“He doesn’t know?” I ask her.
She shakes her head.
“What don’t I know?”
“You shouldn’t be afraid of who you are,” I tell her, knowing how hypocritical the words sound coming from me.
“I’m not, it’s just so ugly.”
I want to reach out and touch her, to pull her against my body and wrap her in my arms, and tell her she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. All of her. Her scars and her imperfections.
Instead, I’m forced to watch Dray do just that.
“You’re beautiful, all of you.”
“I don’t know how you can say that,” she mutters against his chest.
“Because it’s true,” I whisper.
“Can someone explain what’s going on? Sure, you were a little on the skinny side when we first met, Cupcake, but you’ve filled out in all the right places–”
“Seriously, dude,” Dray snaps, “can you stop eyeing up our girl?!”
“–and now Odessa’s gone you’re probably the hottest girl in the academy.”
“Show him,” Beaufort says, standing from the couch and coming to join us.
“No,” she insists.
“Briony, you’re so brave about so many things. Be brave about this too.”
She lifts her face from where it’s buried in Dray’s shirt, her eyes wet with tears, and peers around at us all. She swallowsand then she nods, slowly untying the ties of her gown and letting it fall down from her shoulders. She’s wearing underwear underneath but the scars that slash violently across her back are visible.
Fly takes a sharp inhale. “Oh Briony, sweetie, I had no idea. Wh-what happened?”
“My stepmom happened,” she mumbles.
“Bitch,” Fly snarls. “I take it you’ve tortured her and disposed of the body,” he says, directing his comment at me, clearly believing me the most likely candidate for murder.
“I’ve offered,” I growl.
“And I’ve told him, Beaufort, Dray, and Fox that I don’t want that. It will be torture enough when she learns I’m not coming back to Slate to be her little slave.”
“And will be coming to Onyx to live with us,” Dray says.
“It’s okay, Cupcake. There are other dresses, ones that will cover this up. I’m sorry. If I’d known …”
“No,” I say so sternly, everyone in the room jolts and looks over at me.
“No?” Fly repeats confused.
“Don’t cover them up.”
“But they’re hideous,” Briony says.
“They’re not,” I insist.
“It’s sweet of you to say that, Thorne, but you don’t have to. They’re grotesque. If I wear that dress tonight everyone will stare at me and my scars.”
