Page 178 of Accidental Husband
My inhale is shallow. "I told him when we started dating. I mean, it was sort of unavoidable."
"Yeah."
I trace the design on my wrist. Griffin's design. The lush flowers. The curving words.This too will pass. We laughed over how overwrought it was. Over how cheesy it was. Reallythis too will pass? It belongs on one of those motivational posters. It's something my mom would hang on the wall.
When my mom saw it, she gushed about how beautiful it was. (She's insecure about the wholeyou don't even know your father's namething. She tries, hard, to be as accepting as possible about any of my "eccentricities." I think she blames them on my "daddy issues").
She loved the message. And she didn't notice the scars. She might have noticed that I suddenly started wearing short sleeves again, but she never mentioned it.
Jackson… he wasn't the most observant guy. He wouldn't have noticed the scars under my cover-up. But the ones on my hips and thighs? The ones Griffin didn't know about?
There was no hiding those. "He didn't really think much of it. I told him I'd stopped, that it was an old phase, and he believed me. For a long time. Or maybe he just wanted to believe me."
"I get that."
"Did you?" I ask.
"Did I what?"
"Want to believe me?"
"Yeah." His voice gets louder. "I hate when you hurt."
"It helps."
"Maybe. But it's not like you're slicing your skin because you're doing well."
"I… I'm careful."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
Yes. Of course. But how can I blame him for worrying? If it was Griffin taking a razor to his skin—
I couldn't handle that. I really couldn't.
His finger brushes the knob again. "I… I should check the rice."
"Griff."
"Yeah?"
This is going to be okay. This can be okay. It needs to be okay. "I just…"
"You need something to drink?"
"Water. Thanks."
"Sure." His footsteps move away from the door.
The speaker stays here. I try to melt into the chorus the way I usually do, but it's impossible.
It's sohere.
It's everywhere.
I lean against the door. Try to find support. The surface is too hard, too unyielding.
I slip my cell into my pocket, climb onto the bed, slip under the covers.
