Coward That I Am

‘Spectacular, innit?’
She grins, winces, then touches her lip.
I suppose it is spectacular. I’m distracted by the purpley-blue clouds, same shade as the bruises on her face. If I mentioned it, she’d laugh, tell me the other guy’s worse. Not that I need telling, I watched her go so berserk I pitied him even though he’d been about to do the same to me.
So I say nothing.
Like those clouds, the bruises threaten to ruin the beauty on display but somehow, they intensify it.
I tell myself I don’t try to kiss her because of her sore lip.