We spend the next forty-five minutes making up for that unreasonably long car trip, and when we finally relax onto the mattress, I take a moment to soak in the surroundings. The room is lit by the glow of the fire in front of us, while rain and wind pound against the windows outside. It’s the most romantic setting I’ve ever seen.
“This place is amazing,” I say as Luke pulls me in close to him.
“Yeah, I love it. Mike and I have been coming here since we were kids.”
Something occurs to me suddenly. “Will Donnie be okay while you’re away?”
“I have the turtle lady, remember?”
“Oh, right.” I chuckle. “Of course.” I rest my head against his bare chest and listen to the thrumming of his heartbeat, smiling to myself.
“It’s so nice having you here with me,” he murmurs, running a hand down my body. His finger swirls tenderly over my stomach, trailing lower, pausing to move back and forth over the row of tiny scars along the top of my thigh. Propping himself up on his elbow, he gazes at the little ridges, etched into my skin many moons ago. “What are these?”
I shift uneasily. I have the fleeting impulse to lie, but when I think of how Luke has seen every part of me—including the messy bits—and still wants me, I know I don’t have to. “Scars,” I say at last. No one has ever asked about them before, because I haven’t been comfortable letting others see them. I guess that’s why, in the past, I’ve only ever had sex in the dark.
“I know.” Luke gives me a gentle smile. “But what are they from?”
I study his face, the way his forehead is creased in concentration as he traces his fingers back and forth over the tiny stripes. His curiosity is endearing; it seems he really doesn’t know.
“I used to cut myself,” I say, hearing the words from my own mouth for the first time in years. The only other person I’ve shared this information with is my therapist, and she gets paid not to call me crazy. Despite the fact that Luke has shown me nothing but kindness and acceptance, I half expect him to recoil in disgust.
But he just slips his arms tight around me and tucks my head against his chest. “Oh, baby,” he murmurs, stroking a hand over my hair. He doesn’t ask any more questions, but his embrace is so comforting, so—dare I say it—loving, that I want to tell him more.
“It was in high school. I haven’t done it since. But back then… it was not a good time.”
He leans back, his eyes regarding me with concern.
“I was bullied. A lot.”
“For what?”
I can’t help but chuckle at his genuine bewilderment. “Well, I wasn’t always the super cool, sexy lady you see today.”
He doesn’t laugh. He just leans down and presses his lips against mine, running his thumb over my cheek.
“I don’t know,” I mumble. “For being a nerd. I liked things that weren’t cool. I read a lot, I wore glasses, I was awkward and I guess I was just easy prey.”
He gives a little nod, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear.
“This was just one way of dealing with it,” I say, gesturing to my scars. “I know it wasn’t healthy, but I was a teenager. I didn’t know how to handle everything. It got so bad—” I break off, wondering how much to share. I hate revisiting this period of my life and Inevershare it with others.
Before I can stop them, the images rush back to me and my chest burns. I’m back in the girls’ bathroom at high school, the sound of cheap plastic heels clicking on the filthy linoleum as Tracey Merritt backs me into a corner, flanked by two girls—Jade and Meredith.
“Where do you think you’re going,Harriet?” Tracey always said my name in a mocking sing-song, just to emphasize how much she hated me. “Off to play another one of your board games?”
I tried to move past them, but they stepped closer. Trepidation climbed my spine as I realized I was alone with them in the bathroom. I clutched my books tighter, like a life preserver in a stormy sea, hoping someone would come to my rescue.
“Or maybe it’s book club today?” Jade asked, arching a menacing brow.
Meredith joined in with a cackle. “It will be something completely nerdtastic. You’re such a dork, Harriet.” She took a step forward, sneering, and panic zipped through me. My pulse scrambled and suddenly, it felt like I was treading water and only just staying afloat.
“She can’t even talk,” Tracey said, snickering. “It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic, Harriet.”
I tried to take a breath, determined to prove them wrong. “I’m not—” I choked out, but I couldn’t find the air I needed to speak. My lungs seized and my vision blurred. I didn’t know what was happening to me.
“Pathetic,” Tracey hissed. “No wonder you can’t get a boyfriend.” She jabbed a finger into my chest, sending me stumbling back into the wall. My heart slammed in my ears as I cowered under her, and when I tried to grip onto the wall for support, my hand slipped. My books crashed to my feet. The room spun around me and I couldn’t fill my lungs. I wasn’t afloat anymore—I was drowning.
I don’t remember much after that. I think someone found me and took me to the school nurse, but I can’t be sure. It took this happening a few more times before I learned what was happening to me. Panic attacks, they called them.Attackcertainly felt right—like my body just turned on me when I needed it most.
