Someone To Kiss My Scars: A Teen Thriller

by Brooke Skipstone

  Jazz raised her brows at Hunter.

  “You sure she won’t mind?” asked Joe.

  Jazz smiled. “She likes Hunter. She’d love him to stay with us.”

  “OK.”

  Hunter grabbed her hand. “C’mon, Jazz, help me pack.” He started to lead her back to his bedroom.

  “Hunter.” Joe had picked up his shirts. “Why don’t you put your shirts back on?” He tossed them to Hunter.

  “For you or for Jazz?”

  “Both.”

  Hunter pulled Jazz toward his room. As soon as he closed the door, Jazz grabbed him in a hug. “I can’t believe you.”

  “As soon as I wrote that last story, I knew seeing your memories wasn’t a curse. I can help you, Jazz.”

  “You already have.” She touched his cheeks and hair. “Can I kiss you?”

  Hunter looked into her green eyes and smiled. “Yes.” At that moment he realized he had never been kissed on the lips because he had no idea what to do.

  They pressed their lips together gently for several seconds, forcing heat throughout his body, until Jazz moved her cheek against his.

  Hunter pressed against her. “I’m sorry. I’m kind of clueless.”

  She squeezed him a little harder and sighed. “That was better than all the imaginary kisses I got from Alessandro put together.” She pushed herself back from him. “I think I’ll take him down tonight.”

  She stared at his scars and touched some on his chest. “You never knew what these were?”

  “Only what he told me. He said kids would be grossed out by them so never show them to anyone. As you’ve noticed, I always wear long-sleeve t-shirts.”

  He slipped on both of his shirts.

  “I’ve got a suitcase.” He opened his closet and pulled out an old green duffel bag on wheels. He set it on the bed and unzipped it. “Grab some of my underwear and t-shirts. And some socks. I’ll get some pants and shirts.”

  After a few minutes of stuffing his bag, Hunter took down the whiteboard and removed his Tremarian folder. “I didn’t want him to know about this. I was afraid they’d end up burned like everything else.” He stood on the bed and retrieved his liquor thermos from the ceiling.

  “Anything else?” asked Jazz after she put both items in the suitcase.

  “Yes.” He lifted his mattress and pulled out the baleen, book of matches, and the knife.

  “What are those?”

  “What I found yesterday looking through his stuff. The only objects from my past to survive the fire. And I don’t remember anything about them.” He tossed them into his duffel. “Oh yeah. My printer and paper. I’ll carry them out to the truck. Can you bring the suitcase?”

  “Sure.”

  As they walked out of Hunter’s room, Joe looked up. “Need a hand?”

  “I think we got it,” said Hunter.

  Jazz put down the suitcase and held out her hand to Joe. “Very nice to meet you, Joe. Thanks for taking care of Hunter.”

  He stood up and shook her hand. “Thanks for caring about him.”

  Hunter nodded to his dad. “I’ll be back in a second.”

  They walked out of the house and put everything inside the truck. Jazz climbed into her seat with a smile stretched across her face.

  “Give me a minute,” said Hunter. He walked inside to find his father rinsing out his cup.

  “Did you get everything?” Joe said without turning around.

  “No, but I have all I need for now.” He gazed at his father’s back. “You’re hiding something, Dad. You didn’t object at all when I said I’d go to Jazz’s. It doesn’t make sense that you wouldn’t want to lose those memories. Unless there’s something you really don’t want me to know.”

  Joe turned around revealing a sagging, tired face. “I don’t want you to know any of it. That’s why I mentioned the reset.”

  “And if I agreed to that, I would never know what you’re hiding. But once I know it, you’d have no memory of it. Makes no sense.”

  Joe’s eyes avoided Hunter’s face. “It . . . it will when you know it.” He turned back toward the sink.

  “Well . . . I’ll call you sometime. Thanks for the computer.” He started to leave.

  “Hunter.” Joe turned around. “I know we haven’t been very close, and you needed . . . more than I’ve given you. Jazz seems like a good girl. And she cares about you. Take care of her.”

  “I’m going to save her.”

  “And who will save you?”

  “Maybe she will.”

  He left the house.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jazz bit her thumbnail as she watched the sky bleed into a sunset. Hunter would stay in her house tonight. Where would he sleep? Did he feel the same excitement, the same flutters of nervousness? She could think of no other boy in her entire life she would allow to sleep in her house. Alone with her. But that situation had never arisen, would never. She’d always worried that no boy would want her, even if all her secrets remained hidden. If she found a boy who could accept her public appearance, how could he possibly not be appalled and repelled by her scars? Even she had trouble looking at them.

  But Hunter had similar scars.

  He’d cried for her, not run from her. They already had so many dark secrets, yet he wanted to stay with her.

  Unbelievable.

  Hunter emerged from his house and smiled as he walked toward her.

  “How’d that go?” asked Jazz as Hunter started his truck. The bound book of stories lay in her lap.

  “A little awkward. He thinks you’re a good girl and ordered me to take care of you.”

  She laughed. “Will you?”

  He grinned. “I told him I would save you.” He guided the truck along the driveway.

  “By filling up another one of these books with all my bad memories?”

  “If that what it takes. Why should they haunt your life any longer?”

  She tried to imagine waking up tomorrow and not remembering the nightmares of the past. She had tried to pretend, hide behind the facade of confidence and sass, think of nothing but science and her lab work. But some little thing would recall an event. And even if it didn’t, she went home to emptiness, to Alessandro—fake love, fake sex, fake peace, until the only real thing in the now of her life was a blade leading a trail of blood.

  What if all the bad times were gone? Could Hunter do this for her? Maybe, but how could he stand the burden of hers and his memories? Would she want a friend to take away her stomach flu or disease if that meant he would succumb to her illnesses?

  But he wanted to do this for her. He wanted to remove her suffering.

  She gazed at his beautiful profile. “What about you? How can I save you?”

  He stopped before turning onto the road. “By being there when I remember my past.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “And still caring about me when you know the worst.”

  “I think the more we share, the closer we’ll be.”

  Hunter looked deeply into her eyes. “Despite everything?”

  Jazz felt such warmth in every part of her body. “Despite everything.”

  As they moved down the highway, Jazz opened the book of Hunter’s stories and began to read. The first story was about Stewart Face-Timing Molly late at night, masturbating together. His mother had walked into his room at a most inopportune time. Embarrassment, guilt, disappointment, shock, and screaming followed. Jazz wondered if Stewart without this memory was now more uncomfortable around his mother, not knowing why she looked at him so differently. His memory of the event was gone, but his mother’s reaction surely lingered.

  This was the story that had started it all, the first to push into his brain and keep him from writing about the Tremarians. All of these stories related to Hunter’s forgotten memories in some way.

  Was the girl a substitute for his mother? Fantasies that Hunter wished could happen? Di
d Hunter’s mother catch him masturbating about her and shame him? Or did the mother’s reaction in the story stand for Hunter’s guilt at what he and his mother actually did?

  She remembered Hunter saying he’d been homeschooled. Which meant he was home with his mother and brother all day while his father worked. Something happened when Joe was away from the house. Something which probably fed Hunter’s guilt.

  And how did the mother and brother die? Why wasn’t Hunter in the car with them? Jazz suspected their death was more complicated than simply a driving accident.

  The next story was about a girl who was caught wearing a very skimpy outfit at the State Fair by her father. She hadn’t expected him to be there. He caught her flirting with older guys, practically exposing everything. Interestingly, she felt anger at him, not shame. She accused him of ruining everything, as always, keeping her from having fun, and spying on her, like he was the pervert for watching her.

  Perhaps the father in the story was similar to Joe, catching his wife and Hunter engaged in . . . what? Interestingly, the girl in the story did not deny her behavior. She hadn’t acted inappropriately. He had for watching her. What arguments had occurred between Hunter’s parents?

  “Someone’s here,” said Hunter as he pulled into Jazz’s driveway. “Were you expecting anyone?”

  “Are you kidding?” Jazz sat up and peered out the windshield. “That’s Eric’s truck. What does he want?”

  “Probably nothing good.”

  As soon as Hunter parked his truck, Eric emerged from his and walked determinedly toward Hunter.

  Jazz jumped out her door. “What do you want, Eric?”

  “I need to talk to Hunter, not you,” Eric snarled.

  Hunter opened his door and stared at Eric. “Whatever you need to say, you can say to both of us.”

  Jazz glared at Eric as she walked past him to Hunter’s side.

  “You two living together now?” Eric sneered.

  “Just visiting,” said Hunter.

  “I didn’t know where you lived, Hunter, so I asked around to find out where Jazz lived. I thought she might know where your house is.”

  “Such an analytical mind, you have, Eric,” Jazz taunted. “You have a future as a stalker.”

  “And I figured something else out, Hunter. You wrote a story during first period today then Tucker chewed me out after class. I had no idea what she was talking about. Then I saw you typing up a storm outside the gym during PE. I’m expecting Drew to be mad at me, but as soon as she comes out of the dressing room, she’s like normal. Like nothing happened during lunch. But then Jazz says something to her, and she’s angry again. Plus,” he pulled some papers out of his pocket. “I found this in Drew’s locker after I left Bentley’s office. I figure you wrote this story, too. When Bentley showed me the papers Jazz printed during detention, I remembered my fantasy about Tucker. So when Jazz showed these papers to Drew, she remembered.

  “Which means,” he said, poking Hunter’s chest, “you can get into people’s heads and steal a memory.”

  Hunter smiled. “And how would I do that, Eric?”

  “I don’t know, but I need you to do it again.”

  They locked eyes for several seconds. Jazz saw Eric’s eyes change from anger to pleading.

  Hunter shifted his feet and looked down. “I can’t control what I see. The stories just invade my head.”

  “Drew ran right by you, and two minutes later you were typing this.” He shook the papers. “You can do the same for me!”

  Eric seemed ready to fight, but then his shoulders slumped. “Please. You need to help me.”

  “You have a memory you need to get rid of, Eric?” Jazz asked softly.

  “This is between me and Hunter, Jazz. You butt out!”

  Hunter put his arm around Jazz and pulled her to him. “Don’t mess with Jazz. We’re partners in this. Look, I’ve never tried to steal a memory. It just happens. I don’t know if I—”

  “You can try! Or I’ll take this to Bentley tomorrow and tell everyone what you’re doing!”

  “You want Bentley to read that story?” asked Jazz. “I don’t think so.”

  Eric gritted his teeth and kicked a rock into the trees. “Look, I need help. I need you to try. Please.”

  “We’re not sure how this works,” said Jazz. “Were you thinking about sex with Tucker at the beginning of class this morning?”

  “Who doesn’t?” scoffed Eric.

  “Why don’t you two sit in the living room for a while,” said Jazz, “and see what happens?”

  Jazz opened the back door of the truck and pulled out the printer. Hunter took it and headed for the house. Jazz reached in to pull out the duffel.

  “I’ll get that,” said Eric.

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I said I got it.” He reached around her and lifted the bag. “Why’d you give that story to Drew?”

  “Because she needed to know what happened. And her sister saw you gawking at her. You seem to have a serious problem, Eric.”

  His eyes jittered and then looked to the ground. “I know. I’m trying to fix it.”

  “I won’t tell anyone, and neither will Hunter. We have plenty of our own issues to keep us busy.”

  Eric nodded and walked to the front door. Jazz grabbed her pack and shut the truck doors.

  Once inside, Eric asked, “Where do I put this?”

  Jazz and Hunter glanced at each other.

  “Where do you want it, Hunter?” asked Jazz, lifting her brows and tilting her head slightly.

  “Right there is fine,” said Hunter. “I’ll move it later. Let’s go sit down.” Eric dropped the bag and followed Hunter into the next room.

  “I’ll make some coffee,” said Jazz. Once the boys were out of the kitchen, Jazz picked up the duffel and walked down the hall. She stopped at her room. Should she put it in there? What would he think? Where did she want him?

  Her heart fluttered at that question. Next to her. Holding her. Maybe loving her.

  She decided to put the bag in her room and then say she put it there because she thought he’d want to sleep on the sofa. She obviously couldn’t lug it in there now. He could decide later.

  She hoped Eric’s memory—if Hunter could see it—was about him being victimized rather than him hurting a little girl. She didn’t think she could take knowing that about him.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Hunter sat in a chair with his computer on his lap. Eric leaned back on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. “What do I need to do?”

  “I’m not sure. This is the first time I’ve tried to see someone’s memory. Drew was still thinking about what had happened when she ran by us at lunch, so maybe try thinking about a memory. I know that’s hard, but I don’t know what else to tell you .”

  Eric leaned over and put his head into his hands.

  The rapid-fire beating of drums immediately filled Hunter’s brain, Bonham’s riff before Page’s solo. He heard the ball slap against the wall then a basketball rim shake. He saw himself standing outside his old house, throwing the ball against the backboard. He heard his mother calling him. He walked inside the house then down the hallway to the door, slightly ajar. He pushed it open. “Mom?” he called. The room was empty. He heard a shower running and saw the bathroom door open. He watched as his mother stood in front of the mirror in panties and a tank top. She started to pull it off. He turned around and knocked on her door. “Mom? I’m here. You called me?”

  “Just wanted to know where you were, Baby. I have something to show you. Turn around.”

  Hunter scrambled out and slammed the door. He heard her laughing. “You know you want to, Baby!” He ran toward the wall, which opened up into a bedroom.

  Nearest to him was a twin bed occupied by a younger Eric, probably eleven or twelve years old. He was propped on a pillow against the wall, reading a book.

  At the other end of the room, an old
er, much larger, teenager lay on his back with a laptop open on his chest, staring open-mouthed at the screen. His right hand bounced under the sheets as he moaned, “Jesus.”

  Eric heard the sound and turned his head. He watched, fascinated. He had seen Buddy do this on several nights but had never found the courage to confront him. “Hey, Buddy. What are you doing?”

  Buddy jerked his head toward Eric. “Why are you still awake, asshole? Turn toward the wall and go to sleep!”

  “Can’t sleep now, especially with you moaning like that.” Eric sat up. “What are you watching?” He figured it was some kind of pornography. He had never seen any and wondered what could make his brother moan like that.

  Buddy shifted his gaze back toward the screen. He moved his hand more quickly under the covers.

  “I’ll show you, but get me that lotion on the dresser.”

  Excited, Eric flipped up the sheets and retrieved the bottle. He wore stretch brief underwear and no shirt. He went to the bed and held out the lotion.

  “First of all, you will promise to tell no one about this, or I won’t show you anything.”

  “OK. I promise.”

  “Plus, I will beat the crap out of you if you do.”

  “I won’t tell!”

  Buddy scooted to his right, making room for Eric. “Get in under the sheets next to me.”

  Eric climbed into the bed. Buddy pulled his hand out from the sheets and held it up to Eric.

  “Give me a squirt.”

  Eric pushed the top down on the bottle, filling Buddy’s palm with lotion, which then disappeared under the sheets. Buddy groaned.

  “Show me,” Eric pleaded.

  Buddy turned the screen toward Eric whose eyes bulged, and his mouth opened. Eric saw two naked young girls jumping on a trampoline. They were twins, maybe ten or eleven years old. They laughed as they jumped around each other.

  This was not what Eric had expected. “Buddy, where did you get this?”

  “Do you like it?”

  Not really, he thought. “Yeah. Sure. But the girls are so young.”

  “That’s the point, little brother. That’s the freakin’ point. Watch this.”