Page 18 of Bound By Threads
The dark is my home, and she doesn’t have to face the shadows that lurk in the corners, waiting to strike and pull you back down alone.
She taps my shoulder.“What’s your name?”
“Archer.”
“I’m Scarlett.”
I glance over at her, but her eyes are distant, lost in thought. I know she needs to shed the past to start again.
“You need to change your name,” I say, trying to keep my voice gentle.
She looks at me, confusion written across her face.“What?”she signs.
“You need a fresh start,” I try to explain, turning my eyes back to the road ahead. “But you need to change your name. Your name...” I pause, trying to find the words to make this easier on her. “It has a lot of baggage attached to it. It’s tied to things you don’t want to carry anymore, and I think if you choose it now as we cross that border.” I nod my head towards the sign-up ahead. “Then you’ll leave Scarlett behind and be the person you’re going to be.”
She stays quiet for a long moment, her fingers curling around the edge of her seat as she flexes them.
“Could I not just change my last name?”she asks me, her fingers pausing mid-air as I shake my head.
“Too dangerous.”
She’s quiet again, and I leave her to think about it, not wanting to push. We have days of travel for her to decide.
Her fingers hover in the air, her brow furrowed in thought. The truck is quiet, except for the soft hum of the heating blasting the cabin as she burrows closer to me.
Her hands begin to move, and I slow the truck down. I watch her intently as she begins to spell out her new name.
Her thumb and index finger form a perfect right angle, holding it against her palm as she stares down at the first letter.L.
Next, she curls her fingers into anO.The motion is slow and deliberate.
Her thumb slips between her index and middle fingers, creating a sharp line. It’s almost as if she’s drawing it into existence, staking a claim to the new name that is only hers — her identity from here on out.T.
Her fingers repeat theT. A slight shift in her posture, but no hesitation.
Then her pinky extends outwards, and the rest of her fingers fold gently into her palm.I.
Finally, her fingers curl as though she’s holding something fragile in her hand, her thumb gently resting over them.E.
She sits there for a moment, still as a statue, staring at her fingers. She lets out a small, shaky breath.
“Lottie?” I repeat, the name rolling off my tongue with ease, and I have the want... no need to say her name every day for the rest of my life. “Yeah… I think it suits you.”
She smiles for the first time, her lips curling up as she finally looks at me.“You think?”she gestures.
There’s something in her eyes now, a spark that wasn’t there before. Maybe it’s the hope that she’s finally getting out of here, or perhaps it’s the first glimpse that she’s no longer shackled to the people who decided her pain and life were worth more than the love she had to offer.
I nod, my heart swelling as I watch her smile down at her hands. It’s small, but it’s there.
The way her eyes soften, the way her fingers hesitate just a moment before they curl into the form of her new name.
She’s not free yet, and she’ll always be looking over her shoulder, but she’s close.
“We’ll get you a new ID with the name Lottie,” I say her name, just to hear how it rolls off my tongue. It feels right. Lottie. “You’ll need to get used to being called it, but it’ll stick. You look like a Lottie.”
She nods, her eyes following the lights of the other cars that pass us.“Do you think I can start over?”
There’s a vulnerability in her question that makes my heart ache, as if she’s not sure that it’s possible for her.
