Crash

Bruises

The next morning, Charles was woken by an onslaught of very explicit curses coming from the hotel bathroom. Still half-asleep, he stumbled into the room, his hair a mess, wearing nothing but the sweats he'd slept in. 

"What happened?" he said, almost walking straight into Penelope, who was staring into the mirror with a face like thunder. "What is it?"

Penelope didn't say anything at first, but she didn't need to. Charles could tell he was in trouble from the way she was glaring at him. Her long hair was clipped up, and the shirt Charles had worn last night at the Ferrari dinner they'd ended up going to was hanging off her shoulders. 

Penelope waited for him to say something, clearly expecting a reaction. As always, he was easily distracted, missing the point completely. "Is that my shirt? When did you steal it?"

Penelope punched his arm, her frown intensifying. "Tu pequeña rata, look at my neck! Do I look like I'm joking, Charles, because I promise you I am not."

He rubbed before looking again, his eyes suddenly going wide. "Oh."

Penelope looked close to exploding. "Oh?"

"Oh no."

"¡Te voy a matar! I fly home today! My brother's wedding is this weekend!"

"They're not that bad," he lied, trying to calm her down before she actually did wind up killing him. Charles tried to touch her, but she shrugged him off. 

"Not that bad? Where are your glasses, huh, because you are clearly blind! You shouldn't be driving a car! You a danger to society if you think that they 'aren't that bad'!"

Charles held his hands up in apology, moving closer. This time, she let him touch her, running his fingers over the darkened areas of skin across her neck. She winced slightly as he brushed over the fingerprint bruises dotted in between the hickeys, feeling a sudden sense of shame. 

"I hurt you," he murmured, his eyes suddenly worried. "I'm sorry."

Penelope let out a long sigh, her anger seeming to dampen. "No, Charles. I didn't mean...I'm not angry about that. You didn't hurt me, I just can't walk about L.A. covered in purple hickeys. My abuela will kill me."

"I was too angry," he said, lowering his gaze like he was scared to look at her. "Your neck, I would never..."

"Hey," Penelope said, lifting his chin so he was looking at her. "It was fun. Don't overthink it."

Charles nodded, gently kissing her forehead. Penelope readjusted her shirt, doing up the buttons so that her skin was hidden again. She hadn't meant to make him feel guilty. 

"Oh my god," Charles said quickly, his eyes going wide. "People are going to think that I hit you."

"No...wait, will they?"

"Yes! Ay, ay, ay, this is a problem."

Penelope shoved his chest. "What? You just said they weren't that noticeable!"

"That was before I thought about that fact that I could be arrested!"

"Arrested? Are you serious? No one's going to arrest you over some hickeys."

"You don't know that! Have you seen the fanpages? They dedicate their lives to finding pictures of us. You think they aren't going to notice this?"

Penelope pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling like she was going round in circles. "It's not the fucking police we have to worry about, you dummy, it's my grandmother. If she sees these and gets her hands on you, you're a dead man."