Page 45 of Scar

Tally aimed for the far right target. It hit just shy of the bullseye.

A slight tap on her upper right arm and Tally held up her hand for the next blade. He pressed the hilt into her palm. “These daggers are fucking sweet. I would kill for a pair just like them.”

She got a sense of the weight of the dagger before throwing. She hit the same target, a little closer to the bullseye.

When he tapped her arm with the next dagger, Tally instead turned to face him. The mat they were standing on was shock absorbent, so the vibrations from the targets didn’t carry to them. She clicked her tongue and got confirmation that he was standing where she thought he was.

Carefully, she raised her right hand. Tally’s heart beat wildly as her fingertips neared his face. She honestly thought he was holding still so she could touch him, but at the last second, he took a step back, out of her reach.

Tally frowned, disappointed. “Why don’t you talk to me? You know so much about me. I’ve shared more with you than I think I’ve shared with anyone. Why won’t you talk to me? Tell me something, anything.Please… Just talk to me.”

* * *

[WiseWave620: Don’t tell the guys but I’m a total Swiftie.]

* * *

Scar stared down at Tally.His heart was thundering inside his chest, faster at the near touch of her hand than the ten mile run they’d just taken to get to her storage facility. He loathed that sad expression on her face, loathed himself even more for putting it there.

But how did he explain that hecouldn’ttalk to her. Might never be able to. It surprised him how much he wanted to. Over the years, José, Sissy, even Harper, had encouraged him to talk for one reason or another. He never had. The desire to push past his need to keep silent had never been this high before.

Tally’s still outstretched hand was inches from his face. All he had to do was lean into her touch. Her right hand would touch his left cheek, the one with the most noticeable scar. It would be the first thing she would feel…and she would ask questions. So many questions. How did he possibly answer them?

I will not talk…

She was right. He’d learned so much about her over the past two weeks. Hell, he’d been in Atlanta nearly a month, but it was the past two weeks that really meant the most because she’d started talking to him and he’d stopped hiding. He hadn’t fallen asleep around her again, but that was also because he was forcing himselfnotto. His need to protect her, to watch over her, kept him from sleeping now more than his desire for self-awareness ever had.

How did he tell her something about himself? Even something mundane would be better than nothing at all.

I will not talk…

Scar put the other six blades back in their holsters. Absolutely hating himself for his need to do it, Scar reached into his utility vest where he kept his weapons and other supplies to pull out a pair of gloves. Tally’s head tipped in a way that told him she was aware of what he was doing. Exaggerated versions of curiosity and confusion crossed her features.

Once he had his gloves on, Scar reached for her outstretched hand. He’d touched others before, but it always burned like their skin was sprayed with acid. Even with the gloves on. When he was fighting or torturing someone was the only time that he could stand the pain because he knew it was mental for him but physical for them. The pain was worth it then.

He did not clamp his hand around her wrist. Instead, he applied just enough pressure to bring her hand down a little from its face-high position. Then he took a tentative step forward.

Shame coursed through him at the amount of fear he felt in that moment. It wasn’t the anticipation of thepainhe knew he would feel, either. He did not believe that she could or would hurt him.

It was the uncertainty ofafter, of what letting Tally touch him might mean. Not just for him, but forthem.

Her fingertips just barely skimmed the marred flesh of his throat. She gasped, ripping her hand away from him as ifhehad burnedher.

Scar held still, his breathing ragged, his heart pounding heavily inside his chest. Her touch had been so fleeting that there hadn’t been the opportunity for pain, but he knew it was coming. Tally was no coward. What she had felt might have startled her, but she would want to discover more.

Sure enough, Tally reached forward again. Her hand shook slightly as she stepped closer. The pads of fingertips were soft against his rough flesh. She did not press down, only lightly brushed her skin against his.

Other than the doctors at the hospital in Germany, no one had ever touched his throat since the noose had been cut off of him. He did not wear turtlenecks, neckties, or scarves because he could not stand the feel of anything around his neck. He didn’t even wear the chinstrap of his motorcycle helmet because it was too close to his throat.

Tally’s touch, though… The pain was fainter than he expected and the reflex that he was choking was nearly nonexistent. He didn’t swallow or twitch for fear of breaking whatever this was that kept him from feeling the agony of another’s touch.

Her fingers moved along the ragged, misshapen skin of his throat, the permanent indents of the noose that had nearly ended his life. He’d watched her read braille a number of times over the past month and it was like she was reading his history now.

“My God…” she whispered. She did not try to touch anywhere but his throat, which he was extremely grateful for. Yet when Tally took a step backwards, dropping her hand, Scar found himself longing for more of her touch.

He quickly stepped backwards, putting more distance between them. He felt antsy, like he suddenly had too much energy or like something was crawling just under his skin. It wasn’tpainful, per se, but it certainly wasn’t comfortable.

Tally put her hand to her own throat, her other arm crossed over her chest. “What happened—” Scar stiffened and froze in his pacing at her question, but she cut herself off on her own. “I’m sorry. That was inappropriate and none of my business.”

---