Not like I do now.
He grunts, and then I’m in the air, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me to the couch. I should tell him not to. He has a concussion, he’s hurt, but I can’t form the words. I just tuck my face into his neck and let him carry me across the room.
We fall to the couch, and my legs straddle his. After a moment of silence, Caleb says, “I’m glad it didn’t work, Whit.”
God, me too. Or I’d never have met him. Not that he’s my savior, but the bleakness of it all, the monotony of my life, has brightened considerably since meeting him.
“Do you think differently about me now?” I ask, my voice choked and raw.
“No. I like you just the same. More probably. Because I get to know you.”
My breath shudders out of me as he holds on to me. I don’t deserve this, and yet I consume it all the same.
“Are you okay now?” he asks, and I know what he means.
“Yeah, moving away from my parents helped a lot. I haven’t had an issue since freshman year. There was some therapy in there too, but the separation helped a lot.”
“Good, you need to stay away, then. Promise me you’ll stay away.”
I’m silent a moment, unable to tell him the truth. That I can’t stay away. That I have too much riding on staying in contact. That eventually I’ll have to move home. But I don’t want to think about it now. Instead, I just tuck myself against him and let his good hand rub up and down my back as he comforts me.
I’ve never been cared for like this. Never been comforted when in pain. He’s teaching me what I’ve been missing all these years.
Finally, I move away from him, my eyes red-rimmed from trying not to cry. His gaze meets mine, and he brushes my hair behind my ears. “I missed you when we were apart.”
I take hold of his hand and press my lips to his palm. He’s so sincere, so open.
It’s making me want to do the same, to give him more of myself.
“Can I…can I show you something?” I ask, my voice wobbling.
“Of course,” he says softly.
I hesitate for just a heartbeat before breaking away from him. My fingers tremble as they reach for the neck of my shirt. For a second, I consider stopping, pretending I’m fine, that I have nothing to hide. But something inside me, a courage I didn’t know I possessed, pushes me past that.
Without overthinking it, I drag the fabric over my head and toss it onto the floor. Then I kick off my jeans, leaving me only in my boxers.
Air hits my skin like cold water. I feel raw, peeled open, every fragile, hidden part of me suddenly exposed. My chest tightens, and I want to fold in on myself. Hide. Disappear.
I’ve never shown anyone this. No one. Not Donovan. Not Magnus. No one.
But Caleb, he’s different. I want him to know me.
His eyes rove slowly over my arms, my hips, my legs, the skinriddled with marks and lines slashed across my skin. I see the moment he recognizes them for what they are.
My breath stutters, bracing for the recoil, for the disgust.
But instead, he mutters, “It makes so much more sense now.” His finger reaches out, tracing the scars on my hips before moving up to my arms. And I let him, my entire body trembling from being touched.
For the first time, someone is touching me beneath the fabric.
“You don’t show this to anyone, do you?” he asks softly, tracing his hands down my tender skin.
“No.”
Our gazes meet, and he takes an arm in his hand, pressing a kiss to the long, jagged line etched on my forearm.
Then he does the same on the other side.
