Miller stays silent for a minute while he strokes my hair. When I don't say anything else, he finally speaks, "Thank you for telling me, for trusting me." His voice is gentle. "I am so sorry this happened to you. And I'm sorry that the people who were supposed to keep you safe weren't there to do so. No one should ever have to go through what you did."
I fidget with the tag on my bear. "I thought it was my fault, for the longest time. Heck, a part of me still does."
"Cora, no. You were a child. There was nothing you could have done that would ever make what he did to you your fault. You have to understand that."
"Maybe it was what I was wearing, or a look I gave him, I don't know. Maybe I didn't saynoor fight back enough. Maybe I could have done something differently, and everything would be different."
Miller tilts my head up to look into my eyes. "Never, and I repeat ever, will I allow you to take the blame for that, Cora. That man was in the wrong, one hundred percent. Pretend this is someone else this happened to, would you blame her for his actions?"
"No." I sigh.
"Then you need to forgive sixteen-year-old you for something she didn't ask for."
We sit in silence for a moment, and Miller’s phone rings, his attention lingering on me.
"Answer that," I tell him. "It might be the hospital."
He hesitates before wiggling out from under me and leaning over to get his cell from the nightstand. Miller slides his finger across the screen and presses it to his ear. "Hello?" He turns toward me. "Yes, okay, that's great. Thank you. Six p.m.? Okay. Thanks, again. Call me if anything changes."
"Who was it?" I blurt out the second the line disconnects.
"You were right, it was the hospital. London is out of surgery and in recovery. They have her heavily sedated but she's stable for now. Visiting hours are until six."
I throw the covers off me. "Then let's go."
Miller slowly leaves the bed, no urgency in his movements. "This is dangerous, Cora. He could be there."
"Don't you have eyes on him?" I ask while rushing to the closet to find something to wear other than the sweatpants I've been rotting in all day. I slip out of the loose T-shirt I'm wearing, throw a crop top on, and settle for a pair of ripped skinny jeans that fit me like a glove. "Hey, is there someplace I can burn..." But my sentence is halted when I step out of the closet and find Miller taking his shirt off with his back to me.
"I had no idea you had..." I step closer to him, my hand reaching out toward him. "Tattoos." His entire torso is covered in an elaborate black and white piece and as I approach him, I make out a medieval-looking castle in the center with other things around it. A grim reaper, various skulls, flowers..."It's so, beautiful."
Miller's chest rises and lowers, and he glances over his shoulder.
But when I press my fingers along his skin, tattoos aren't the only thing I find. Underneath the gorgeous artwork is skin that is raised, scarred.
I skim my knuckles along his flesh. "What happened?"
Miller finishes pulling another shirt over his head and turns toward me. "My dad."
"I'm so...sorry."
"It's not a big deal."
I stare up at him and wonder if this is how he feels every time I tell him things are fine when they really aren't? "May I?" I point to his back.
He pauses for a moment before turning around.
I grab onto the bottom of his shirt and lift it up, my gaze scanning the marks lining his entire back. How could someone do this to him?Whywould someone do this? He mentioned he was practically homeless when he found his old boss, so he must have been a kid when this happened.
I bring myself closer to him and press my lips against his scarred skin, kissing him gently and moving over nearly every inch of his back I can reach. I continue leaving soft gentle pecks and lower his shirt down with a sigh.
Miller turns around, and his eyes glisten as he looks at me. "Other than my tattoo artist, I've never really shown that to anyone. Not in years, at least."
"Thank you," I tell him, resting my hand on his cheek. "For showing me."
His blue gaze flashes between mine. "You wear your scars in here." Miller kisses my forehead. "And I wear mine on my body."
"Maybe we aren't so different after all." I rise onto my tiptoes and kiss his lips, nothing hurried or frenzied about it, just pure, undiluted, soft intimacy.
