<span style="color: #FF80FF"> <span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;"><div style="text-align: center;">Lea Stevens</div></span></span> </span><br/><div style="text-align: center;"><a class="postlink" href="http://i300.photobucket.com/albums/nn24/SociallyToxicBeauty/036e0d3a-b28c-47ec-b858-0eaea6c67e4d.jpg">[ img ]</a></div><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;"><span style="color: #FF80FF"><div style="text-align: center;">"Jazz"</div></span></span></span><br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“Hush, don’t cry, Lea. I keep you safe,”</span>Carlos said soothingly as he stroked her hair. Lea’s crying died down to sniffles, Carlos oddly comforting to her despite everything that had just transpired. Still, in the back of her mind she could recognize how fucked up the situation was, but didn’t comment on it. There was no use.<br/><br/>They laid there for a few minutes and the energy returned to Lea. She was becoming fidgety again and she was painfully aware of the blood stain on the floor. She pulled away from Carlos and slid off the bed, her feet touching the soft carpet floor. She wiped her face some with the back of her hand, tied her closed once more, and then left the room to go to the bathroom.<br/><br/>She looked in the mirror and there was already a bruise forming across her face from Carlos’ slap and there was dried blood above her lip from her nose. She looked like shit, though it didn’t surprise her. Her hands gripped the sink as she leaned forward some staring at herself for some minutes—getting lost in her own thoughts. What was she doing allow Carlos to treat her like that? What the fuck was wrong with him? One moment he’s throwing around like a ragdoll and the next he is whispering soothing words into her hair.<br/><br/>Finally her hand came up to turn on the water, her hands cupping under the running facet and letting the water pool over her hands. She leaned down and splashed it on her face, rubbing gently to clean the mascara, blood, and tears off. She reached out grabbing her face soap and let it suds up in her hand before dropping it back in its tray. She used gentle circles as she washed her face, her cheek tender and sore. She rinsed and then grabbed the towel nearby, drying her face.<br/><br/>She then prepped a hot bowl of water and grabbed a scrubbing cloth from the kitchen, pouring detergent in the water for the blood stain. She had gotten particularly good at getting rid of bloodstains as she had a string of attempted suicides, always deciding last minute she was too afraid to die—one day, though, she was sure she would succeed.<br/><br/>She came back to her bedroom, dropping to her knees and getting the rag out of the bowl. She wrung it out on the stain, the color of the blood already beginning to fade. Methodically and with obvious practice she began to clean the stain, her hair framing her face messily and her green eyes glossy with unshed tears. She knew Carlos had spit on her floor in a fit of anger and knew that the stain would bother her. Now here she was, likely doing exactly as he predicted—but she couldn’t seem to care. Her floor was soon spotless once more and she stood, her knees raw from being on them for too long on the carpet and dragging them across it as she cleaned.<br/><br/>She left once more, cleaning the bowl and rag, putting both items back in their places. She returned to her bathroom grabbing a medkit and hesitantly came back to her room, sitting on the bed next to Carlos. She held the medkit loosely in her lap, not looking at Carlos for a moment, her figure slumped. She finally looked at him and held the medkit up a moment,<span style="color: #FF80FF"> “Do…do you want me to tend to that?”</span>she asked, dropping the medkit back in her lap as she looked at Carlos’ lip. It looked like a pretty nasty split and guilt flooded her despite the fact she had done it in self-defense.