Scarred Souls: The First Collection

by TT Kove

  SCARRED SOULS

  FIRST COLLECTION

  TT KOVE

  Scarred Souls: First Collection © TT Kove

  Published by Arctic Circle Press

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission, except for in the purpose of reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction and as such all characters and situations are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people, place, or events is coincidental.

  Scarred Souls is set in London, UK, and as such uses British English throughout.

  Copyright © 2015-2018 by TT Kove

  CONTENTS

  About

  1. First Impressions

  2. Sleepless Night

  3. Second Encounter

  4. Chance Meeting

  5. Thank You

  6. Swirling Emotions

  7. Friends & Family

  8. A Little Bit Broken

  9. We All Have Scars

  10. Not Like Everyone Else

  11. One Month Anniversary

  12. Downward Spiral

  13. I Love You

  14. Cruel Reality

  15. I Love You Too

  16. Scarred & Shattered

  Valentine

  17. Scarred For Life

  18. Forceful Introduction

  Anniversary

  Next in series

  Broken Souls excerpt

  Scarred Souls

  About the Author

  About

  Can two scarred souls make each other whole?

  I’ve never given thoughts to any relationship with anyone. All I want is to start medical school and keep full focus on my education. At least, that’s what I used to want. Meeting Josh one rainy night changes everything.

  1

  First Impressions

  Damian

  Our meeting was, in hindsight, rather disturbing.

  Rain poured down, and I had cut across Soho Square Garden to get home quicker when I saw him sitting on the grass. His knees were drawn up and his face was buried in the palm of his hands. He was soaked all the way through, and I could see, even from a distance, that he was trembling.

  He sat under a tree, but it didn’t give him much shelter from the rain. The streetlight next to him flickered on and off, making the entire setting eerie. I glanced around, but I was the only person here besides him.

  I reckoned that was to be expected when it was past eleven at night and the weather was shit.

  Even in the middle of London.

  I looked back at him.

  I couldn’t leave him there.

  Not when he was so distressed he was voluntarily sitting outside in the rain clad only in jeans and a thin, long-sleeved jumper.

  I walked over, slow and hesitant. He didn’t move as I approached, even though he had to hear my squishy steps in the wet grass.

  Only when I stopped at his side and held the umbrella out to cover him did he react.

  He lifted his head and peered up at me. Blond hair, darkened by the rain, was plastered to his skin and his eyes, such a brilliant green they startled me, were red and swollen. I realised with a start that he’d been crying. Probably still was. I didn’t believe for a second that all the drops on his face were from the rain.

  ‘If you stay like this you’ll get sick.’ It wasn’t the best thing to say, for sure, but then I’d never been good when it came to other people.

  He sniffled and ran a hand over his face. Not that it helped much, as his hand was just as wet as the rest of him.

  ‘I c-can’t go h-home.’ His teeth chattered so badly I had a hard time understanding—but I caught what he’d said, and his words made me fidget uncomfortably.

  I couldn’t leave him out there. He’d end up with pneumonia or do something to endanger himself. He seemed distraught enough to be capable of it. I couldn’t, in good conscience, walk away and leave him to his own fate.

  ‘Why not?’ I looked around again. There was still no one else around. ‘You should go home.’

  He shook his head fiercely.

  ‘I can’t.’

  I looked around for the third time, more anxious now. It was getting late, it was cold, and it didn’t look like the rain was about to ease up anytime soon.

  ‘Don’t you have any friends you can go to?’

  ‘No.’ His voice was only a murmur. ‘I don’t have any friends.’

  I pursed my lips uncertainly.

  ‘You can’t stay out here. You’ll get pneumonia.’ I’d had that once, and it had not been fun. ‘I guess you could—‘ I cut myself off to swallow, hard. ‘You could come with me. I live right across the street.’

  He looked up at me, a strange gleam in his eyes.

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I wasn’t, not at all. But if I left him out here, and he had nowhere else to go… I couldn’t do that. I didn’t much like people, but I wasn’t heartless. ‘Yeah, come on.’

  He planted his palms on the wet ground and pushed himself up. He stumbled a little as he straightened up, and I grabbed his arm on impulse to keep him from losing his balance.

  He hissed and jerked away, holding his arm tight to his chest.

  I stared at him, taken aback. Not just by him so suddenly pulling away, but because I’d grabbed onto him to begin with. I wasn’t fond of touching or being touched; and I never initiated it.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I muttered.

  ‘No, I’m sorry.’ He brought his other hand up to cover the one still pressed against his chest. ‘I’ve hurt my hand, that’s all. So it hurts to touch it. You couldn’t have known that.’

  ‘Okay.’ I didn’t know what else to say. I wasn’t sure I believed him.

  He was standing outside the range of the umbrella now, so the rain pelted down on him once again.

  ‘Come on.’ I inched the umbrella closer to him.

  He looked at me, a strange gleam in his eyes, then he gave a slow nod.

  I walked as far away from him as was possible underneath the umbrella. It was beyond awkward, but it was only a few minutes to my flat. The door was locked and all the lights seemed to be out, which meant that Silver wasn’t home.

  I didn’t know if I should be disappointed about that or not. Silver was good at talking to people, whereas I was not. It wouldn’t have been so awkward if he’d been home. Then again, how was I going to explain the current situation to him?

  ‘Bathroom’s there.’ I pointed to the closed door next to my own bedroom, across the room from us. ‘I’ll find you something dry to wear.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He didn’t meet my eyes as he shuffled past me towards the bathroom.

  I watched his back, but when I realised what I was doing I shook my head and hurried into my bedroom. I found a pair of grey joggers and a thin, white jumper that I hoped wouldn’t be too big on him. From what I could see he was a slighter build than me.

  I hesitated for a moment outside the bathroom door, then told myself off and knocked on it.

  He cracked it open, and I handed over the neatly folded clothes.

  ‘Thanks.’ He took them with a small smile.

  I scratched the back of my neck as I headed over to the sofa.

  What was I doing? I’d just brought a stranger into my home. I didn’t know anything about him. He could be deranged or a thief or a murderer. Any of those were just as likely. But he could also just be a sad bloke who didn’t have anywhere else to go.

  The bathroom door opened, and I tilted my head to the side so I could watch him emerge. My clothes were too big on him, but that only served to make him look adorable.

  I can’t believe I’m thinking that. But it’s true.


  He was adorable. His hair was still wet, but he’d run his fingers through it to ruffle it up.

  I resolutely turned my focus on the black television when he sat down next to me. I could feel his eyes on me though, and it made me twitch uncomfortably. It was nerve-wracking and I couldn’t stand it.

  ‘What?’ I turned my head to look at him.

  ‘Nothing.’ He turned his head turned quickly away from me. His hands were in his lap, folded tightly around a dripping wet notebook.

  Or maybe it was a journal.

  He glanced at me again, caught me staring at the journal.

  ‘It’s ruined.’ His voice shook. It was almost like he’d lost his best friend. ‘I forgot I had it on me and now it’s ruined.’ He squeezed his eyes shut, and I watched as a few tears trickled down his pale skin.

  ‘It’s just a book.’

  That was entirely the wrong thing to say, but I didn’t realise it until I saw him tense up.

  ‘It’s not.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s not just a book.’ He bent in on himself as if to protect the book. ‘I write in it. It knows everything. And now it’s ruined.’ He was crying for real now.

  This situation made me extremely uncomfortable. So maybe he wasn’t some lost boy who only needed a place to crash. I was pretty sure there was more to it than that. Much more. People didn’t just start crying like that over a book, did they?

  Maybe they did, and I was too emotionally stunted to know.

  I stood up and headed into my room without a word to him. I knew I had a couple of those small sized notebooks somewhere that I hadn’t used for school. I rummaged in the drawers of my desk and finally came up with a couple. I picked the nicest one, the one that had a leather-bound jacket and a string of leather to wrap around it. I had never intended to use it for school. I’d bought it just because it’d looked nice, but I had no use for it.

  ‘Here.’ I held it out to him once I was back in the living room.

  He lifted his head slowly, blinking the tears out of his eyes.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You can have this if you want.’ I didn’t know why I was giving him a brand new book, but he’d seemed absolutely heartbroken at his own being ruined, and that had torn at my own heartstrings.

  His hand shook slightly as he reached out to take the book from me. He ran his fingers over it, feeling the leather and following the string around. He unwound it and opened the book, feeling the paper.

  ‘Thank you.’ He gave me a small smile now, and that smile transformed his whole face. He wasn’t adorable anymore—he was gorgeous.

  ‘We can try to dry it.’ I nodded to the wet book still in his lap. ‘Maybe you can salvage it.’

  He shook his head, expression morphing into one of sadness again.

  ‘The ink’s smudged. Can’t read it.’

  I sat back down next to him.

  ‘Why are you so attached to a book?’ I threw notebooks away all the time without a second thought.

  ‘It keeps me sane,’ he whispered. ‘To write everything down, I mean. It’s all I’ve got.’

  No friends.

  Only a journal.

  That was so sad.

  I couldn’t boast about being popular either, exactly. I had one friend—my best friend—and I was happy with that. It wasn’t so long ago I didn’t even have that, so I could sympathise with him. It wasn’t fun not having anyone. Everyone needed someone.

  ‘Do you have—?’ I wasn’t sure how to phrase it. I wished Silver was home so he could do all the talking for me. I wasn’t good at this. ‘Do you have it tough? At home?’

  He pursed his lips then shook his head.

  ‘Not really. Not anymore.’

  ‘Then why don’t you want to go home?’

  He stiffened again.

  ‘You want me to go home?’

  ‘I want you to want to go home,’ I said diplomatically. ‘No one should have to feel like they can’t go home unless there’s a reason for it.’

  He deflated next to me.

  ‘It’s been a bad day. They’re all there, and they’ll try to make me feel better—and I can’t. I can’t feel better about it no matter what they say. Eight years for making my life a living hell. What’s the fairness in that?’

  I had no idea what he was talking about, but I could guess one thing: it was bad.

  Life a living hell, eight years…

  Eight years of what? Probation? Prison? Could be either. Most likely the latter, considering. But then again, what was so bad a person went to prison for it? I didn’t even let my mind go there because there were endless possibilities.

  ‘I like that they’re all there, being all supportive and stuff, but today… I just can’t today.’

  ‘Well, you can stay here tonight. But you’ll have to share my bed. We don’t have a guest room or anything.’

  Why in the world was I offering to share a bed with him?

  I never shared my bed with anyone. I couldn’t remember ever actually sleeping in the same bed as someone else. Maybe when I was young, when my sisters were still around.

  He nodded jerkily.

  ‘You’re very kind.’

  Not many people would use that word about me. There was a first time for everything.

  ‘Are you hungry?’ I asked, for lack of anything else to say.

  ‘Not really.’

  I wasn’t either.

  ‘Tired?’

  He nodded.

  I pushed myself up, and he trailed silently after me into my bedroom. I went directly to my dresser, where I took out my pyjamas.

  ‘I’m just going to—um, the bathroom,’ I muttered, and then almost hightailed it out of my own room.

  Being in the living room had been fine, but seeing him sink down on my bed, looking so sad and lost, had touched something in me. Something nothing else had ever touched, at least not for a great many years.

  I took several deep breaths once I’d locked myself in the bathroom.

  He was obviously depressed. He felt like he couldn’t go home, even if he had a family there that he’d said he liked. He was lost, alone, dealing with something that must be really bad. And he had no friends to turn to. He needed a friend to turn to, for when he couldn’t turn to his family.

  I could be that friend.

  I only had one friend, so I reckoned I had room for one more.

  Josh

  I did my breathing exercises as I took in the room around me.

  He had a desk where a laptop sat open, but it was turned off. There were several notebooks lying in a neat stack next to it, as well as a pencil case. He had books everywhere: on the desk, on the bookshelves, and on his nightstand.

  Everything was neat though. Seemed he liked things to be in order. Even his bed was made.

  Speaking of the bed… It wasn’t the biggest. A three-quarter instead of a regular double. I reckoned it would be fine though. I wasn’t exactly wide, and neither was he.

  It’s going to be okay.

  I was still sitting on the edge, unable to decide what to do next, when he came back in. He was in pyjama trousers and a tee, and he crossed his arms over his chest as his eyes fell on me.

  ‘Have you decided what side you want to sleep on?’

  I frowned slightly.

  ‘Why don’t you come sit down?’ I patted the bed next to me.

  He eyed me, seeming almost suspicious, but he did come over to take a seat. I turned to him, and his head tilted towards me.

  I took his face in. It was square, masculine, with pronounced cheekbones. His eyes were blue—azure maybe?—and his hair was black. He was handsome. Very handsome. This wouldn’t be a chore at all.

  ‘What?’ His voice was harsh, impatient.

  I better get to it. I bent forward and pressed my lips to his in a soft kiss.

  He sat frozen for several long seconds, and I continued kissing him through them. His lips were soft. If only they’d start to reciprocate—

 
He splayed his hands on my chest and pushed me away. He wasn’t harsh in his movements, more gentle than anything, but it was still a push, a rejection, and my heart dropped to my stomach.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘You don’t want to shag?’ I cocked my head to the side, unsure and confused and starting to get really embarrassed.

  ‘Wha—No!’ He almost choked on the words. ‘What makes you think that?’ He twitched uncomfortably.

  ‘Everybody wants sex.’ I reached out with one hand, trying to put it high up on his thigh, but he slapped it away. I drew it back against my chest as if I’d been burned.

  ‘I don’t want that. I didn’t ask you here for that.’ He was spluttering. Clearly sex hadn’t even been on his mind. ‘That’s wrong in so many ways. I’m pretty sure it’s illegal.’

  ‘Like people care.’ I inched my other hand back to his thigh, hoping he was more open to it now that his mind had been turned to sex. ‘Nobody says no to sex when it’s offered on a silver platter. Are you straight?’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head jerkily.

  ‘So you are gay?’ Maybe it was just me he didn’t want to have sex with. I couldn’t blame him.

  ‘No. I’m not anything,’ he snapped.

  His hand locked around my wrist before I could inch away from him, and pain shot up my arm from the firm grip.

  I jerked back with a pained grimace.

  ‘What’s wrong with you? Have you sprained your arm or something?’

  He pulled my sleeve up without permission to look at my arm.

  Except it wasn’t my arm meeting him, but tightly wrapped gauze. Gauze that was wet and had patches of red dotted all over it.

  He blinked a couple of times, taking it in.

  ‘This should be changed.’

  He touched one of the red spots, and I flinched back, further away from him. He stared up at me then resolutely unwound the gauze.

  ‘No, don’t—’ I protested, but it was too late. The bottom half of my forearm was already bared to view.

  I heard him draw in a shaky breath at the sight that met him. I didn’t even have to look down. I knew what was there. Scars upon scars, cuts upon cuts, and blood. Coagulated blood and fresh blood. I’d cut deep. Many of the cuts hadn’t had the chance to clot yet.