Page 38 of A Hurt So Good

“We’re good,” Arya says as she moves toward the steps. She spins around and sits on the middle step, the water nearly coming to her chin.

“Why have you never learned to swim?” I ask her.

“I don’t know. It never appealed to me. Don’t get me wrong, I love to sit in the pool and relax, but I don’t care to swim.”

“That’s what a pool is for. Swimming,” Denz adds.

“Yeah, maybe one day I’ll learn.” I watch Arya as she leans her head back and closes her eyes, letting the sun hit her face. Once the other two go off and swim, fucking around, I move to the step next to her.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” I tell her. Arya lifts her head and looks over at me.

“What is it?”

“I’ve been doing a lot of research trying to figure out who might have drugged you, and I came across something.”

“What did you come across?” she asks, interested now. I glance down at the two of them swimming and dunking each other before looking back to Arya.

“I know your dad tried to kill you.” She sucks in a breath and starts to stand, but I reach over and pull her back down next to me.

“Let me go.”

“No. I’m not going to do that.”

“Why? I don’t want to be here,” she says, nearly sounding like she wants to cry.

“I didn’t tell them yet, Arya. And I didn’t plan on it.” She looks at me in confusion for a long second before dragging her gaze down to them.

“It was a long time ago.”

“I know, and we don’t have to talk about it. Is that why you keep yourself covered up?” I ask her. I know I’m pushing her, and maybe that’s what she needs.

“Partly.”

“And the other part?” Now, she pulls her face back to meet mine. I can see tears in her big blue eyes as she nods toward the pool house. She stands and climbs out, and I follow her. Once we’re inside, she locks the door, making sure no one else gets in.

“I’ve never shown anyone this,” she says softly. “And I don’t want them to know yet, Har.”

“That’s fair enough, but they’re going to find out,” I remind her.

“I know, and I’ll tell them. Just not right now.” I nod my head and watch her as she slowly pulls her shirt over her head, dropping it to the floor. That’s when I see them. Scars. Not just one but tons. I start to reach for her, but then I stop.

“These were where he stabbed me,” she explains, touching six of them. “These were from surgeries.”

“Surgeries? You had more than one?”

“I had three. He … uh … he did a lot of damage,” she says, choking on a sob.

“And the others?” Now, her eyes come to meet mine, and I can see the pain in them. She cuts herself. That’s her way of coping.

“Those are mine,” she says in almost a whisper. My heart fucking breaks for her. I don’t even know what the fuck to say to her right now. I step closer, and she looks up at me, tears building in her eyes, but she quickly blinks them back.

“You know it’s okay to cry,” I tell her. She sniffles but shakes her head.

“I … I don’t want to cry over it. I cried so much back then, and I kept telling myself there was no reason for it.”

“There was a reason. There still is, Arya.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Back then, I’d cry and ask myself why he’d do it. Why did he hate me so much that he wanted me dead? I was ten, Harlon. What ten-year-old deserved that?” She’s about to break, and I can see it all happening right in front of me.

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