Page 30 of Our Secrets and Scars

“Yeah, because no one’s without blemishes, are they?” he says. “There’s a Rumi quote that goes ‘the wound is the place where the light gets in.’ I don’t know. I just don’t think there’s anything wrong with flaws, y’know? We need them, because without them we wouldn’t be able to feel the light.”

My breath hitches. And it’s not just because of the passion in his voice or the incredible romance of his words. It’s just that Fletcher said something similar to me once.

Scars are cracks in your perfection that let the light come in,that’s what he’d written.

For a moment, my mind races with impossible possibilities. I send myself dizzy with thoughts of the similarities I’ve always drawn between them both and the coincidences I’ve noticed but never paid a whole lot of attention to.

Could it be?

No.

It’s impossible.

I stop the thought before it’s even fully formulated. Considering it is out of the question.

“Wow, Holden,” I say lightly, steering the conversation out of whatever pit of awkwardness I pushed us into with my curiosity. “That’s some deep shit.”

“Shut up.” He shoves my shoulder but smiles back.

I breathe a sigh of relief, but my reprieve is short-lived.

“Since you got to ask me a question, does that mean I get to ask you one?”

My heart stutters. “I guess so.”

“Earlier, you asked if I’d seen your scars,” he says, his voice slow as he looks at me out of the corner of his eye to gauge my reaction. “What did you mean by that?”

I answer immediately, looking sharply to the ground to allow my hair to fall around my face as a shield. “Nothing.”

“I answered your question, Violet. It’s only fair you answer mine.”

I sigh, inhaling deeply. “It’s not a big deal,” I lie. “I was in an accident a while ago and got a bit hurt. Sometimes I get self-conscious, I guess.” I shrug, hoping my feigned nonchalance will appease him enough to drop the subject.

It does, but not before he says, “Well, I didn’t see them, but maybe in those moments of self-consciousness you could remember the Rumi quote.”

“Yeah.” I nod. “Maybe.”

We push through the main doors of the university building, and the sudden whisper of fresh air on our skin eases us into a comfortable silence. The breeze catches in my hair and blows it across Holden’s cheek. He laughs as a long strand gets caught in his mouth, and I’m struck dumb by the magnificence of his smile.

With a straight face, Holden can seem intimidating. In fact, with his tattoos and eternal black clothing, you’d be forgiven for thinking he’s part of a motorcycle club, but when he smiles, and his whole face lights up like fireworks on the Fourth of July, he looks entirely different. Cheeky, a little boyish. I’d find it almost endearing if it didn’t send little electric shocks searing along my synapses.

“So, you work at the tattoo shop and you go to school at the same time?” I say to break the silence. “How do you manage both?”

“Mack, my uncle, it’s his shop,” he tells me. “He’s putting me through college under the condition that I work part time at the parlor and then go fulltime when I graduate. He even helped me get my license and set me up with a truck. I have to do my homework and stuff in the evenings, but it’s not so bad.”

“You don’t get tired?”

“Sometimes.” He shrugs. “Doesn’t bother me though. I’m just grateful for the opportunity. For a long time, I didn’t think a college degree would be in the cards for me.”

“Why not?” I look at him sideways as we walk, studying the way the corners of his eyes crease with tension as he remembers this part of his past.

“Made some bad decisions when I was a kid,” he says simply. “My life could’ve gone a lot different if it weren’t for my uncle Mack.”

“He sounds like a good guy.”

He nods. “He’s the best.”

“Is that why you waited a few years to go to college? Because of your past?”

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