Scarred Souls: The First Collection

by TT Kove

  They’d been staying away both for Christmas and New Years—with Kian’s family. I’d been with my own, so I hadn’t actually seen any of them in two weeks.

  I went to my room to get rid of my shoulder bag. When I got back out again, they were bent over something on the table.

  ‘Hey, D, come look at what Kian got me for Christmas.’

  I walked over slowly, not sure I wanted to know. They were pretty open about their relationship and their sex-life, and I wasn’t sure I trusted any kind of gifts they’d give to each other. It was probably something kinky that would totally embarrass me.

  Except it wasn’t.

  Silver held up a ruby-coloured book. It had Our Memories printed on the front in gold, elegant writing.

  ‘He got you a journal?’ It was even fancier than the little leather-bound book I’d given Josh when we first met.

  ‘Uh, no.’ Silver rolled his eyes as he handed it to me.

  I glanced at them, just to make sure it was okay, and then flipped the cover open. The first page only had writing on it. Written with a gold marker on the ink-black papers. It was a personal message from Kian, with how much he enjoyed being with Silver, and that he loved him.

  There was even a heart drawn after Silver’s name. Another heart was drawn in front of Kian’s name. It was cheesy and sappy, but also kind of sweet.

  I flipped the page over again.

  Kian had dedicated the double pages to the first month they’d been together. When I flipped the page again, the next two were dedicated to their second month together. So it continued for another two months. And then another two were devoted to January, but they only had a cut-in of a drawn image.

  When I looked up at them again, Kian sat anxiously with his hands folded in front of the lower part of his face, like he was afraid of my reaction.

  ‘This is quite… cheesy.’ I handed the book back to Silver. ‘But sweet. And nicely made.’ The four months they’d been together had been shown with pictures and handwritten text. It was like a scrapbook, of their progressing relationship.

  ‘Maybe it gives you some ideas.’ Silver tilted the book towards me again before putting it down on the table.

  ‘I think not. That’s not exactly my style.’ If anything, it was more Josh’s style. He was the one always writing in his journals.

  ‘Doesn’t hurt to be a bit romantic, you know.’ Silver stretched his arms out over the back of the sofa.

  ‘I’m taking a shower.’ I locked myself in the bathroom. Being romantic wasn’t really me, but there was one thing I could give Josh, that I knew he was waiting for.

  Those words weren’t something I’d grown up with. It certainly hadn’t been a part of our daily life when I was little, and Ray and Claire didn’t go around spouting off the L-word whenever they felt like it.

  I wasn’t sure I’d ever heard them say it, in fact.

  Once I was in the shower, I braced my arms against the wall and let the water beat down on me. I bowed my head down so I could look at my scar. It wasn’t a pretty sight, the big, oblong line going down my torso. It was the result of a mad act by someone who was supposed to love me.

  In the end she hadn’t, which the scar was more than enough proof of. Which the rest of my family’s graves were proof of too.

  But Josh deserved those words.

  More than that, he needed to hear them. I wanted him to be secure about me, about us, because if he wasn’t things would continue to be precarious. I wanted him to feel as loved as possible, because I did love him.

  I had to say the words to him. Today. It would be the first time I said them. And it would be to him.

  He really was my first everything.

  Josh

  I stood back to wait once I’d knocked on the door.

  I wasn’t sure why I was nervous. Maybe because I hadn’t seen him for a few days. I just needed to see him. And tell him—

  The door opened and he stood there, blue eyes blinking in surprise.

  ‘I didn’t know you were getting out this early.’ He pushed the door open wider.

  ‘Surprise.’ I stepped into his personal space to kiss his cheek. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t ring you, but I came right over here once I was discharged.’

  ‘That’s okay.’ His arms wrapped around me, all strong and safe. ‘I’m happy you’re here.’

  We hugged for a long time, neither of us saying a word as we did so. When he finally let me go, and I got to enter the flat, my nervousness came back full-force.

  ‘We need to talk.’

  He nodded and motioned for me to sit on the sofa. I did, though I perched at the end of my seat in my current anxiety. He sat down next to me, but with distance between us, so we weren’t touching. He regarded me carefully.

  ‘I’m not magically cured now or anything.’

  ‘I know that.’ His eyes narrowed a bit. ‘I know a month of hospitalisation isn’t going to cure you.’

  ‘This is my life. This is how it’s going to be for a long time. Maybe forever.’ I spread my hand out over my chest. I felt my heart beat quickly. ‘The cutting, and the mood swings, and the fear and the anxiety and the hospitalisations… it’s going to be a part of my life. I’m not kidding myself into believing I won’t need to be hospitalised again. Because I will. Because my mind is broken and scarred and it’ll never heal properly.’

  ‘I know all of this, Josh.’ He leant forward, arms resting against his knees. ‘I know.’

  ‘I just want to make sure you know exactly what’s ahead if you stay with me. I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you.’

  ‘You won’t.’ He looked up at me. He seemed sincere. ‘I’m not the one struggling with impulsive actions. That’s you. It’s more likely that you’ll leave me. I’m afraid I’ll say one wrong word and your feelings about me will switch from good to bad. Borderliners are known to quickly fall in and out of love.’

  Love.

  He’d said the word, even if he hadn’t said it in the way I wanted to hear it.

  ‘I know. I know.’ I gripped my shirt. I could still feel my heart beating wildly. ‘I ran away once. I can’t promise that won’t happen again either. But I’ll always come back. I can’t stay away from you. You’re etched into my mind, like every shitty thing that’s happened to me, but you’re the one good part in it. The third degree burns on my mind analogy… you’re like that too. You’re etched into my mind along with everything else. But unlike all the bad, that’s good. I haven’t shared a bed with you in one month and six days. And in that timespan there haven’t been many nights I’ve had a proper, good sleep. Whereas when I stay here with you, the good nights happen more often than the bad ones.’

  He was silent as he digested everything I’d just rambled off.

  ‘I honestly believe,’ he said, staring straight ahead instead of at me, ‘that you’re it for me. I don’t know how or why that happened, because I’m not the kind of person to get attached. But I did, to you, and it’s done. It can’t be undone. Whatever you do, Josh, whatever happens, I’ll always be here. I’m not going anywhere. I can’t. Because you made an impression on me. You etched yourself in my mind too—and now I can’t get you out. I don’t want to. All I want is to be with you, and I’ll take anything you have to give.’

  ‘I have so much to give.’ I moved in closer to him, so that our thighs were touching. ‘I do. But I’m always going to be borderline, and there will be times I won’t be around to give it.’

  ‘I don’t care. As long as you’ll always be back to give it, I’ll always be waiting.’

  I stared into his blue eyes, taken aback by the intensity in his voice. I drew in a shaky breath.

  ‘What did I do to deserve you?’

  He sat up straight.

  ‘Hey, Josh?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  He leant in close. His hands came up to cup my cheeks, his thumbs stroking my cheekbones.

  We stared into each other’s eyes, though I felt a bit cross-eyed with how
close we were.

  ‘Yeah?’ I repeated, the word coming out more as a breath.

  ‘I love you.’ He kissed me then, and for that one, perfect moment, all was right in the world.

  He said it. The words. The three big words. ‘I love you.’

  I didn’t known true happiness until that moment. That one, special perfect moment. And I believe his words. As long as I’ll always come back, he’ll always be waiting.

  And I will—I always will be back.

  How could I ever stay away?

  16

  Scarred & Shattered

  Josh

  I walked past rows and rows of gravestones, briefly taking note of the names on them, trying to find one in particular.

  Trying to find the only grave that mattered.

  It was almost a month since Mal had been buried. I resented the fact I hadn’t been able to go to the funeral. Mal had no one. I’d wanted to be there for him at least. But the damn hospitalisation had ruined everything.

  I was here now though. It would have to be enough.

  Most of the graves I passed were well tended, with flowers and lights and whatnot. I hadn’t brought anything with me except a letter, and now I felt maybe I should’ve at least brought flowers. But I’d never been to a graveyard before, I had no idea what the rules were.

  The letter though…

  It was a letter Mal would never read, since he was dead and all, but a letter addressed to him anyway. Because writing was the only way I knew how to deal, the only way I knew how to express myself properly.

  A new row of graves stretched out before me.

  A person was in front of one that didn’t have a proper stone, only a white cross. He held a red rose in one hand, twirling it between his fingers.

  I went in a wide circle around him, glancing briefly at the cross without expecting much, except—

  It was Mal’s grave.

  I backtracked. Stared at his name on the plain white cross.

  Then I looked at the bloke kneeling on the grass. He still twirled the rose, and he gazed at Mal’s name too. He seemed deep in thought, as he hadn’t even noticed me next to him.

  Who was he?

  I wanted to ask, but didn’t know how. I didn’t want to be rude, after all.

  ‘Umm…’

  He jerked in surprise, head whipping around and up to look at me. His eyes were wide and brimming with tears.

  I frowned.

  ‘Who are you?’ He couldn’t be Mal’s family, because from everything Mal had shared in group, none of his family cared about him. They’d used and abused him—and if they grieved his death it would only be because they couldn’t continue to abuse him, not because they missed him.

  He swallowed several times.

  ‘I’m Tyler.’ He cleared his throat. ‘A friend of Mal’s. Who’re you?’

  ‘A friend.’ I gazed down at him. He seemed sad. But since when had Mal had a friend? That wasn’t something he’d ever shared in group. As far as I knew, Mal hadn’t had anyone.

  He drew in a shaky breath.

  ‘Where do you know Mal from?’ Even if he seemed genuinely upset, I knew I couldn’t trust my first impression. He might be another one of Mal’s tormentors—and if he was, I wasn’t going to be nice to him.

  ‘From college.’ He bowed his head, glanced at the cross again. ‘We weren’t friends then. But he lived with me for the past couple of months. With my parents and me.’

  My frown deepened.

  ‘He never said.’

  Why wouldn’t Mal have shared that in group? If he’d got away from his mother and brother, why had he kept that a secret from us? We knew everything about each other.

  ‘Where do you know him from?’ He looked up at me again, eyes still shining with unshed tears.

  ‘We were in group therapy together. And in the same college.’

  He blinked.

  ‘Are you… Josh?’

  I took a step back, surprised he knew my name.

  ‘Ye-yeah.’

  Had Mal told him about me? Then why hadn’t he told anyone about him?

  He brushed off his jeans and straightened up. He was both taller and wider than me, and I tilted my head back a little to look into his face.

  ‘He talked about you sometimes.’ His eyes were still wet, but he seemed to have more of a handle on himself now.

  ‘He never mentioned you.’ I wrapped my arms around myself, crumbling my letter a little, but I needed the support. ‘Nor that he’d moved out from home.’

  His bottom lip started to tremble and he pressed his lips together into a flat line.

  ‘He seemed to get better. After his hospitalisation, when he came back to live with us. I thought—’ His voice broke, and my heart started to bleed for him. ‘I thought maybe there was hope after all.’

  My first impression had been right. This was someone who did care for Mal, and who was broken over his death.

  Suicide.

  It was a suicide.

  But I hated that word. Even thinking it made the events of that day, over month ago, flash before my eyes.

  ‘Do you want to—’ He shuffled uncomfortably, toeing the grass with his trainers. ‘To maybe go somewhere? Somewhere we can talk? For a coffee or tea or something?’

  For a minute panic settled in my gut. Going somewhere with a stranger wasn’t such a good idea. But going for tea or coffee usually meant a public place, and that couldn’t be so bad, could it?

  ‘Please?’ He begged me now. ‘I need to talk to someone. Someone who knew him.’

  That settled it.

  ‘Okay.’

  I unfolded my arms and smoothed out the folded paper, trying my best to do damage control. It didn’t work, it was still crumbled. Not that it mattered, it wasn’t like Mal could actually read what I’d written on it.

  He still held the single red rose in one hand.

  Doesn’t red roses mean love or something?

  Had Mal had someone who loved him? Someone who cried over his grave, who brought a rose to put on it, who he’d lived with…

  And yet he’d still killed himself.

  ‘I know a nice place down in Soho. We could take the tube there?’ If I was going to talk to him, I needed to do it somewhere familiar. Some place I knew people, and where people knew me. Not that I thought he’d do anything to me, but talking about Mal was something I only did in therapy sessions… and it was hard.

  He nodded quickly.

  ‘Yeah, okay.’

  I watched as he bent back down to put the rose close to the white cross. He put it down tenderly, as if afraid it might hurt the grass or the cross—or even Mal himself.

  When he straightened, he wiped quickly under his eyes, then gave me a shaky smile.

  ‘Did you want to leave something?’ He glanced briefly at the crumbled paper I held.

  I bit my lip.

  I felt stupid now, with a handwritten letter. He’d had a rose, which made more sense. People put flowers on graves, after all, not letters.

  ‘No.’ I stuffed the letter in my pocket quickly. ‘I just wanted to come here and see where he was buried.’

  He blinked.

  ‘You haven’t been here before?’ I wasn’t sure if I imagined the slight accusatory tone to his voice or not.

  I shrunk back.

  ‘No. I’ve been… sectioned.’ Best to be truthful. Being in hospital meant I couldn’t have come here, after all. ‘For a month.’

  He nodded slowly, eyes darting away from me.

  ‘Should we head to the tube then?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Silence descended between us as we walked back through the graveyard. There were other people around us and I didn’t want to talk where strangers could listen in. Not here, anyway.

  Best to wait until we reached the Café.

  At least we’d have a table to ourselves there.

  We settled on the most secluded table, facing each other.

  He’d got a cup of te
a, whereas I clutched a big mug of hot chocolate. Without whipped cream, because I didn’t like that on anything but cake, and even then I wasn’t too fond of it.

  ‘Were you and Mal close?’ he asked, staring deeply into his tea-cup.

  ‘Not really.’ I wet my lips nervously. ‘I mean, I wanted to be his friend and I tried, but I don’t think he wanted to be my friend.’

  ‘He did.’ He lifted his head suddenly to stare at me. ‘He liked you. He did want to be your friend. He just… I just don’t think he could.’

  He might be right there.

  ‘I thought I knew everything about him, from group. We’re not supposed to lie or keep anything back there.’ The hot chocolate was too hot to drink yet, so I only gripped the mug tighter. ‘But he never shared anything about you.’

  ‘He never shared anything about his past with me.’ He looked away from me again, glancing around the Café. ‘I’ve seen his—I mean, I saw—his body, saw what he’d done to himself. And it was horrible. I can’t even imagine what he’s had to go through to do that to himself.’

  My arms tingled.

  ‘His whole life’s been horrible.’

  Group rules were that we weren’t allowed to talk about anything we said there to anyone outside group. But Mal was dead… surely the rules didn’t apply now?

  Tyler wanted to talk about Mal. Maybe he needed to know more about him, needed to understand what had driven Mal to suicide. I could share that now without hurting him, because Mal was dead.

  ‘So I reckoned.’ He took a sip of his tea. ‘I got glimpses. He had nightmares. But he never told me anything flat out. When he talked it was usually about you. Or me. I wasn’t—well… I wasn’t very kind to him back in college.’

  My fingers tightened around my mug to the point my knuckles turned white.

  ‘What?’

  ‘My mates bullied him. And I never stopped them. I just watched.’ He bowed his head, staring into his tea again. ‘We made his life at college a living hell.’

  ‘His life outside of college was living hell.’

  His cheeks flushed.

  ‘I didn’t know that then.’

  Poor Mal.

  ‘You’re not in college now, are you?’ I couldn’t remember ever seeing him. Not with the group of lads who’d tormented Mal since the beginning of term.