memories.

“Baby, I am so sorry.” Alan repeats again, gently probing Dakota’s slightly swollen jaw.

“It’s fine,” She reassures, swatting his hand away. The two had gone back to her apartment and she was sitting on the kitchen counter, clutching ice to her face.

Alan opens his mouth to say something, but closes it. “I’m such a dumbass. You know I didn’t mean to -” She lays a hand on his arm and he trails off, distracted.

“Look at me,” He raises his eyes from the floor to her stormy blue eyes. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. It was an accident. Now shut up and kiss my boo boo.” He laughs, relieved, and complies. The kiss goes from her jaw to her forehead to her neck - everywhere but her lips.

She gasps, pulling his hair as he sucks lightly on her neck.

“Don’t be such a tease.” She breathlessly orders. He growls out something like, ‘I’ll do whatever I want to, Babydoll.’ His hands move to her waist to draw her closer in and she hisses as his fingers brush her cuts.

He draws back, surprised at her sudden change in mood. “What’s wrong?” He reaches to lift up the hem of her shirt, but she tugs it back down.

“It’s nothing,” she replies, trying to kiss him again but he pulls back again.

“Come on, Dakota. Let me see.” He extends a hand out for her shirt again and she takes a step back, dead set on not letting him see.

“I said that it’s nothing, Alan.” His eyebrows furrow and he grabs her wrist, bringing up her shirt so he can see the small collection of horizontal lines littering her hips.

He stares at the raised lines in horror before glancing up at her eyes. They are downcast, hidden from the questions she knows are in his facial expression.

“Why?” She doesn’t look at him, just keeps staring at the patterns in the woodwork of the floor.

“Why?” He insists, grasping her face so that she has to face him.

“I don’t know.” The muttered answer makes him shake his head, frustrated.

He never understood why someone would purposefully harm themselves. It accomplished nothing.

“You have to have a reason. Let me help you.” That was the wrong thing to say. She steps away from him, shaking her head. “I don’t need your help.” She starts putting dishes in their appropriate places, deciding that she’ll just pretend this conversation isn’t happening.

His eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. “You obviously need someone’s help, Dakota.”

“No, I don’t!” She seethes, slamming the cabinet door closed. “I don’t need your help! I don’t need anyone’s help!”

His surprise turns to anger. He shouts, “I guess I’ll leave then!”

“Fine!” She screams, pointing towards the front door. “Go!”

“Call me when you’re done being a bitch!” And with that, he slams the front door closed. She stands there for a moment, breathing heavily.

She lets loose a frustrated scream, so so angry with herself as only one thought circles her scattered brain.

I fucked up again.

Notes

Poor misguided Alan.