Pain Pain Go Away

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The girl sat on her bed, facing away from me.
I’d awakened from a kind of intoxication. I couldn’t believe myself. I
tried to remain calm, but with all the events of the past few days, I
felt like I was steadily losing my mind.
I figured I’d made her angry. But when I touched the girl’s shoulder
to apologize for my horseplay, her body tightened in fear.
As she turned around, tears ran down her cheeks.
She was more fragile than I’d been thinking. Me holding the scissors
with that creepy smile must have reminded her of her bullies.
Once she could tell I wasn’t going to attack her back, the girl
lowered her head and mumbled.
“...Please don’t do anything like that again.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
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As I took a hot shower, my ashtray-whacked forehead throbbed in
pain. Washing my hair, the shampoo seeped into my wound.
It had been a long time since I’d gotten a wound worth calling a
wound. When was the last time I got an injury at all? Turning the
shower off, I searched my memories.
Right, three years ago - I walked around all day wearing unfitting
shoes, and my big toenail came off; I think that was the last time.
But I was surprised by what happened back there. What if she
hadn’t hit me with the ashtray? For whatever reason, the idea “I’ll