Page 93 of Carved in Scars

In the morning, the police take me away in handcuffs before my dad even finishes making breakfast.

Light in a dark place. I sleep in your hoodie.

God damn it, Ally.

And fuck me, too, for following her into the locker room.

That’s what’s been playing in my head on repeat since last night and still is now as I try to make it through the day.

I’ve been avoiding her because I don’t know what to do with her, but I think she’s avoiding me, too. As much as I want to hate her—as much as I want to be mad at her, and I want to know what happened to Darci, and I want that answer to have something to do with her—I can’t. Not all the time. I see a bruise on her face or pain in her eyes, and it hurts me, too.

I told myself that I wanted her to hurt, but that was when I didn’t think that was what she was already doing. That was when I was sure that she was fine, that she was glad that she did what she did, and that she never really cared about me at all.

I’m not sure about anything now.

I have no idea what I want or who I am anymore. I have nightmares all the time, and nothing feels good—nothing feels the same. But holding Ally felt good. Sitting in the car talking to her felt the same. It’s the only time anything has felt that way in months. And god, I miss her.

Also, fuck. Because I hate it.

I loved her so much, and it has been months—that’s it—onlymonthssince it all happened, not years, even though it feels like it sometimes. I loved her so much, and she left me there, and, maybe even worse, she actually thought I could cheat on her. I can’t wrap my head around any of it.

I meet her by her locker after school.

“Hey,” I say.

It still feels weird—like I shouldn’t be talking to her at school, or we’re going to get caught.

“Hi,” Ally says sadly.

“I wanted to give you these,” I tell her.

I hold out an envelope, and she takes it from my hands. Inside are the pictures of her with her mother and the track ribbons she kept inside the box under her bed. She eyes me suspiciously as if she expects the envelope to hold something sinister before opening it just enough to assess its contents.

“Thanks for giving back the pictures you stole from me,” she says.

“Um, I thought maybe since you don’t have volleyball anymore, we could go somewhere.”

She shrugs. “What do you meango somewhere?”

“I mean that…I want to take you somewhere.”

“Why? Do you want a blow job again?” she says, closing her locker and walking the entire wrong way.

I mean, yeah. I’d love to fuck her mouth again like that. I came twice again in the shower this morning thinking about it.

But…

“That’s not what I meant.”

“No, I don’t want to go somewhere. I’m going to go check out the art fair, and then I’m going home.”

The…what.

“That’s today?”

“Yeah, and I thought I would miss it because of volleyball and well…I didn’t even plan to be here, but you ruined that for me. Grace won’t expect me home for a while anyway.”

Fuck me. I’d pay her to fucking leave right now. I try to think of anything that will make her turn the other way but come up with absolutely nothing and instead end up silently following her to the art wing, hoping maybe I can distract her.

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