It’s odd how much comfort this tempo brings.
I’ve been using this cream for nearly half a year and the scar is still an eyesore. It stands out in stark contrast with my light skin.
Days in the hospital, weeks of recovery, and panic attacks. Those weeks come back every time I look at the jagged scar stretching down above my navel. A constant reminder of how weak I am. Of how close I was to leaving Jackie and my mother alone.
I have to shake these dark thoughts out of my head. I refuse to admit what I could have lost. Back at the office, I filled my time with work and it’s what I wanted to do now.
Instead, I’m stuck in this confining silence, fighting off an unwise attraction toward the woman who invaded my space and mind.
A faint noise catches my attention and it’s too late to pull my T-shirt on. I’m bare-chested, wearing only my pajama bottoms when the door swings open and a bleary-eyed Eliza stops in her tracks.
“Oh, sorry,” she rasps. “I thought you were still—”
Her lips part on a gasp when her eyes catch the red line slicing my chest.
The blood rushes to my head and I’m overwhelmed with instant rage. “Get out!”
Eliza blinks slowly, her eyebrows arching. She’s the first person who’s seen it besides my medical staff. I don’t want to hear what she wants to say. It’s too much. My lungs turn to stone.
“I said get the hell out,” I bellow, making her jump. I turn my back on her, clutching the sink, hiding my shame.
Her stricken face reflects in the mirror before she closes the door in a hurry.
It takes me a few minutes to get my breathing under control and compose myself. Guilt is already trickling down into my stomach.
I spend more time dressing and bracing myself. I can already hear her in the kitchen.
“Hey, Carter—”
“There is nothing to discuss.” There’s no way in hell I’m talking about it with her.
She comes closer, worry and confusion etched on her face. “But I—”
“Can you, for once, stop pestering me,” I grit out, the blood rushing through my ears.
Her face hardens, eyes narrowed to slits.
I hate being exposed. Hate she saw it.
Eliza gently places the damn teacup in front of my chair on the little island. It’s the blend she made for me, fixed the way I prefer.
Regret crushes me, but I don’t know what to tell her. It’s a subject I never talk about. If I could, I’d erase it from my memory.
“I’m going for a run. Don’t wait up.” I can’t bear to look at her.
The run through the woods does little to calm the hailstorm raging within me. The house is mercifullyempty when I return. The way she gives me space is a punch in the gut, the more I find out about her life. A girl who learned to avoid angry people. I don’t want to be someone she is afraid of. She should feel safe. Always safe.
I decide to walk around Main Street, gaze unfocused on the colored storefronts and the people roaming the streets until night falls and the small town falls silent. Resting on a bench overlooking the harbor I pick apart my emotions, sorting through painful memories until the night’s cold chills my bones.
The next day I’m surprised to find Eliza in her usual spot. Nothing in her demeanor gives away her state of mind, except for the glances she steals when I pretend to read.
She clears her throat and I instantly tense. “I want to address the elephant in the room.”
“Must you?” My heart thunders between my ribs.
“I’m sorry I barged in,” she says softly, locking eyes. “I know I’m meddlesome. But I’ll never force you to talk about something you’re not comfortable sharing.”
Living with my father taught me to keep myself bottled up. He drilled into me the importance of not giving ammunition to others, of never being exposed because it can be used against you.
