Donna touched my eye, and I winced. I grabbed the edge of the bathtub, and my hand slipped because the edges were still damp from taking a shower. I was lucky to have Donna. Letting me crash with her when things got a little weird.

I felt her sigh as she dabbed more coverup on my face.

The first time I did it on my own, I looked almost spotted. These different shades of blotches on my skin. It was really noticeable, and I looked like a five-year-old girl that got into her mother’s makeup.

You’d think after years of watching my mother do this same thing herself, I’d have it all mastered.

But I didn’t.

“There,” Donna whispered. “I think that’s good.”

I stood up and looked at myself in the mirror.

It was perfect.

You couldn’t tell anything happened. No bruise. Nothing.

“You’re so good at this,” I said. “You should go to school for it.”

“Covering up…marks?”

I looked in the mirror and saw the annoyance on Donna’s face.

“It’s not…”

“Yes it is,” she said. She touched my shoulder. “You don’t get to play that game with me. You don’t get to tell me that you accidentally fell down the stairs. Or that you’re a klutz and tripped. Whatever else you tell people. I’m your goddamn best friend in the world, Hazel. You better tell me the truth.”

I blinked fast.

I didn’t want to cry. But I couldn’t help it. I didn’t like when Donna got upset. I didn’t like when she was mad. I didn’t like when she cried, which she started to do. I didn’t like that she didn’t get what I was going through.

But she was there for me.

A tear pulled at the fresh makeup, and the bruise started to show through.

“Damn,” I whispered. “I’m messing up your hard work.”

“It’s just makeup,” Donna said. “I’m worried, Hazel…what happens when it goes too far?”

I shook my head. I looked down. “That won’t happen.”

“How do you know?”

“I just know,” I said.

“But how? Tell me, Hazel. Make me understand.”

“I just fucking know!” I snapped.

I stormed out of the bathroom. I hurried to the living room and grabbed my bag off the chair. I grabbed a few pieces of stray clothing and threw them into the bag. I zipped it up.

“Hazel,” Donna said. “What are you doing?”

I turned and looked at her. She was scared. Scared for me.

I was embarrassed but too afraid to admit that embarrassment. I was trapped in a cycle of a little here, a little there. That’s all it was.

A little here, a little there.

Nothing I couldn’t manage, unless something happened, and then I went to Donna’s.

But she was overwhelmed.

She didn’t know what to do.

“Hazel,” Donna said. “Please. You took a shower. You’re in your PJ’s. Just stay. We’ll order pizza. Drink wine. Watch stupid movies. Just for tonight.”

“No,” I said. “No. I have to go. Right now.”

“Where are you going?”

“It doesn’t matter. I won’t lie to you. Right?”

“Hazel, that’s not what I meant,” Donna said.

I hurried to the door. She chased after me. She got her hand to the door.

My best friend, facing me. Tears in her eyes. Anger on her face.

My body shaking with a fear that I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

“Stay,” she whispered. “Show me some of your pictures.”

“I haven’t taken any in a while.”

“Why?”

“I just haven’t.”

“What he’s doing to you…it’s not right.”

“I didn’t say it was,” I said.

“Then…” Donna shook her head.

“What?”

“I don’t know what to say,” Donna said. She moved her hand. “I don’t know what the hell to tell you. I’ve been researching this, Hazel. The right things to say. The wrong things to say. My heart is screaming for you. To tell you to just walk away. But I know you can’t do that. I know you’re afraid. I know you feel isolated. But you’re not. I’m not supposed to tell you that though. It’s supposed to be about you. But I’m right here for you.”

“So, I’m your problem now,” I said.

“No,” Donna said, her voice cracking. “No. Not at all. You’re not a problem. You’re my best friend. I want to help you.”

I sucked in a breath and swallowed down the tears. I touched my eye, smearing the makeup, hoping it was good enough that he wouldn’t see the bruise, because that too would be my fault.

“You did help,” I said. “Now I’m leaving.”

“I can’t do this anymore!” Donna flipped.

I broke her.

I broke my best friend.

She started to weep.

Her hands in her face.

“Donna…”

“Why shouldn't I call the police?” she asked. Tears running down her cheeks. “Why? Huh?”

“It doesn’t work that way,” I said softly. “I’m sorry.”

I opened the door and slipped away.

I heard Donna hit the door as she cried again.

I was so used to crying that it didn’t bother me. And I really didn’t cry that much, either. It never got me anywhere.

With my bag on my shoulder, I left the apartment building and got into my car.

There was only one thing for me to do.

Make the call.

So I did.

Donna would have wished it to be the police.

But, like I told her, it doesn’t work that way.

He answered on the second ring. “Where the fuck did you run off to?”

“I’m sorry…I’m on my way home…” To you…where I belong…