Page 27 of Our Secrets and Scars

“I can’t remember, but you should have seen his face, Isla. It’s like it was physically sickening him to look at me. Like ithurthim.” I feel a rush of heat to my face as I picture the way he looked at me. The disgust I saw. The repulsion. “I’ve seen that expression aimed at me too many times to believe it could be anything else.”

She watches me sadly before reaching out and taking my hand. We’re facing each other, standing still on the sidewalk as people pass and car horns sound around us. But right now, all I can see is her and the sympathy in her eyes. I hate it.

“Vi, I’ve seen your scars.”

“I know.”

“Let me finish. I’ve seen your scars and they’re really not as horrific as you seem to think they are. I’ve seen some fucked-up things in my time and, babe, your face ain’t one of them. I think that you think they’re a lot worse than they actually are.”

I pull my hand free and shake my head.

The problem is, her words are kind, but I don’t believe them. Not only have I seen my scars with my own damn eyes, but would my friends at school have turned on me if they weren’t that bad? I’m not that naïve. And even if I was, there’s no other reason for Holden to look at me the way he did.

Beside me, Isla walks with her hands shoved into the pockets of her denim skirt. The left strap of her camisole has fallen off her shoulder, though she makes no move to correct it. She’s dressed for summer weather, whereas I opted for a thick cardigan to wrap around myself.

September ended last week and gave way to the browning leaves and colder evenings of October. Though the days are generally still warm, there’s an extra chill in the air today that makes me pull my light sweater tighter around my shoulders. I’ve always felt the cold more than the average person. I may have been born and raised in Idaho, but my blood is a cocktail of Greek and Columbian, so the height of summer is when I’m at my most comfortable. Loving the heat and sunshine is in my DNA, I suppose.

Sometimes, I imagine what it would be like to move abroad someday and feel the prickle of the hot sun on my skin every afternoon. Athens is where I see myself. It’s far enough away from Idaho to break away from my past forever but closely enough connected to my heritage for me to feel at home.

One day,I think.

One day, when I’ve made my money as an immigration lawyer and satisfied my deep-seated urge to help families like mine, I’ll do it. I’ll move to Athens.

“Hey,” Isla says, her voice cutting like a knife through my Mediterranean daydream. “Isn’t that him? Your guy, I mean.”

I follow her line of sight to the small café I stop at on the way to class most mornings.

Leaning up against the wall with one hand in his jean pocket and the other holding a large cup of suspiciously pink liquid topped with whipped cream is Holden. His hair is as wild as always, his stance casual and relaxed. And he’s looking right at me.

He seems so cool despite the way things were left between us. He regards me with such a laid-back expression that it angers me. How can he appear so relaxed when I’m a mess of anxiety at just the sight of him?

“Yeah, that’s him.”

The closer we get to him, the worse I feel. All I can think about is how he looked at me the other night and the grimace that twisted the features on his chiseled face.

And though I suspect in my gut that he’s waiting there for me, I don’t give him the satisfaction of stopping or even acknowledging him at all. I just walk straight past, ignoring the way Isla tugs on my arm.

“Violet.” His voice is as smooth as always, and though I’m still so hurt by his reaction to me, just the sound of him saying my name soothes some of the pain in my soul. “Violet, wait.”

I don’t turn around, but I slow my pace to allow him to catch up with me. Isla pats me on the shoulder, silently saying goodbye before she slips away to walk the rest of the way to class on her own. And suddenly, I find myself having to face Holden all alone.

“I got this for you.” He nudges the bright pink drink into my hand, and I accept it reluctantly. “Strawberry frappe. Dragon fruit. White mocha. Extra whip. Did I get it right?”

My eyes widen in astonishment.

“You remembered?”

“Guess so.”

“You remember everything.”

“Nah.” He shrugs. “Only the important things.”

I don’t know how to take that, so I just sip at my drink silently while I wait to hear whatever he’s chased me down to say.

“So, the other night,” he begins, looking down at the ground as he speaks. “I’ve spent all weekend worrying that I upset you.”

I look up at him, lips parted in surprise. I don’t know what I expected him to say, but that wasn’t it. He’s worried he upset me? What was he expecting would happen when he told me to stay away from him?

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