“Yeah.”I nod at the journal.“It’s all there.The dark stuff, the deranged conversations with myself, and all the brilliant verbal smackdowns I gave the doctor.Whatever you think happened, it’s worse.And it’s better.And it’s over.Read it.”I yawn.“Or use it as a coaster.Prop up a wobbly table.Pee on it.Just don’t let Leo pee on it.”
Before I lose my nerve, I let out a slow breath and shrug off the blanket.
It falls to the floor without a sound.
The room goes dead still as all eyes fixate on my bare torso.
I’m sure they stole glimpses when I had my meltdown in the shower.But this is the first real show-and-tell.
The scars across my chest and arms announce every nightmare I survived.The arrow wound, the river impact, the surgical slices, and the mismatched, patchwork of crooked seams where skin was forced shut without mercy.None of it blends, some spots still pink, some thick, some translucently thin, all of it monstrous like Frankenstein’s creature.
What can I say?I was taken apart and put back together wrong.
I force myself to stand there, to let them look, because hiding the damage hasn’t made anything easier.
Frankie swallows.Kody’s face turns to stone.Leo’s eyes darken with grief so sharp it cuts.And Monty…
The air thickens, squeezing around my ribs as he rises to his feet.Then his arms are there, banded around me, quivering with all the un-Monty-like emotion he keeps tucked away.
My throat clicks.My hands shake, too.My body wants to flinch, but it doesn’t because this is my dad.My biggest supporter.
He carries so much guilt for rejecting Gretchen when she got pregnant with me.He blames himself for my childhood trauma, my captivity, and every terrible thing I endured.But I don’t.I don’t blame him for a damn thing.He didn’t abuse me or hold me captive in the Arctic.He showed up in my life when I needed him the most, and he stayed.Every day, every hour, he’s been here.
Voicing this stuff isn’t really my style.But I wrote it.Every bit of my gratitude and love for him is in the journal.
“I want you to read it, Dad.”I step back and grip his shoulders.“Will you?”
His lips press together, trapping the emotion he can’t hide in his stormy eyes.Then he nods.
“Cool.”I turn to the others, my gaze latching onto Frankie’s wet cheeks.
“What?”I lift both brows.“Were you expecting a dramatic monologue?A speech?A group hug?Not happening.”
“That’s not…” She dashes away her tears, her anger rising to the surface as she examines my scars.“He used a scalpel on you but didn’t bother to heal the wounds.I mean, he was a fucking surgeon!”
“Yeah, well…” I rub the back of my neck.“He was stingy with the stitches.I never got an infection, so he must’ve put antibiotics in my food.”
Monty exhales like a man preparing for war.
I swallow and try to come up with a joke, but nothing lands.
Dove steps to my side, and her hand skims around my waist, her fingers slipping into the dip above my hip, holding me together.Who needs stitches when I have her?She’s my seams.
That’s when it hits me.With my scars out, my story written, and Dove standing at my side, I don’t feel the urge to curl up on the floor.I’m not blacking out or tripping into the scary-movie reruns of my life.My vision is clear, my mind lucid and present.
“No more hiding.”I meet their eyes, one by one.“I’ll talk about it instead of running from it.But right now…” I spot a bottle of vodka on the coffee table.“I say we drink.”My eyes lift to Kody.“Is that a new flavor?”
“I made it a while back.Been saving it for this moment.”Kody frees a rare smirk.“It’s cherry-free vodka.”
“What the fuck is cherry-free vodka?”
“Vodka that lost its cherry.”He looks me straight in the eyes.“Like you.”
I stare at him, waiting for my chest to burn with the defensive coil connected to my virginity.
But it doesn’t come.
Instead, something lighter pushes up under my ribs and tumbles out in a carefree laugh.“I’ll take that.I earned the hell out of it.”
