Page 12 of Our Secrets and Scars

“Mmm.” I smile, but it’s more like a grimace.

And then, finally, he turns and walks away from me. My chest deflates as I breathe out a sigh of relief, the stress I’ve felt for the past couple of hours finally leaving my body.

The hands at my waist squeeze me once and then release as the man at my back steps away from me and leaves me cold. I spin on my heels to look at him, to thank him for saving me, to find out his name so that I can have something to refer to him as in my thoughts, but when I turn, he’s already walking away.

Two

Kinsley

Islasitscross-leggedonthe bed on the opposite side of the room, looking at me over the top of her Economics textbook that she’s been pretending to read for the past fifteen minutes.

She’s been staring at me for about half of that time, and I’ve been doing a good job of ignoring it, until the insecurities set in and I grow uncomfortable.

“Can I help you?” I ask sharply.

“Jesus.” She startles, her round-rimmed glasses falling down the slant of her nose. “I was just thinking about something.”

“Mm?”

“We should get tattoos.”

I raise an eyebrow and look back down at my homework that’s resting on my knees. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“What?” Her textbook slams shut, and she jumps off her bed to come and sit on the end of mine. “No, it’s not. It’ll be fun.”

“I can think of plenty of things that would be fun, but having my skin stabbed repeatedly with needles is not one of them.”

She scoffs. “You’re so boring.”

I shake my head. “Because I don’t want to permanently stain my skin with ink?”

She crosses her legs and rests her elbows on her knees. “You’ve seriously never thought about it? There’s nothing that means so much to you that you’d mark it on your body forever?”

I sigh. “You’re such a romantic.”

Although, if I’m being truly honest with myself, Isla isn’t too far off base. A couple of times, I’ve thought about getting a tattoo, and it’s always the same thing each time I consider it. A little slice of advice I received once. Three words that have meant so much to me for so long. They are the only thing I would ever consider having written on my skin forever.

But I’m not feeling brave enough today.

“I’ll come with you though,” I offer to humor her. “I’ll even let you hold my hand.”

“Bitch, I don’t need to hold your hand. This ain’t my first rodeo.” She waves a hand over her body, showing off the artwork of black roses and mandalas that cover her left arm from shoulder to wrist. It’s one of many pieces she has, but the largest from what I’ve seen so far.

I wish I were brave enough to do something like that.

But I’m just the shallow, superficial girl who’s obsessed with being perfect. That’s probably why Fletcher stopped writing back to me after all. No one wants a girl like that to love them. I gave him my new address and heard nothing. He hasn’t written to me once. And even though it was months ago, I’m still struggling with the loss of him from my life and the crippling sense of rejection it’s left me with.

Because even though he only existed in letters, his presence in my life was as significant to me as if he was living in my home.

“What are you getting?” I ask Isla.

She scratches her head in thought, her lips pursed as she blows air into her cheeks. “I’m thinking a Zen circle in the middle of my back. I want something that has meaning, y’know?”

“And what does it mean?”

“Something about enlightenment and the universe. Like connection and the circle of life, the strength we all have inside of us.”

“That’s some deep shit.”

---