Page 103 of Under Your Scars
I stand up to leave him alone, since he’s clearly not in the mood for conversation, but he says my name to stop me in my tracks. I face him and wait for him to continue.
“Did you know that your father knew mine?”
I shake my head. “No. He doesn’t talk about his life in Meridian City.”
Christian nods, and I take it as my cue to leave. I spend the rest of the day nursing the ache in my chest from my broken ribs. I use a few ice packs to help ease the swelling and take a few medications. Drowsy and low energy, I find myself in the theater room. A movie plays in the background while I scroll through my phone, not paying attention at all to whatever’s on the big screen. Several long, lonely hours pass, and I get a text from my father that they’ve landed in Texas. I type a quick reply back, telling him I love him and that I promise I’m okay.
But the thing is, I don’t feel okay. I’ve never felt lonelier. I’ve never felt more unsettled in my own skin. I’ve never felt so numb inside.
I pull my favorite purple blanket up to my chin. I carry this blanket around like a toddler. The poor thing has soaked up so many of my tears over the past few days. It needs a good wash.
But right now, I need it to soak up more of my tears. I cry softly into the fabric. I’m not even sure what I’m crying for. Ever since Kate brought me to the hospital, I get in these moods where it feels like a bucket of raw emotion has been dumped over my head. It’s brutal. I can’t think straight when it happens, and it feels like my world is collapsing in on itself.
Neil Hayden is dead. Frank Valenti is alive. To be honest, I don’t know if his death would bring me any comfort. That doesn’t mean I want him alive, necessarily, but if they’re both dead, I’m the only one that has to live with this. I’m the one that has to bear the burden of remembering what they did to me.
If they’re dead, they’re free, and I’m not.
I’ll never be free again.
Soft whimpers escape my throat and tears blur my vision. I wipe my face and sit up, and movement from the corner of my eye startles me.
“I hate it when you’re sad,” Christian says, carefully approaching and then lowering himself into the space next to me. The lounger is plenty big for the both of us. Even though we’re technically sitting in the same seat, there’s a comfortable expanse of space between us. Christian leans over to take a bite of the quickly melting ice cream next to me. I haven’t touched it since I opened it. The top has gone soupy. He looks me over like he’s committing my sorrow to memory so that he can torture himself with guilt. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”
I turn my head to look at him, my blanket still tucked under my chin like a shield. “Will you stay with me?”
“Can I hold you?”
“No. Stay on your side.”
He nods in understanding, and we sit in complete silence watching the movie. I’m absorbing nothing, but something about his presence is comforting. In a careful experiment, I subtly scoot a tiny bit closer. I’m pleased when I don’t burst into flames and want to crawl out of my own skin. The movie ends and I pick another one randomly. Little by little, I scoot closer to Christian. Once I’m as close as I can bear, with about a foot of space between us, that’s where I stay until my painkillers put me to sleep.
When I wake, I’m still in the theater room. The screen hums with the menu of the streaming service, casting the room in a soft purple glow. I’m lying down now. My head is in Christian’s lap. My body seizes up at the thought of being so close to him and I sit up abruptly, scurrying to the other side of the lounger. Christian doesn’t move. He’s asleep. I check my phone. It’s only six, so he must have fallen asleep after I did, and stayed so he didn’t disturb me.
It's only now that I realize I didn’t have a nightmare.
Trying to make the least amount of sound possible, I slowly make my way off the lounger and out of the theater.
Since it’s too early to try and fall back asleep, I decide I should probably humor myself and try to study for the bar exam. I haven’t been as diligent with studying as I should have been the past couple of months. The exam is towards the end of February, so I still have almost four months to get my head back into focus.
It also might be a good way to keep my mind off everything—to keep me from thinking about Frank Valenti. This is something I just simply don’t want to face. Not to mention that he’s still somewhere out there. There’s no telling what he’s planning or who he might be with. I know his influence runs deep in this city, but I wonder how much loyalty he still has now that the club is gone.
Taking a deep breath, I search my guest room for a few textbooks, a notebook, and a pen, and get to work. It’s hard at first. Getting back into studying after taking a long break is never easy. I read and take notes until my hand is cramping and my eyes are crossed.
At ten, when my eyes are so heavy that I can’t think straight, I set down the pen and stand up to stretch my limbs. Pulling my arms over my head makes me wince in pain. I can’t wait for my ribs to be healed. I haven’t had a satisfying stretch in days.
There’s a light knock on the door. Christian slides through, closing the door behind him. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I reply. He spies all the books and notes on the desk and then looks to me for an explanation. I shrug. “Thought it would be good to get my mind off things, so I’ve been studying for the bar exam.”
He nods, and something hopeful flashes across his eyes. Probably on account of me doing something as mundane as studying. I’m willing to bet he’s relieved that I’m not screaming and crying and trying to crawl out of my own skin. I rock back and forth on my heels and clasp my hands behind my back. “I know it’s late but…do you want to do something? Together?” He raises an eyebrow at me. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not made of glass.”
He's quiet for a beat, and then quietly asks, “What do you want to do?”
“Anything. I just…want to feel normal for a little bit.”
He rubs over his jaw while he thinks of something to do, never taking his gaze off me. After a while, he gives me a weak smile. “How about a drive?”
“Okay,” I nod. He tells me to get dressed, so I change out of the silk pajamas I’ve been living in. I put on jeans and a hoodie, fix my braid, and swish some mouthwash around to freshen up. Christian is waiting for me in the hallway, and I follow him to his massive garage.
