Page 90 of Where Quiet Hearts Scream
When he finally lowers me, my thighs are trembling and my breaths shake. I press my mouth to his shoulder and inhale the salty steam rising off him. That was raw and brutal and so completely intense I feel like I’ll never recover.
“Now look at yourself.”
I pull back, drawing my sated gaze to his and he nods to the pools of semen coating my stomach. I let my lids fall until my scars are all I see. The one I chose seems to glow brightly having been brought out into the light, no longer hidden away beneath secrets and silence.
“What do you say?” he asks in a low, gritty voice.
My breath shudders as I focus my full attention on the thickened skin that has endured so much. “I love you,” I whisper.
“Again,” he orders.
My bottom lip trembles and I continue to roam my gaze over the lines and scores. “I love you.”
“Again.”
“I…” I have to swallow. “Iloveyou.”
“Again.”
Something spears through my heart and my gaze slows to a halt.
Andreas doesn’t speak. He just presses a warm hand to my back.
I stare at the mended skin, seeing for the first time it’s repeated attempts to heal itself after the pain and damage I inflicted on it.
I can’t believe I did this to myself.
I can’t believe things had become so unbearable thatthiswas the only way out.
The skin rises up in a beautiful patchwork and I look closely, as if observing it for the first time. I remember each cut, each incision, every trigger that drove me to a blade. I feel the hurt just as acutely now as when each incident happened.
Tears roll down my cheeks and my shoulders loosen, the release pouring from my eyes. The more I look, the more I see the layers I’d wrapped around myself, the skin that grew over the cuts, the Band-Aids that covered the hurt. And finally, they’re starting to peel away.
With each fresh round of tears comes another peeled layer. My dreams, my desires, mynature. They weren’t truly mine.
The career I thought I wanted—that wasn’t me. That was my fear guiding me to safety. I needed to get away from the memories, from my life—from myself.
The astrology books I buried my head in. They were an escape, a way to avoid reality, a means of absolving responsibility for my life and my choices.
My personality—my role as the sensible one, the moralistic one, the one who watched everyone else live their lives while I stayed in the ‘quiet’ corner and cheered them on. That wasn’t me. It has never been me. And the only person to ever see that is Andreas.
My emotions ebb and flow. I can’t hate what I’ve done; I can only understand and forgive. I can’t promise I won’t ever do it again—it's just not that simple—butmy confidence is growing the more I learn about myself and what I need.
I trace my finger over all of my scars, feeling Andreas’ eyes follow.
I forgive myself for the damage I caused.
I love this skin so hard it hurts.
A thick thumb wipes away my tears, and the blurriness clears.
From this moment on, scars or no scars, I am me and no one else. I wouldn’t want to be anyone else. The love I feel for myself in this moment is staggering.
I look into my husband’s teary eyes and know that he can see it too.
He reaches a palm up to cup my cheek then gently pulls me into him. I melt into an embrace that I feel across every inch of my skin.
And for the first time in my life, I feel perfectly, flawlessly, unconditionally, loved.
