by Emma Renshaw
“Let’s go to bed.”
I look up at him, and his brown eyes are now warm, melted chocolate. I nod and turn toward his room, pulling him behind me.
“Can I use the restroom?” I ask.
“You don’t have to ask, you can do anything you need.”
I grab my bag from the bed and head to the restroom, closing the door behind me. I look at myself in the mirror. My eyes are still red from the tears. I inhale and exhale deeply, trying to calm down. I can do this. I can sleep next to another person. Just because the memory surfaced earlier doesn’t mean it will again.
I wash my face and brush my teeth and take off my bra, tossing it in my bag. I cringe when I see myself in the mirror. A white shirt probably wasn’t the best idea. My nipples are hard and you can almost see them through the shirt, but I have nothing else to sleep in.
When I come out of the bathroom, Liam is getting into bed. “Do you need to use the bathroom?”
“No, I brushed my teeth in the guest bathroom. Go ahead and turn out the light, please.”
He flips the light next to the bed at the same time I turn off the bathroom light. He faces me and freezes. His eyes are focused on my chest. I watch his Adam’s apple bob before I force myself to walk to the bed, like no sparks are flying. The sparks could burn down the entire neighborhood. His gaze is burning me alive.
I watch my feet as I walk toward the bed. I look over when he clears his throat. He’s staring at the ceiling muttering to himself. I don’t catch anything except, “Jesus fucking Christ.”
I climb in on the other side of the bed, and we sit there awkwardly, backs to the headboard. Neither one of us can forget about the hallway incident yet. I’m not sure where to go from here. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to stay.
He sighs. “Get over here.” I look at him. His arm is raised, ready for me to nuzzle into his side. I don’t miss the opportunity. I slide over until our bodies are touching. When I’m settled, Liam grabs my legs and hooks them over his. His arm wraps tightly around me, and he uses his other arm to guide me around his narrow hips. He sighs contentedly when he has me settled where he wants me. I don’t complain—this spot is the best in the house.
Minutes pass, we don’t speak.. The awkward feeling ebbs away. His fingers lightly rub up and down my arm. I start to trace patterns over his abs and smile to myself each time I feel them clench. The hand on my waist comes up to my face, tipping it toward him.
“I’m glad you’re here.” His earnest eyes are a beautiful whiskey color in the lamplight. His fingers raise my chin until his lips brush mine.
“I’m glad I stayed,” I tell him. My tongue licks the seam of his, begging for more than just a brush of his lips. His hand moves to cradle my face, giving me the kiss I desire. Our mouths move together at a slow, leisurely pace, and his tongue plays with mine. I lightly suck his bottom lip, and he growls in pleasure. His hand slides to my neck holding me tight, a frenzy of clashing tongues and lips.
His lips move to my neck, kissing down its column as I straddle his lean hips. I whimper when my core presses on his erection. I grind my hips against him, hands moving under his shirt, scoring his muscles with my nails. I rip the shirt over his head then move my hands into his hair, bringing his lips back to mine.
He flips us to take control of the kiss. He starts kissing down my neck again. His thumb is brushing over a nipple. My legs wrap around his waist, seeking friction. My hands are still buried in his hair when his hand starts to move under my shirt.
I rip my mouth away from his lips that had found mine again. “Wait,” I call. His hand stills. He pulls back, looking at me. “We need to stop.” My heart is racing. I’m sure if he looked down he would see it beating through my chest.
“Fuck,” he says, taking his hand out of my shirt. “You’re right. I’m so sorry. I promised you.” He rolls off of me and onto his back with his hands over his face.
I take a hand away from his face, trying to give him some reassurance. “It’s not that. It’s–” I pause, unsure how to tell. It’s going to sound so silly. He’s been inside me and here I am scared to take off my shirt in front of him, but I know he’ll ask questions. I’m not ready to answer. A part of me screams to tell him everything, but the other part is so scared he will tuck tail and run. “It’s just, I don’t want to take off my shirt in front of you yet.”
He looks over at me. “Savannah, you’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. Nothing will change that.”
I give him a small smile. He rolls over, pulling me into him so I’m wrapped in his arms. His shirt is still off, so the smell from his soap is even more intoxicating. I lay my head against his warm skin, listening to his heartbeat.
“We’re not going to do anything you’re not ready for. I stick by what I said. I promised I wouldn’t sleep with you tonight. Not until I know you’re in this and ready to be mine.”
I don’t say anything. I don’t know how to respond. I kiss his chest in lieu of answering. “Thank you, Liam.”
He raises my face to his and gives me a gentle kiss. “Good night, Savannah.”
“Good night.” I roll away from him, thinking we will now go to separate sides of the bed, but he wraps me in his arms, spooning my back. I listen to his breaths even out as he falls asleep. I fall asleep quickly after he does.
I wake to a light touch at the bottom of my stomach. When my eyes flutter open, I’m not fully aware or awake. Liam’s voice startles me when he asks, “I didn’t know you have a tattoo. Is that what you didn’t want me to see? I’ll bet it’s sexy.”
I look down at my stomach—the edge of my shirt rose while I was sleeping. The bottom of my colorful tattoo is peaking out. It’s not enough to tell what it is, it’s just a tiny slice, but it’s enough. I firmly pull down my shirt. Liam leans back with his hand up.
“You weren’t supposed to see that.”
“I’m sorry.” His eyes are round in surprise. He opens his mouth to say something else, but I stop him.
“I have to go,” I say, jumping out of the bed. I need to get out of here as quickly as possible. My breathing is shallow. Panic clenches my heart, a lump forms in my throat. My vision is hazy. No, not now. Not now. I need to get home. I stop where I am. I put my hands on my hips and take a few deep breaths, keeping panic at bay for the moment.
“Why can’t I see your tattoo?” he asks, genuine confusion etched on his face.
“It’s private. James is the only other person outside of my family who knows I have that tattoo. You weren’t supposed to see it.” I didn’t mean to let it slip that James knows this huge part of me that I’m insisting on keeping from him.
“James has seen it.”
I look over at him. He looks hurt and shocked. There’s an anger brewing in his eyes.
“He’s seen it.” I confirm. I turn away, scrambling to get everything I left in his bathroom. When I come back into the room, he’s staring at me, still on the bed as if frozen.
“Have you been with him?” Liam demands. His nostrils are flaring as his face morphs into an angry scowl. I look at him incredulously.
“What? No. He just...” I pause, panic stealing my words. “Knows things about me.”
“So, you’ll let him fucking see you without your shirt, but me who is trying my damnedest to be something to you, you won’t tell me a fucking thing.” He hand slaps his chest, punctuating each word.
“I can’t do this.”
“Savannah,” Liam says as he gets off the bed and comes toward me. “Wait, I’m sorry. Shit, that was a dick thing to say. I am jealous that he seems to have a piece of you that you won’t let me near. It’s not about seeing you naked, it’s about knowing who you are.”
I grab my duffle from the chair and try to get around him. His hands come to my shoulders, trying to calm me. I back out of his touch with my hands up. “Please move. I need to go. Now.”
He steps out of my way, but follows to my car, pleading for an explanation. “Savannah, you shouldn’
t be driving this upset.”
I ignore him and keep moving. I start my car, and he’s standing outside, staring at me with a mix of confusion, hurt, and anger.
“Please, Savannah.”
I don’t look at him, just keep facing forward, taking a few more breaths. Hold on. Hold on. Just another minute. I’ll pull over after I leave.
“Savannah, please talk to me.” I put my car in reverse and leave. I hear him yell, “Fuck!” as I speed off down the street.
When I get home, I tear off my clothes and jump in the shower, doing anything I can to get Liam’s smell off of me. He’s left messages and sent texts. The last text asked to let him know when I get home. I almost didn’t. I almost couldn’t. But, in the end I sent him a short message, worried he would try to come find me.
Savannah: Home.
I turned off my phone after that, not interested in hearing what he had to say. I lean against the cool tile in the shower, letting my sobs break free, hating my past with passion. I thought I was ready for a relationship with someone—someone like Liam. I thought I was stronger than my past. I deluded myself into thinking I was free of my past. I thought I was better than my baggage. I was so fucking wrong.
I’m angry with Liam for assuming that because James knows something personal about me, automatically means we were together. That’s not how it is with James and me. I step out of the shower, wiping away the steam from the mirror. I stare at my tattoo and think about how I met James and when I got it.
24
SAVANNAH
F our Years Ago
I stumble into the bathroom, still half asleep, needing to pee. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and turn back to the toilet to throw up. I yank down the shirt tangled in my sports bra, hiding the evidence that disgusts me. I hang the towel back over the mirror; it must have fallen during the night. I’m in a new town, a new place, but I’ll never escape the past as long as the evidence is etched on my skin.
I lay back in bed in this lonely house, searching my mind for a way to move on. My therapists have helped in some ways, but not in every way. My parents advocated for me to go to therapy after the incident. I wasn’t so sure about it, but I agreed. I was surprised when it helped me cope with nightmares and face the reality that I have a new life. Some days I still contemplate changing my name and fleeing the country. It’d probably be the smarter move. I know I have a few years without him breathing over my shoulder, but he will come back. Changing my name will aid in staying away from him. As for therapy, I’m at a break through that I can’t recover from until I find a way to move past what I see and feel on my body every day. And probably until I stop being terrified of every man I meet. They recommended a new town, so here I am fresh from college, alone in a new place a few hours from my parents. I haven’t left the house yet. Thank God for grocery delivery.
I bolt upright in bed when a crazy idea strikes. I’ll never take away the scars, but I can do something about them. I grab my laptop from the desk and research what I need.
I open the door to the tattoo shop, hoping this early no one will be here besides the artists. I knew I was lucky that a shop in my new town specialized in tattooing over scars. Four men turn their heads toward the door when I walk in. I back up against the door and cross my arms over my body to shield myself.
The one person tattooing a guy in a chair shakes his head before looking down. He’s sitting on a stool, but he looks tall, and the ripped shirt he wears shows muscular arms. He’s covered in tattoos. Almost every visible surface has some sort of art. The guy he’s tattooing continues to stare at me in a leering way. He smiles at me and winks. He looks dangerous, but I know women must fall at his feet with his inky black hair and sky-blue eyes.
“Ma’am, I said can I help you?”
I move my eyes from the guy in the tattoo chair to look at the one who must have spoken. I shrink back farther into the door. He is the largest man I’ve ever seen. His arms and legs are the size of a tree. The shirt he’s wearing looks like it’s about to burst at the seams. He must sense my fear because he takes a step back. He smiles gently and holds up his hand that doesn’t have the sketchbook in it and could probably wrap about my throat twice. I gulp. He asks again, “Can I help you, ma’am?” in a thick southern drawl. His tawny eyes are kind.
“Hey, baby,” the man from the tattoo chair calls. “I can help you out.”
The man next to The Largest Man Alive steps on the other side of him, effectively blocking my view of the guy in the tattoo chair.
I look up at him. His face is turned away, scowling at the man in the chair. He’s also insanely large, muscles bursting from his shirt. Is there a muscle requirement to enter a tattoo parlor? Before he turns back to me, I run out the door.
I try again for the next three days, only to run out of the shop. On the fourth day, I finally speak. I give myself a mental pep talk before walking into the shop this time. Each time the only person who has been the same is The Largest Man Alive. He has never gotten annoyed with me, just asking each time in that southern twang if there’s anything he can do for me. Each time I’ve seen him and each time he’s asked, he’s calmed a part of me.
I did some research—he’s a specialist in covering scars. I looked at his work online for hours, picturing what he could do to my skin. I can’t believe those massive hands can create such intricate designs. His relaxed demeanor is the only reason I keep coming back and why I am determined to talk him today.
When I walk in, it’s just him and another guy. They both turn toward the door, and I recognize the other man who stepped in front of the leering man. He has captivating gray eyes and a stern face. I won’t let his presence detract from my mission. It helps that he blocked and scolded that creepy guy the other day.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” Largest Man Alive drawls.
“Y-y-yes.”
Largest Man Alive gives me a megawatt smile, like he’s proud of me for simply speaking.
“What can I do ya for?”
I clear my throat and take one more step into the shop. I glance at the other man once before looking back to Largest Man Alive.
“I need a tattoo. Over some scars.”
“Darlin’, you’re in the right place. I’m Dex. This is James,” he says, pointing his thumb over at the other guy. “I’m about to start a tattoo on him, but if you come back later, we could talk more.”
“No, man,” James speaks up. I look at him. He gives me a rusty smile. It seems as if he doesn’t smile often, but is trying to put me at ease. “Talk to her first. I can wait.”
Dex nods and turns back to me. James takes a seat on the stool next to him and starts paging through a binder of tattoos, giving us some privacy.
“What’s your name?”
“Savannah.”
Dex gives me another smile. “Scars can be tricky to cover up. It depends where they are, how deep the original wound was, et cetera. I’ll need to check out the scars to see what we’re working with. Where are they?”
I knew this was coming, but I am still dreading it. “My stomach,” I say, my voice barely audible. I have more scars on my body, but those are the worst.
“C-section scar?” Dex asks. “I’ve done a lot of those.”
I shake my head.
“Okay, want to come back to the private room and show me?”
I shake my head again.
“Darlin’, I’d love nothin’ more than to help you and give you a tattoo, but you’ll need to let me see it.”
James peeks up from the binder, watching our exchange. I look at him and then away.
“I’m sorry,” I tell Dex as my eyes fill with tears. I look back at him and James and take a few deep breaths. I hate that I have to do this, but I hope that the end will be worth the reward. “I’d rather just show you out here if that’s okay.”
James gets up and comes to sit on the couch behind me. I silently thank him for coming behind me, so I don’t have to show him, too.
; Dex watches me for a silent moment then looks at the massive watch on his hand. “We have about thirty minutes before anyone else comes in. I’ll need a few to examine the scars. Are you ready to do this now?”
Before I can change my mind, I look away from him and lift my shirt, staring the wall.
He sucks in a sharp breath, and curses, “Fucking Christ. Jesus Darlin’.” His voice sounds strained now. “I need to touch them if that’s okay.”
I ball my fist at my side and nod. Dex takes a few more deep breaths and softly curses under his breath. I know he must be disgusted. I know I am anytime I see the scars.
Small jagged lines in random areas on my belly. Some deeper than others, some minor, faint scars, but others have thicker ridges. The most disgusting scars are centered across my stomach, stretching from side to side, spelling AIDEN in capital letters. My ex-boyfriend’s voice rings in my ears. ‘You’ll always belong to me. You’re mine. This is just a little present, so you don’t forget. YOU. BELONG. TO. ME.’ He roared those words over and over in my face when he carved his name into my stomach.
The moment Dex’s hands touch my stomach, I start shaking and bawling, but I refuse to give up. I hold my shirt in an even firmer grip and grit my teeth. I ball my fist tighter, feeling my nails dig into my skin.
A warm hand pries my fingers apart, and a giant hand laces with mine. I turn my head. James is holding my hand in a tight grip, but looking at the wall opposite of me. He’s giving me a quiet comfort that he isn’t making me acknowledge. I will forever be thankful for that moment of pure kindness from a stranger.
After a few minutes, Dex closes his hand over the fist in my shirt and lowers it. He breathes deeply and lets me know that he can cover the scars. I don’t let go of James’ hand the entire time.
“What do you want the tattoo to be, darlin’?”
“I’m not really sure.”
