Because You Exist(49)

“You’re talking now,” I offered.

And she was.

And I felt honored.

Honesty was tough, but it was also a gift.

She turned on me quickly. Her eyes set in that determined little way she always looked when tackling a challenge. “I want to show you.”

“Show me what?”

Jo closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath. I wasn’t quite prepared for what she did next. She pulled the robe off her shoulders, exposing the bare skin of her arms. Sure, I’d seen her when the survivor had forced off her jacket and when she ran at the meet, but I hadn’t seen her. Not really.

How much of the world did I refuse to see?

Even when it was staring straight at me.

“They’re horrible. Aren’t they?” she asked.

Scars and burn marks were scattered across the skin of her arms. Marked. Branded. Jo pointed to a long scar that went from her elbow to her wrist. “This one happened when I was three. I woke up screaming one night from some nightmare. I kept calling out for my mom. My dad kept telling me to shut it. He had some woman over. When I didn’t, he came in and beat me with the belt. It wasn’t unusual for him to do so. But this night, for some reason, he thought I was being particularly tiresome. He took the metal part and tore into my skin, dragging it all the way down.”

I wanted to take her hand.

“The funny thing is the woman found my dad doing this and left horrified. She was a cokehead, but she still cared enough to call Social Services. When they saw she had a record, they dismissed it.”

“That’s messed up.” I felt like an idiot saying the words, but what else could I say? Of course it was messed up, she didn’t need me to tell her that.

“I have scars on my legs too. Even if I got over all this, spent years in some damn over-priced therapy, read every book in Oprah’s book club, I’d still carry these scars. I’ll never escape them. These scars are the very skin I live in. What boy would find me desirable? What boy wouldn’t want to run from this and all the problems these scars alluded to?”

“The right kind of boy wouldn’t run, Jo.”

“Says the boy dating America’s Next Top Model,” she replied dryly, reaching for the robe.

“I’m your friend, Jo, and I think you’re beautiful. Trust me, as the boy who made fun of you for years, I wouldn’t say it unless I meant it. I’m not known for being particularly nice. One day, you’ll be ready. Maybe it won’t be with Bentham, but you’ll never know unless you try.”

Jo bit on her bottom lip. “So, I’m not Scary Carrie after all?”

“No. Add that to the enormously long list of times I’ve been wrong. These scars,” I said reaching out a hand and holding it above her arm, “don’t define you.” I wanted to show her I meant every word I said. I slowly lowered my hand onto her arm, constantly watching her face for any sign that this made her uncomfortable.

She sat completely still.

When my hand met her skin, her eyes closed and a small sigh escaped her lips. “That feels good. I can’t remember the last time someone touched me,” she said so lowly it was almost impossible to hear her.

With effort, I sat up so I was closer to her. I continued to watch her face as I slowly dragged my fingers up and down her skin. I could feel the goose bumps without seeing them. I reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear that had fallen loose. Still she kept her eyes closed.

“Come here,” I implored just as quiet, as if the smallest of noises could shatter this moment between us.

Much to my surprise, she did. I guided her so she was curled on the bed besides me. I wrapped her in one of my arms, her head resting on my shoulder. She made sure to keep any weight off my chest, but she snuggled as close to me as she could without hurting me. We didn’t say anything else the rest of the night. I continued to run my fingers up and down her arms. Her back. Her hair.

In the morning it might feel different, but that night it wasn’t something most people could understand. They’d see it as sexual, but it had nothing to do with that. It was intimacy.

It was trust.

It was hope.





Chapter 23





“You’re gonna have to wreck your car.”

These were the words that would keep me from playing in the homecoming game. Or at least the words that made me realize it was no longer a possibility. The moment I ran from that car in the rain ended any chances of that.

But denial ain’t just a river in Egypt.

And clichés are clichés for a reason.

We shifted the following afternoon. Jo was already up and about when I awoke the next morning. Neither of us talked about the cuddling. I didn’t feel like we needed too. It was a one-time thing.