Bruises in the Shape of Hands

Maya didn’t leave her apartment the next day.

She sat on the floor by the couch, knees pulled to her chest, staring at the front door like it might speak. Like it might open. Like he might come back with a real apology or some better version of himself that didn’t make her flinch.

But the door stayed closed.

She tried to do things that made her feel normal. She made tea and didn’t drink it. She opened her notebook and tried to sketch, but every line ended up looking like his jaw or his hands or the shape of her own fear.

That was the worst part.

It hadn’t been fear of Elias. Not exactly. It had been fear of what her body remembered. Of how fast the panic had crawled up her throat the second he crossed a line. Of how long it had taken to feel safe again, even after he stopped.

She kept hearing his voice from last night.

"You always let me in."
"I wasn’t trying to take anything from you."
"I thought you wanted it."

He hadn’t yelled. He hadn’t forced. He had stopped. But he had hesitated, and that was enough.

That hesitation had unlocked something old and buried, and now it sat with her, breathing slow and steady in her chest like it had never left.

Around noon, she took off her sweater and went to shower. When she saw herself in the mirror, she paused.

There was a mark just below her collarbone. Not quite a bruise, not quite a bite. Something in between.

A stain from the night before.

She touched it gently. It didn’t hurt. Not really.

But it wasn’t the kind of mark that made her feel wanted.

It was the kind that reminded her she’d said no, and someone almost hadn’t listened.

Her stomach turned.

She stepped into the shower and scrubbed until her skin went red.

---

That night, Maya turned off her phone. She didn’t want to explain anything to Zara, and she didn’t want the possibility of Elias reaching out either. If he was going to talk, he could knock again. Face her.

But he didn’t.

Instead, she dreamed of her ex. Of choking on the word stop and him laughing. Of the weight of his hands pinning her wrists down while he said things like you’re fine and you know you like it.

She woke up soaked in sweat, her heart hammering against her ribs like it was trying to escape.

When she sat up, she realized she was crying.

---

The knock came the next night.

One short, heavy knock.

Maya’s body stilled instantly.

She didn’t move for a full minute. Just listened.

Then she stood. She walked to the door. She looked through the peephole this time.

It was him.

He didn’t look confident, or smug, or expectant. He looked… tired. There was a cut healing on his cheek she hadn’t seen before. His hands were in his pockets. He looked smaller somehow, though his body was just as tall and sharp as always.

She didn’t open the door.

He leaned his forehead gently against it and spoke, not loud, not soft.

“I’m sorry I touched you after you said no.”

She didn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like you had no choice. That’s not who I want to be. Not with you.”

Still, she said nothing.

“I didn’t sleep. I kept seeing your face. How fast you went cold. I swear to you, Maya, if I could take it back—if I could go back and listen the first time—I would.”

She opened the door.

Not all the way. Just enough to see his eyes.

They were raw. Bloodshot. Honest.

“I’m not here to push,” he said.

“Good. Because if you even try—”

“I won’t,” he cut in.

She opened the door wider and stepped back.

He came in slowly, cautiously. Like someone entering a house on fire.

Maya sat on the couch and pulled her knees up. “Why did you come back?”

“Because I owe you more than an apology through a door.”

She watched him. Waited. He stayed standing.

“Sit,” she said finally.

He did.

They sat in silence for a moment. The same silence that used to be full of heat. Now it was heavier. Sadder.

“I’ve been trying to figure out if you’re like him,” Maya said quietly.

“I’m not.”

“But how do I know that?”

“I don’t know what he did to you. But I know I saw you vanish in front of me last night. One second you were here, and the next… you weren’t.”

She nodded slowly. “That’s exactly how it feels.”

“I saw that, Maya. I swear to God, I saw it. I should’ve stopped the second you pulled back.”

“You didn’t.”

“No. I didn’t. But I did stop. And I hated myself the second I saw what I’d done.”

Her throat tightened.

He leaned forward slightly, not close enough to touch. “Do you want me to go?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“I’ll wait.”

She studied him again. The bags under his eyes. The tension in his jaw.

“You look like shit.”

“I feel worse.”

“Good.”

He huffed something close to a laugh. “Fair.”

They sat like that for a while. Something softened in her. Just a little.

“You’re not forgiven,” she said.

“I know.”

“And I’m not ready to be touched.”

“I’m not asking.”

She looked away, lips trembling. “I hate how easy it was to let you in before.”

“Me too.”

She took a shaky breath. “But I also hate sleeping alone.”

His eyes flicked up to hers.

“Don’t touch me,” she said. “But you can stay.”

He nodded slowly. “Okay.”

---

That night, Elias lay on the floor beside the bed.

Not beside her.

Just close enough to hear her breathing.

Maya turned her back to him. Her heart beat too loud in her ears, but she didn’t tell him to leave.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t move.

And for the first time in days, she slept without dreaming of hands she couldn’t escape.