Sometimes the look on your face still haunts me.
The way you looked at me when you saw it.
The memory of the two of them watching me replays only when you come into my mind.
Your face is what has made the memory linger.
It changed so quickly.
Yet you didn’t do anything.
I brushed it off.
I still remember seeing you.
All the bruises that imprinted themselves into your skin.
I blame myself.
But you don’t know that.
I think if he didn’t know then you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.
He couldn’t hurt me.
So he went after you.
And you let it.
It’s my fault.