[Violet's POV]
Red, bloodshot, eyes with glistening tears, though were on me, I could tell he had zoned out. His hair was messy, while his black shirt was unbuttoned, revealing the careless cuts on his chest. Even all messed up, he was still imperfectly perfect, a piece of art that couldn't be put into words. A piece of art that hung up high in the gallery for people to admire, without knowing the pain the artist went through while creating it. He was red, black and purple, the colours of bruises, but still so intricately detailed that no one can take their eyes off of him.
Loving him is fulfilling, even when it empties me from inside. The dawning realization twisted my insides as I tried to imagine our future together. The idea of being in love is so pure, I don't think someone like me deserves it.
He is hauntingly beautiful.
"Let me help." I stepped forward, taking the cotton swab and applying it on his bruised knuckles.
