And, of course, I was just dumb enough that it worked.
One night we were at his place, making out in his room instead of studying like we were supposed to be, and he convinced me, finally, to take my shirt off. Even with how dim the lights were, I knew he’d be able to see the scars on my arms, chest, and neck, but I stupidly thought that he actually cared about me, and that it wouldn’t matter to him. Too bad that wasn’t true. As soon as my shirt was off, he grabbed a camera from his nightstand, took a picture of me in my bra, and said something I’ll never forget.
“As ifyoucould be the girl of my dreams. More like the girl of my nightmares, Freddy Krueger.” Then he burst out into laughter as I burst into tears and scrambled to get my shirt back on.
Worst day of my life, not including the day that I got the scars.
The only good that came from that whole ordeal with Milo is when I was running out of his house that day, I ran face first into his Uncle Silas. Literally ran him off the sidewalk. We crashed into a heap on the lawn and I was crying so hard I couldn’t even apologize. Not that he expected me to. I ran him over and he apologized to me. That’s how nice he was.
I remember he asked, “What’s wrong, pretty girl? A lovely young lady such as yourself shouldn’t be crying so hard.” I was still so angry and upset that I pulled my right arm, the one with the most scarring, right out of my shirt, and said, “This is why I’m crying. Because I’m a freak. I’m a girl of nightmares.”
Then this man, a virtual stranger to me, gave me the first real hug I’d had since my accident. He sat on the lawn with me for an hour that day, consoling me all the while. He’s the only person I ever told of how strained my relationship with my mother had become since I’d been scarred. The only person who knew my dad left because of me.
And he’s the only person who offered to help me.
That night I got the first of many tattoos. I got a full colour tattoo of Freddy Krueger on my right thigh as a fuck you to Milo. Uncle Silas tattooed me secretly, and for free, for a long time after that night. He perfected techniques for tattooing on scarred skin that he was able to use in his tattoo business, and I gained a way to keep my scars covered up without always wearing turtlenecks.
The kids at school all started calling me Freddy thanks to Milo and his stupid picture, but once I started wearing regular clothes and showing my tattoos, they all left me alone for the most part. Then, when Alex moved to town a little over a year later and we became friends, none of what the other kids said ever bothered me. Alex is the best friend I could ever have, and she made every day better for me just by being in my life. She didn’t know me before the tattoos, but I know she wouldn’t have cared. She’s just not like that.
Of course, the first time my mom saw one of the tattoos, she was understandably upset. I was underage, after all. But Uncle Silas helped me sort all that out as well. She still hates the tattoos, but not as much as she hated the sight of my scarred flesh.
She still doesn’t really hug me, though.
Throwing my head back against the couch, I release a harsh breath. I wish Uncle Silas hadn’t moved away. Ever since the accident, he and his husband Patrick have been the only people who actually felt like family. They were like a mom and dad, the ones that I should have had. Uncle Silas is a huge bear of a man, in more ways than one. Uncle Patrick is a big man, just not quite as big as Uncle Silas. They always made time for me and always made me feel welcome in their home in a way my mother never did in ours.
They showed me what caring parents should look like.
Blowing out a breath, I quit swiping through TikTok, and take myself to bed. I’ve had enough feeling sorry for myself for one day. A good night’s sleep will get me back on track.
Too bad I know I’m going to dream about kissing Johnny.
Fuck, can that man kiss.
