Page 3 of Beautifully Scarred

“Now I got’cha.”

When I opened my eyes, I saw that he’d lowered himself to his knees, his scruffy beard and glossy eyes set on me.

“When I call you, girl, you answer.” He gripped my wrist, yanking me out from under the bed.

I fly up into a seated position on the couch, covered in sweat, my strained breaths heaving in my chest. The sick panic that always encompasses me after one of those dreams seeps into my stomach and turns it over, bile rising into my throat.

I bend over, throwing up all over the floor, and resist the urge to scratch at myself, the fear of being trapped in my own skin more than I can bear.

Wrapping my arms around my knees, I rock back and forth.

It was just a dream. Just a dream. You’re not back there. Never again.

KNOCK!

KNOCK!

I look around to figure out where I am. My heart calms when I recognize Derek’s apartment.

KNOCK!

KNOCK!

I know better than to answer Derek’s door—there’s no telling who’s behind it. I might be self-destructive, but I don’t have a death wish. Not today anyway.

Derek emerges from his bedroom, wearing only his boxers, his plethora of tattoos on full display over his thin frame. “What the fuck, man?” Running his hand through his dark hair, he peeks through the peephole and scowls back at me. “It’s your goddamn boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I mumble.

It’s true. Although there isn’t a definite answer to what Jimmy and I are to each other. We exist on an ever-changing cycle of break up and make up, yet somehow that doesn’t define our relationship. What we are to each other is far more complex and far more than one descriptor could ever encompass.

I stand from the couch and walk toward the door, fighting to stay upright. Shit, Jimmy’s going to be pissed I’m still drunk. Derek swings open the door and turns to head back to his room.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Jimmy stomps across the room, reaching me before I topple over.

The sound of his shoes on the hard floor reminds me of my dream. I flinch.

Hurt flashes in his beautiful, soft brown eyes. “Why do you insist on hanging out with this douchebag?”

“Don’t start with me,” I say instead of the truth.He always has what I need.

He grips my elbow. “C’mon. We’re getting out of here.”

I don’t argue. There’s no point. Jimmy won’t leave until he knows I’m okay and we both know if he leaves me here, I won’t be okay.

He leads me out the door and down the hallway that reeks of a mixture of food odors and cooked meth. We head down the graffiti-spray-painted stairs and out the door.

“I’m taking you back to my place.” Jimmy flings open his door and deposits me into his fancy Audi.

“I’m so—”

He raises his hand to stop my apology. I’m not even sure what exactly I’m apologizing for, but the words come naturally when he finds me at Derek’s. Rounding the front of his car, he clenches and unclenches his fists. He’s really angry this time. I can usually scale Jimmy’s anger toward me, and this one is above a ten.

Jimmy slides into the driver’s seat, turns the key over, and drives away from this shitty neighborhood in one fluid motion. I curl up in the passenger seat, the tinted windows blocking the blinding California sun high in the sky. My head dips, and I fight to keep my eyes open. As in many areas of my life, I lose the battle.

Chapter Three

LILAH

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