguely remember hearing about that on the news," Mike said, hugging me harder. "Oh, man, I'm so sorry," he repeated.
"Don't be-" I started, but the sound of Mike's door slamming open cut me off. Billie Joe stood in the doorway, his jaw hanging open.