SCARS

by Jaimie Roberts

  Me: I won’t run. I promise.

  SMIHG: Don’t ever make promises you can’t keep.

  Me: I never intend to.

  SMIHG: One day, Lily. One day.

  Does that mean he will tell me all about his nightmares one day? I hope so.

  SMIHG: Did you like today’s lily?

  I smile like an idiot at his question.

  Me: Yes, thank you. I like pale yellow. It reminds me of summer.

  SMIHG: You like the summer? Is it your favorite season?

  Me: Yes. What about you?

  SMIHG: Winter because of the darker days and nights. The only thing I’ve ever known is darkness.

  I frown at his text message as my heart aches for him. In the end, I decide to make a joke of it.

  Me: You really are quite the pessimist.

  SMIHG: Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to you.

  My heart skips a beat at his confession.

  He’s drawn to me? Could he really feel that same pull that I feel towards him?

  Me: I’m the positive to your negative.

  SMIHG: Exactly. Now, hurry downstairs and greet your parents.

  Just as I read this, I hear the door downstairs open. It makes me jump with fright. I scramble up with my phone still in hand and strain to look out the window. No one is there.

  SMIHG: You will never find me. No matter how much you look.

  My God, this man is frustrating! I sigh aloud and my shoulders sink.

  Is the mere fact that I can’t see him the main reason I’m so interested in this man? Does he realize that, and is that why he’s playing this game?

  “Lily, are you home?” I hear my mom shout.

  “Yeah, just doing my homework, mom!” I lie.

  “We’ve got Chinese, so hurry.” My mom doesn’t need to tell me to hurry. I love Chinese food and she knows it.

  I look at the phone one last time, wondering if I should reply. I decide not to in the end. If I can distance myself from him, then maybe I can think more clearly. I can’t help but think that he clouds my judgment somehow. I know this is all unbelievable behavior on my part, and that’s why I need to keep away for a while. Even so, I just can’t help but want him.

  With my mind made up, I throw my phone onto my bed and head downstairs for some food. I’m suddenly starving after my activities this afternoon.

  Saturday, April 30, 2016 – Diary Entry

  We’re still texting each other. It’s strange because the only time I’m truly happy is when we converse, or better still, when he’s with me. A week after we met at the house, I asked to meet him there again. He agreed, but I never told Christine about it. If she’d known, then I have no doubt that she would have tried to sneak in on him again. It didn’t work the first time, so I doubted it would work the second.

  The way it played out was much like the first three times, but in a sense it wasn’t. I find myself getting more and more frustrated every time I’m with him. He knows I feel this way (he somehow senses it), but he never lets it go beyond kissing. I realize he won’t, but I find myself pushing the boundaries more, and I think it’s frustrating him that I am.

  Ugh, I’m deluded. As I write this down, I know just how crazy it sounds. If anyone were to read this, I wouldn’t blame them if they wanted to call “the men in white coats” to come take me away. I sometimes think back to what Christine told me after I freed her from the locked bathroom. She said I was falling for him, but I flippantly brushed her comment aside. I sit here now, wondering if there is an element of truth in what she said after all. That’s not possible, is it? It can’t be! I don’t know anything about him other than the way he feels. I also know he has demons that he doesn’t want to share with me. I wish he would. I’m dying to reach into that soul of his and see what I find. Would they frighten me like he said they would? I know I wouldn’t run, though. I’m in too deep now.

  And this is the reason why I’ve agreed to see him again tonight.

  I sigh as I read over what I’ve written. I do sound crazy. I’m writing this after getting ready to go see him. He texted me yesterday and asked me to meet him at the house tonight. He said that he wanted to see me … that he’d missed me. How could I say no to a request like that?

  I startle as my phone pings, and I look down to see who it is. It’s him. My heart starts racing, thinking that he’s contacting me to cancel, but when I look, I’m pleasantly surprised.

  SMIHG: Leave now, and I will make sure you’re safe.

  With a smile, I find myself walking towards the window to take a peek. It’s already dark outside, so not much is happening. There are a couple of dog walkers, but that’s about it. If he’s out there watching me now, he’s keeping himself well hidden.

  Me: Ok, leaving now.

  I grab my coat and head for the stairs. My parents have gone to some charity function for our local church. They drag me and my sister there every Sunday, and every Sunday, my sister and I try to think of ways to get out of it. I know it’s considered sinful, but I’m a believer in basic morality. If you don’t break the law, and you are kind and considerate to people, then that’s the main thing, right?

  “Going out tonight?”

  I’m startled when my sister appears out of nowhere. “Yeah. I’m meeting Christine for a drink.”

  She screws her face up as if she doesn’t believe me, and it makes my heart start racing. “It better not be an alcoholic drink,” she says, smiling.

  I laugh nervously, thanking my lucky stars that she’s not suspicious. “Of course not.” I look to the door, wanting to leave.

  “Is everything okay with you? You’ve been kind of distracted lately. It’s not a boy, is it?” She arches an eyebrow at me.

  “No.” I chuckle, trying to calm myself. Why am I so nervous?

  Maybe it’s because I’ve been lying to everyone lately!

  “I guess I’m just nervous about my SAT’s next week.”

  Her face softens in understanding. “I get where you’re coming from. You’ll be fine, though, Lily. You’re a bright girl. I know you’ll do really well.”

  I smile. “Thanks.” I look over her shoulder and see that Desperate Housewives is on TV. “Not going out tonight?”

  She shakes her head. “Not tonight. I’m catching up on some shows and hitting the sack early. I’m dog tired after last night. I had the headache from hell this morning.” We both laugh together.

  “Well, you did drink too much rum.” I giggle as I recall her antics when she got in late last night. She woke everyone up—giggling and falling over. My mom took care of her, and Elle was extremely embarrassed about that this morning.

  She moans. “Please don’t remind me.”

  I point to the door. “Hey, I gotta run. Christine gets mad if I don’t turn up on time. I shouldn’t be too long, though.”

  Elle puts her hands up. “That has nothing to do with me. You stay out as long as you want. I won’t tell mom and dad.” She winks at me and touches her nose. We both know that our parents will most likely be the last ones in tonight, so they wouldn’t notice. Not that I’m planning on staying out late. He only tends to be with me for around fifteen minutes before disappearing again.

  I shrug it off. “Oh well. I’ll see you when I see you then.”

  Elle rolls her eyes. “Yeah … probably when Mom’s shouting at us to get ready for church tomorrow.” She turns to walk back to the sofa. “Have a good night.”

  I reach for the door and open it. “Thanks. You too.” I shut the door behind me and put my jacket on. It’s a little nippy tonight. As I start walking, I also start looking around to see if I can find him. As usual, he isn’t anywhere. My phone pings.

  SMIHG: No matter how hard you look, you will never find me.

  I gasp, looking all around me to see if I can see him. He’s right, though. He’s nowhere to be found. I start typing back.

  Me: Are you some sort of magician? Do you just magically appear? Ooh, are you the invisible man?

 
SMIHG: Are you being smart with me again?

  Me: Maybe.

  SMIHG: What am I going to do with you?

  Me: I’m sure you can think of something. ;)

  I’m getting bolder with my playfulness lately. Ever since our third meeting, I’ve been trying to push his buttons. He never goes beyond harmless flirtation, though. I sigh. He’s not answering back, and I know why. He’s ending it before it can get out of hand.

  How can this guy say he’s a beast in one breath and then be so gentlemanly in another?

  I shiver at the thought that he is only being a gentleman because he knows I will run otherwise.

  Could he be luring me in? If so, what’s his agenda? Is he doing this simply because—like he said—he likes me and thinks I won’t go out with him any other way? Or is it because he’s some crazed stalker who’s playing a shrewd game of cat and mouse, and once he has me where he wants me, he’ll pounce?

  For the very first time since entering this relationship with him, I feel fear. Shit, now I’m mad. Just as I near the house, I falter, wondering if I should turn and run. My mind is willing, but my feet are unable to move. It’s as if they’re cemented to the ground.

  “Don’t overthink it, Lily.”

  I remain standing perfectly still, knowing that he’s right behind me. “I could easily turn around right now.”

  I feel his hand on my shoulder. “I know, but I trust you to do the right thing.”

  What is the right thing?

  I keep thinking I know what I’m doing, but once he’s with me, all of my common sense just flies away. “What is the right thing?” I ask as my breathing becomes labored.

  “Only you can answer that.” He takes his hand away from my shoulder and closes the distance between us. I close my eyes once I feel his hot breath against my ear. “Remember what I told you? How all this plays is totally up to you. You make the decisions, Lily.” He leans in even closer and my body hums. “So, what’s it going to be?”

  I hold onto a moan that wants to escape. I somehow feel more alive again. I don’t know how he does it, but my whole body is on fire, and it wants more.

  So, without another thought, my feet move towards the house. I don’t turn. I don’t run. I keep on walking. I know he’s following behind me, and I know he’s probably smiling because he has me yet again. For some unfathomable reason, though, I don’t care.

  Once at the door, I bend down towards the flower pot and take the key out from the soil. I dust the soil off and place the key inside the lock. I walk through and hear the door click behind me. “Keep walking towards the basement door.” I know why he’s saying that. It’s his way of blinding me without having to use the bandana. At least we’ll both be blind together.

  I do as I’m told and open the door to the basement. “Don’t look until I’ve shut the door.” I carefully make my way down the stairs and walk a few feet before stopping. I stand still with my back to him until I hear the door click. Nothing happens at first. I stay like that for what seems like ages. The only sound I can hear is my own labored breathing.

  Just when I think I can’t take it any longer and am about to turn around, his hand is suddenly at my wrist, turning me towards him. His lips crash against mine, leaving me no time to prepare for him. I moan instantly, grabbing his hair and tugging him closer. I feel like an animal whenever he’s with me.

  When he breaks away, he leaves a finger on my lip and his forehead pressed against mine. “Do you know how hard it is for me to stop? Oh, the things I could do to you.”

  An involuntary shiver reverberates through me at his words. “What would you do to me?”

  “You really want to know?”

  “Yes,” I whisper with a heavy breath. I sound wanton.

  “On your eighteenth birthday, you’ll find out.”

  My insides burn at the thought, but my lust-filled head finds its logic, and I remember that I will be on a boat that day. I decide not to divulge this piece of information to him. I need to have at least one thing that I feel belongs to me alone. He will find out one way or another that day. I smile at the thought … even though I actually do want to find out what it is he has to offer me.

  “What’s your name?”

  The finger that was once on my lip is now circling around my right cheek. “Ever the inquisitive one.”

  “I feel—especially after what we’ve just done—that I have a right to know at least that. Even if it’s your initial or an alias. I can’t keep calling you ‘Him’ or ‘SMIHG’ all the time.”

  “SMIHG?”

  I smirk. “Seven Minutes in Heaven Guy.”

  He chuckles slightly. “Okay, you win. Call me J.”

  “J,” I repeat back to him. “I like J.” I smile again. “And J stands for …”

  I hear his raspy laugh. “Lily, Lily, Lily, what am I going to do with you?”

  “As I said before, I’m sure you can think of something.” I try to look around, but all that my eyes are greeted with is blackness.

  “Did you miss me?” he asks, conveniently changing the subject.

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well then, yes. I did miss you … J,” I respond, saying his name with a soft whisper.

  “Are you teasing me?”

  “Maybe just a little. It just seems natural whenever I’m around you.” My honesty with him apparently knows no bounds. I seem to just open up and say whatever comes to mind.

  “Really?” he asks, planting a soft kiss against my lips. I nod, and I know he feels me do it. “I like knowing that you feel relaxed enough whenever you’re with me to let go.”

  “How old are you?” I ask, deciding yet again to just let go and voice my question.

  “Twenty.” I’m surprised he answered, so I laugh. “What’s so funny? Did you think I wouldn’t answer?”

  “I thought you would skirt around the issue, yes.”

  He winds his finger around a lock of my hair and tugs gently. “Well, it seems I am just full of surprises then.”

  I huff. “You’re telling me.”

  “Are you still happy with our arrangement?”

  “For now,” I answer truthfully.

  “For now,” he answers back, and I’m not sure if it’s a question, or a simple statement.

  “Isn’t there anything you can tell me about yourself? Other than your initial and your age of course.”

  “I’m fucked up. How about that?”

  “In what way, though? What makes you think you’re fucked up?”

  “I think we established that the third time we saw each other.” I laugh. “What are you laughing at?”

  “You said the third time we saw each other. You’re seeing plenty of me, but yet I’m seeing none of you. Other than some of your tattoos anyway.”

  I feel him tense against me, and I wonder if I’ve done the right thing by telling him I know. “What tattoos?”

  I swallow hard, wondering if I should lie, but my curiosity gets the better of me. “Vindicta,” I whisper. He doesn’t say anything, so I carry on. “Has something bad happened to you?” The only thing I can hear is my ever-beating heart. It’s raging war against my chest right now.

  “There are some things you’re better off not knowing.”

  “Why?”

  “Because when the heart dies, what else is left? One way or the other, it can’t change anything. It won’t change the fact that what’s done is done, and you can never repair a dead heart.”

  I’m left speechless.

  What on earth happened to him to make him so … so … broken?

  I feel this intense need to reach out to him, so I do. With a shaky hand, I touch his face. “Can I?” I ask, seeking his permission. I want to feel him. I want to at least feel what he looks like.

  I feel his breath hitch, but he doesn’t push me away. For a moment, I think he’s going to say no, so I’m surprised when I feel his head nod once. “Yes,” he whispers and then becomes
deathly silent. My shaky hand starts to feel the rough edges of his skin. He hasn’t shaved today, so the bristles are quite coarse against my fingers.

  “You’re shaking.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “There’s no reason to apologize, but why are you frightened? Have I scared you?”

  I smile. “No, of course not. I guess I’m just relieved that I finally get to have a sense of what you look like.”

  “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Lily.”

  “I know that. It’s just—”

  “How do I make you feel when you’re with me?”

  I have thought about this many times, and only one word ever comes to mind:

  “Alive.”

  “Well, isn’t that what counts?”

  “Of course it does.” I try moving my hand away, but he grabs my wrist.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You don’t want me to touch you.”

  “I never said that. This is important to you, so do it. I don’t mind.” He lets go of my wrist, and I’m left paralyzed for a moment. I want to touch him, though. I’m desperate to. So, before he changes his mind, I lift my hand up to his forehead and feel the ridges of what could be a frown? My hands aren’t shaking anymore. Instead, I’m intrigued by my exploration. With slow precision, I move down to his eyebrows. They’re soft, but not too hairy. I feel around his eyes and I know they’re closed now. I can feel his hot, labored breath against my wrist, and I know, somehow, that this is turning him on. It’s turning me on too.

  I lift my other hand up and feel around his other eye. Very slowly, I rub my thumbs against each one feeling how delicate and long his eyelashes are. Once I’m satisfied, I run my fingers down the length of his face and notice there’s an indent that runs from his left eye to his cheek. As my finger runs along it, he tenses and grabs my wrist again. “Sorry,” I offer again, sensing his pain.

  Who did this to him?