FicWad

Devin tiptoed through the dark apartment. It was nearly 10 o'clock when she got home, and she knew that Kevon wouldn't be happy. He liked her to be home around 9 o'clock. She placed her purse on the mail table by the door and tiptoed into the living room. It was dark, and she assumed that Kevon had gone to bed. She moved her hand towards the bedroom doorknob, but was stopped.
"Where were you?" demanded Kevon from behind her.
Devin jumped and spun around.
"Why is your hair wet?"
"We went swimming." She answered weakly.
"Pete doesn't have a pool! YOU WERE AT PATRICKS!" screamed Kevon.
"No!" she cried, but it was too late. Kevon had brought down his hand, and SMACK across her face. She fell to the ground, sobbing. Kevon kicked her side and swore nastily.
"YOU STAY AWAY FROM HIM!" he screamed.
Devin covered her head with her hands
"SLEEP ON THE COUCH!" he screamed, and he stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. A baby began to cry somewhere in the building. Devin simply lay on the ground, sobbing silently. She eventually dragged herself to the couch and collapsed into a fitful sleep.

The next morning she awoke to the smell of coffee and pancakes. She sleepily looked up and squinted into the kitchen. Kevon had breakfast on the table. She smiled and got up.
"Morning, Dev. I'm sorry about last night." Kevon said cheerily.
Devin fell for his false apology and kissed him on the cheek. They sat down and ate in silence.
"I have to go to work, ok?" he said eventually, standing up.
"'Bye, honey." She called. Everything always turns out ok, she thought.
She cleared the breakfast dishes and wandered back into the living room. She crossed over to the bedroom door, planing on changing. Something caught her eye on the carpet. She stopped and looked down; blood. She gingerly raised her hand to her face; sure enough, she felt the raised bumps of dried blood. She rushed into the bathroom and looked in the mirror; there was a gash across her cheek. His ring cut me, she thought, the one with the dragon. Tears stung her eyes. She pulled the blade out of the drawer and let it slice the flesh on her wrist. Her tears mingled with her blood. She collapsed onto the bathroom floor, sobbing. She thought of the night before, about what Pete had said; "Devin, he doesn't love you. That's not love."
"Does he really love me?" she wondered out loud.
Something told her no. She realized that her friends were right; they could help her. But she didn't want help. She decided she could handle it herself. She rose slowly off the floor and washed her wrist. She walked out into the living room and collapsed onto the couch, thinking of what to do. The phone rang, and Devin picked it up.
"Hello?"
"Devin?" asked a familiar voice.
"Hi, Joe."
"Did you get home ok?"
"Yeah."
"Are you ok?"
"Ye-...no."
Joe paused. Devin sensed this call was very hard for him to make; he was usually upbeat and happy.
"What happened after you got home?" he finally asked.
"Kevon...he was angry. He...he hit me. His ring cut my face."
"Oh, Dev."
"When I woke up, he made me pancakes."
Joe didn't answer. Devin knew he had his head in his hands.
"Devin, do you understand what we told you last night?"
"I think so."
"Kevon doesn't love you."
"Yeah. I think I get it now."
"Are you going to leave?"
Devin paused. She had no idea what to do.
"I don't know what to do."
Joe sighed.
"I have to go. Think about what you're going to do. We'll help you with whatever you choose."
"I don't need help."
"'Bye, Dev."
Devin hung up the phone. She didn't need help. She could handle this herself.

Patrick sat on his bed, strumming on his guitar. He played "Sugar, we're goin' down" singing along softly. The lights were off, but sunlight streamed through the open window. His mind wandered to Devin, and he looked over to his bedstead. The bloodstained, orange terry cloth wristband sat there. He had gone out into his yard and picked it up this morning. He began to play "Pretty in Punk" and the line "I've seen your boyfriend, and I don't think he treats you right" choked him, and he put the guitar down. Devin. Devin needed his help, but he didn't know how to help her. Pete had said she has to want help before they can give it to her. Patrick was worried sick. He pulled his hat off and ran his fingers through his hair. He didn't know what to do. He was so afraid she'd be pushed over the edge...who knows what she might do. He shuddered at the thought and placed his hat back on his head. She was so pretty...she was throwing it all away. She needed a boy who could treat her right...Like me, thought Patrick.
"Patrick!" someone called from the kitchen. Patrick stood up and walked out into the kitchen.
"Hey, Joe."
"I called Devin."
Patrick tried not to bite his nails, a bad habit that the guys teased him about.
"What did she say?"
"She said that Kevon hit her and busted her cheek open with his ring. Then he made her pancakes."
"Wonderful," Patrick said sarcastically, sighing sadly, "Did you call Andy and Pete?"
"Yeah. Andy says we should go over there and get her out. Pete says we have to let her realize she needs to leave."
"Well, I agree with Andy. We need to get her out." Patrick said, slamming his fist on the counter.
"Patrick, we can't. Pete's right. What if she won't leave? Besides, she told me she doesn't want help."
This angered Patrick.
"She could be over there, laying on the floor, bleeding to death!" he shouted.
"Patrick, dude, calm down. Please. She's fine...well, not FINE, fine, but she'll be ok for while."
Patrick turned away.
"I'm just worried." He said softly.
"I am too. We all are." Joe answered, shaking his head sadly.