The scars are brutal, but they’re worth it. I was skeptical at first. Everyone was, I think. But after I was shot square in the chest and the bullet didn’t go more than half an inch inside me, it changed the game.
After the surgeries were done, I became addicted to the pain of healing scars. So I’d brand my skin. The Dark Forces’ psychiatrist said that it was a mental illness, this self-punishment. I never let him get too far into my head, so I never figured out what I was punishing myself for.
The deaths of my friends in the Under Trials perhaps. The lack of trust and faith I have in anything anymore. The way we are constantly sent to snuff out people like candlelight.
I think I scar myself just because I like it.
Although, the sense of loneliness that burrows in my chest only seems to get deeper. I can’t fill it with pain forever.
Sometimes I wonder if the only part of me that’s actually bulletproof is my wicked soul.
17
BRIAR
Roman tellsme fragments of his past for hours after we dry ourselves from the shower and lie in bed. Obviously I think he leaves out a lot of the finer details, but it makes me see him differently. With more sympathy. Not that it excuses the terrible things he’s done, but I can understand why he acts the way he does.
From what I gather, he’s done horrible things to stay in the Dark Forces. It sounds like he didn’t have much of a choice. He didn’t explain much about what the ?boot camp entailed, but it’s clear that it’s a series of trials that only few survive.
No one should have to endure what he’s been through.
“Your turn,” he murmurs as he glides his finger down the scar on my forearm. “Who did this to you?” Roman’s brows knit with sorrow, and his eyes shift back to my face.
I swallow the knot in my throat. “My ex.”
His eyes darken, and he flexes his jaw. “What?”
I look away and nod. “He?… He tried to kill me.” A pathetic, anxious laugh slips from my lips. “He got so close that he actually thought he did, and unknowingly buried me alive.”
Roman’s face twists painfully. He opens his mouth a few times to say something but shuts it each time before he shakeshis head and pulls me close to his chest, embracing me in a hug that I’ve needed for months.
We stay like this for a few moments before I pull back and gaze at him. We’re laying facing one another with sleepy expressions.
I touch his forehead and murmur, “There’s truly metal mesh here? You can’t see anything except the scar. It just feels like flesh.” It’s hard to believe, and if I hadn’t seen the metal in his shoulder wound firsthand, I probably wouldn’t believe him.
His eyes are half open, as weary as mine are.
“Yeah, it’s as thin as a few sheets of paper and is malleable like chain mail. When struck, it interlocks and seizes up, which allows it to stop the weapon. Cool, huh?” Roman’s smirk is sadder than I think he realizes.
My lips press together, and I try to keep the emotion out of my voice. “Is that why you couldn’t move after being shot at the lake? Your shoulder seized?” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “No, it’s not supposed to immobilize me like that. But like all experiments, there are flaws and weak points. Mine happens to be my shoulder.”
“It’s awful,” I say, my heart aching.
His body stiffens at my words, and he stares at me as if I’ve just stabbed him. He recovers quickly, blinking away the split second that his mask was down.
“I didn’t mean—” I try to explain, but he cuts me off.
“And so was sex.” He glares at me and sits up, letting the blankets pool around his waist.
He knows what to say to be an asshole. I shouldn’t care what he says, because deep down I want to believe that he’s only doing it to protect himself, but that was pretty cruel.
I slide out of bed in nothing but my bra and panties and reach for my sweatpants. “Fuck you, Roman.”
His hand is around mine before I can pull my pants up.
I shoot him a death glare, but his eyes are apologetic.
