Page 52 of Into the Blue
Then he gets up and pulls the shirt over his head.
At first, I’m taken back by his sudden nudity. Then I start looking over the art inked on his pronounced chest and strong, sculpted shoulders. Iknew that he worked out, we often did together. His body is perfection, lickable and taut. All that toned mahogany brown skin, begging for me to explore the art he's decorated it with. He spends so much time training to make sure it looks that way. I suppose he can’t rely on gators to save him if anything were to go awry in his day to day.
Until this point, I never saw him without a shirt on. What catches me off guard completely are his arms.
The scar tissue.
So many scars.
My eyes widen against my better judgment telling me that I should keep my mouth shut and look away.
But he’s showing them to me.
I won’t look away.
I take a hand in mine, turning it so that I can see his forearms. This right one is worse than the other. At first glance, you likely couldn’t tell. There’s so much ink, shading, shadows, and snakes writhing along the strong length of his arm.
Underneath the ink though, angry lines where his arm was opened, had to be surgically, with how precise all the incisions are. Those would maybe not have been noticeable if it weren’t for the keloids.
Raised and jagged along those incisions.
Some look like they have been reduced but formed again.
I look up at him and he’s watching my face, hard as stone. No emotions in the line of his mouth or the cut of his gaze.
“What happened?” I ask tentatively.
He takes one of my fingers and runs it over the scar closest to his wrist, it’s the least raised scar. I can tell from the way the skin jumps that it is not a comfortable feeling. “My thumb collapsed. A bone splintered. Took months before my dad believed I should see someone. By that time, two different tendons had been damaged and partially severed. Hand almost shattered from overuse and inexperience.”
He takes my hand to feel the next scar up from this one, more raised than the last. “They had to search for the tendon that split and replacethe one in my thumb with a piece of it higher in the arm.” His skin is warm as he guides me to the next scar.
“Why—” my words come out choked, but he doesn’t allow me to trip over the clumsy way I was going to ask just why his dad wouldn’t take him to a hospital.
“Told me that a man knows how to fight. I fucked my shit up bein’ a pussy.” He sucks in a breath and continues, “Said to use my left and figure out how to manage without it. That it would heal in time.”
“But it didn’t,” I whisper.
Looking over his hands, I try to see what’s underneath the tattoos there. So many nicks and if I look closer, I could see the smaller incision marks on his thumb. A couple on his other fingers.
“Nah. It didn’t.” He shows me the other arm. “So, I used my left like he said. And I didn’t learn anythin’ from the first time.” The sound he emits is one of old pain and resignation. “As much as I hurt the kids who called me out of my name, I hurt myself two times more.”
The scars on this arm aren’t as pronounced. But imagining him having to use it while his other hand was damaged is too painful to imagine. I wince even as I softly run my fingertips over these surgical scars.
“I met Redd by then. He had learned much more than I had havin’ been a light skin with curly red hair and freckles. They been messin’ with him long before people got on my ass. He taught me how to fight without using my hands the same way. First one to recommend a knife instead.”
My eyes are still stinging, thinking about that young boy who endured that with no one there to protect him. Hands ruined trying to defend himself. “Will you tell me your given name?”
I knew it. Of course I did, with how many files I had on this man. But I wanted him to give me permission to call him by the name his mother called him.
A silly and selfish thing to ask of him.
He tilts my chin with the hand that suffered the most damage. Emotion so fierce rests behind deep brown irises that have experienced so much. “No one calls me by it. No one is allowed to.” My eyes drop preparing forthe rejection, even when I know I don’t deserve to have that kind of access to him.
He lifts my chin again, “Look at me.”
“It’s okay. You don’t have—”
“To do anythin’ but stay Black and die, I know.” A small smile plays on his lips when he says, “But I want to tell you.”
