Someone To Kiss My Scars: A Teen Thriller

by Brooke Skipstone

  She yelped. He laid the knife against her skin. “No sounds.”

  He moved the blade up the shirt and cut again.

  Then again.

  He spread the shirt away from her skin. “How old are you?”

  “Four. . . fourteen.”

  He chuckled then pushed the knife tip under the middle of her bra. She flinched and gritted her teeth. “Oops. Nicked you a little.” He chuckled again.

  Tatiana felt blood drip down her side.

  He pulled the blade sharply up and cut her bra.

  She felt the flat side of the knife move up her left hip. She waited for the cut and flinched. But she felt no pain. He twisted the blade and cut the fabric.

  She felt the blade slide along her right hip then rip away.

  Tatiana felt her skin exposed when he pulled the shorts and underwear away from her.

  “My, my, my. Think I’ll take some pictures.”

  Tatiana tried to breathe evenly while she stared at the roof of the van, seeing the flashes and hearing the clicks.

  Maybe that’s all he wants, she thought. Pictures.

  He started humming. She heard the rustle of clothes then saw him standing over her as he dropped his pants and kicked them away.

  “You’re gonna love this.” He bent down and leaned his face over her stomach, dragging his tongue across her flesh.

  Tatiana shuddered and tried not to squirm.

  Hunter felt a hand on his arm. He looked up and saw Jazz with her phone. She whispered, “My Mom.”

  He nodded and looked at Tatiana who had leaned back in the sofa, holding a pillow against her face.

  “Bad?” asked Jazz.

  Hunter nodded once then looked back at his screen.

  Jazz kissed the top of his head and walked out of the room

  *****

  Jazz swiped to accept the call. “Hey, Mom. How are you?” She hoped she hadn’t left rehab.

  “I’m good, Jazz. I’m done!” Her voice sound cheerful and excited. “They’re letting me out tomorrow. I finished six weeks.”

  Jazz sighed and shook her head. She was lying. “I thought the program was eight weeks.”

  “It depends on how you do. They said I’ve done great, so I can go.”

  Jazz sank onto her bed. “Isn’t there a halfway house they want you to go to?”

  “A what?”

  “I looked at their website, Mom. You’re supposed to spend a month at a halfway house once you leave rehab.”

  Jazz could hear her suck on a cigarette. “No one told me about that.”

  Jazz pinched her nose. “Did you get kicked out?”

  She sounded so offended. “Why do you say that? Dammit, Jazz, can’t you ever trust me?”

  “Because there’s nothing on the website that says anything about a six-week program.” Jazz sighed and felt hope for something better disappear. “What happened?”

  “Nothing happened—”

  She jumped off the bed. “Don’t lie to me! Did you drink?” Silence. “Did you drink?”

  Her mother tried to fight back with her own anger. “Why aren’t you in school?”

  Jazz’s throat tightened. “It’s lunch! I’m at home for lunch. Did you drink?”

  Jazz heard her blow smoke out of her mouth. “One of the advisors offered me one of those airplane bottles of vodka.”

  Jazz felt her skin heat up. “Let me guess. A male advisor.”

  “Yeah. He’s in trouble, too.”

  “Why did he give it to you?”

  “Because we were kissing—”

  Jazz slammed her fist against the wall. “Oh, Jesus, Mom! Why were you hitting on one of the advisors?”

  “He hit on me! Evidently, that’s what he does. Trades bottles for sex. I wasn’t the only one.”

  Her guts were churning. “You screwed him for a tiny bottle?”

  “I didn’t screw him. We were just kissing.”

  “And where’s he now?”

  “Out of a job.”

  Jazz kicked a pile of clothes on her floor. “He’s not coming into this house!”

  “Who said he was going to?”

  “Goddammit, Mom. You were clean for six weeks. Why couldn’t you do two more?”

  “You try going eight weeks without drinking, Jazz! Could you do it?”

  “I could now.” She sat on her bed.

  “Oh really.”

  “Yeah, I could.” She thought of holding Hunter in bed. She’d never have to see those memories again. Yes, there were more, but the worst ones were gone. “When am I supposed to pick you up?”

  “They want me out of here by ten tomorrow morning.”

  “All right. I’ll be there.”

  There were a few moments of silence before Jazz heard her mother crying.

  “Jazz, I’m sorry. I really tried.”

  Jazz slumped onto her bed. “I know, Mom. I know. I’ll be there tomorrow morning.” Should she tell her about Hunter? She’d have to because he would be with her. “I’ll . . . I’ll have a boy with me.”

  “A boy? Who?”

  “His name is Hunter. We’re good friends. He’s helped me a lot.”

  “You have a boyfriend?”

  Her mother’s shock might have angered Jazz, but thinking of Hunter as her boyfriend tempered that response. Instead, warmth spread through her body. She felt her skin glowing. “He’s more than a boyfriend. He’s my savior. Maybe he can save you, too. I’ll explain tomorrow. Good-bye, Mom.”

  “Good-bye, Jazz.”

  Her mother would be living with them tomorrow night. How would that change things? Hunter would see her memories. How much more crap could he take? Maybe they could leave town and be by themselves for a while. She could cradle him as he slept on her lap and protect him. But she knew he’d never agree. He was angry at the world for allowing these events to happen. He’d never accept hiding from them.

  Jazz looked into the living room. Hunter typed a few more words then closed his computer. He leaned back and looked to the ceiling. Tatiana was asleep, curled against her pillow on the sofa. She seemed peaceful.

  “Should I wake her?” whispered Jazz.

  Hunter shook his head.

  Jazz walked to him and cradled his head. Hunter clutched her, but this time he did not cry. Jazz could feel his body taut and coiled. She could feel the churning rage trying to find an escape.

  He sat up and grasped his head, pressing furiously at his temples.

  “Hunter, what’s wrong?”

  “My mother.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Hunter’s mind filled with drunken scenes of his mother, having sex, dancing naked to “Whole Lotta Love,” afternoon sessions when they locked the house after forcing Frankie to play outside. The scenes flashing through his mind covered several weeks.

  Hunter was no longer hesitant to Savannah’s advances. They took more risks. They both drank more and more. On some mornings Hunter could not wake her. When she finally arose, she had two drinks before breakfast and sipped on vodka concoctions all day long.

  She put on weight and spent less time fixing her face and hair.

  The worst time was when Joe came home, and Hunter couldn’t sneak into his mother’s bed at night. Hunter heard his parents’ arguments. She accused her husband of having an affair and demanded to look through his phone.

  Hunter had threatened Frankie against saying anything to Dad about him catching Hunter in bed with Mom. The threats worked, but Hunter knew Frankie would eventually say something. He almost wished he would. Having to endure the pretense while his father was home was becoming more and more difficult. He counted the seconds before his father would return to Prudhoe.

  After a particularly loud fight, Dad left two days early, which was good because Hunter had told his mother he’d planned to confront his Dad and ask him to move out. What good was he anyway? All he did was interfere with his relationship with his
mother.

  Savannah said that the next time he came home, she would demand a divorce.

  They left Frankie by himself at the house while they supposedly drove to a nearby store. Actually, they found a quiet place in the woods and had sex in her car.

  Hunter opened his eyes and tried to shut out the vision in his mind. Tatiana stared at him from the sofa, her shoulders slumped but eyes wide. She looked around like she didn’t know where she was. “What happened?” her voice raspy and uncertain, like the first drowsy words of morning. She looked down at her arms, holding them out like she had never seen them before. “What time is it?”

  “About two o’clock,” said Jazz. “He thought you should sleep. Are you OK?”

  She nodded slowly, not moving anything but her head. “I’m tingling all over, like my arms and legs had their circulation cut off.”

  Jazz grinned and reached over with her finger to touch her arm.

  “No! Please don’t,” she giggled. She threw her head back, breathed slowly, and moved her fingers slowly. Then she shivered, squealed, and hugged herself. She looked at Hunter. “What’d you do?”

  “I took your bad memory.”

  “What memory?” Tatiana’s eyes showed confusion but not the terror or shame they had before.

  Jazz sat beside her and hugged her. “Exactly. What memory?” She held Tatiana’s face. “You feel good?”

  “Amazing! But I’m hungry. Do you have anything to eat?”

  “Sure,” said Jazz. “I’ll make some sandwiches.” She rubbed Hunter’s head then pulled her wet hand away. “God, Hunter. You’re soaked. Your shirt is plastered to you.”

  He grinned. “Sorry.”

  “It’s OK.” She kissed his forehead. “Your sweat tastes good. Can I leave you alone for a few minutes?”

  “Yeah, I’m hungry, too.”

  Jazz squeezed him one more time then walked toward the kitchen. Hunter stood up and stretched.

  “Was it bad?” asked Tatiana.

  Hunter looked at Tatiana and tried to ignore his memory of her trying to be silent and still while that man raped her twice. “Very. But you don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

  “Will you . . . will you tell Jazz?”

  “Not everything.”

  “Do you think less of me now?”

  “No. I don’t see how you lived through those events. You’re an amazing girl.”

  A smile fluttered across her face. “Thank you.”

  As they both walked into the kitchen, Jazz tossed Hunter a fresh shirt. He stripped off his sopping t-shirt and saw Tatiana cover her mouth with her hands.

  “You have scars, too?”

  Hunter thrust his arms through the sleeves. “Yeah, but I don’t remember how I got them.” He pulled down his shirt. “Jazz thinks I see memories that are connected to my missing ones.”

  “But I never cut myself,” said Tatiana.

  “No.” He almost said, “You purged,” but he didn’t want to remind her. “Bad things happened to you, and bad things happened to me. I’ll remember everything soon.”

  “You want to remember?”

  “I have to know the truth. Every time I see someone else’s memory, I see something from my past.”

  “You’re taking my bad memory and Jazz’s so you can suffer your past again? I don’t understand why you would do that.”

  “Because I see two young women who were hurt through no fault of their own smiling now, happy to be free from that pain. And that’s pretty cool.”

  “Yes, that is,” said Jazz, smiling at him, holding a knife covered in mayonnaise. “Tell me what you want on your sandwich.”

  While they ate, Tatiana asked, “Could I come over here sometimes? I like being with you guys.”

  Jazz smiled. “OK with me. Hunter?”

  “Sure.”

  Tatiana smiled. “Would be nice to have friends who know the worst about me and still want to be friends.”

  “That would be nice,” said Hunter. “Maybe next time I’ll share everything in my past with you and see if you still want to visit.”

  “After what you’ve done for me and for Jazz,” said Tatiana, “nothing would turn me away from you. You’re willing to take other people’s horrible memories. That’s pretty special.”

  Jazz grabbed Hunter’s hand. “Yes, it is.”

  “I better get back to school.”

  They all stood.

  Tatiana reached out to hug Jazz. “Thank you, Jazz.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Tatiana held out her arms toward Hunter. “Can I?”

  Hunter stepped toward her. “Sure.” They hugged briefly.

  “Bye!” Her eyes sparkled with happiness as she backed toward the door, smiling at both of them, then turned to leave.

  Jazz watched from the kitchen window as Tatiana drove away. “Do you think she’ll purge her lunch?”

  “Maybe not. After the rape, she was afraid she was pregnant. She kept examining her stomach for any signs of swelling. She started throwing up to make sure she wouldn’t get bigger. Plus she vomited to get him out of her. That man should be skinned alive.” Hunter cleared the table and took the dishes to the sink.

  “And she blamed herself?”

  “Of course, she did. She thought she should have run away when he pulled the gun. She should never have fallen for a fake heart attack. She shouldn’t have gone to the park by herself. All she’s done since the rape is beat herself up.”

  “Did anyone else know?”

  “Not sure, but I don’t think so.” He wet a towel and took it to the table, which he wiped down.

  “Did you see more scenes with your mother?”

  “Yeah, several.” He threw the towel across the kitchen toward the sink. “I had sex with her every night and day at least once for several weeks except when my father came back from work. We were fucking hamsters!” He kicked a chair and shook his head. He laughed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “And my little brother knew some of it. I grew to hate Frankie, and I wanted my Dad out of the house. I think when he comes home the next time, the big secret will be revealed.”

  Jazz went to him and kissed his cheek. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. When crap happens to us, we blame ourselves. Why? Because most people aren’t raped or abused, so we must blame ourselves for getting into such bad situations. But none of this was our fault.”

  “I know, but it’s still hard to accept that.”

  “On the other hand, my mother may have some blame. You’ll get to find out.”

  “How?”

  She ran her fingers through his hair. “My mother got kicked out of rehab. We’re going to pick her up tomorrow in Fairbanks.”

  “What happened?”

  “Another man offering booze for sex. The story of her life.” She kissed his other cheek. “Maybe you can fix her, too.”

  “Remember what I said to you the first day we met?”

  “Sex causes every problem in the world.” Jazz kissed his lips.

  He pulled his lips from hers. “Do you still disagree?”

  She rubbed her fingers around the edge of his ears. “There’s got to be good sex somewhere.”

  “Well, I haven’t seen it yet.”

  “Tell me this isn’t good.” She kissed him again.

  He felt her tongue and sucked it farther into his mouth. His mind emptied of thought, focusing entirely on her warmth and taste. Every nerve ending touching any part of her vibrated with heat, grasping for her. He wanted to melt into her.

  “We could make amazing love to each other, Hunter. When I felt you against me this morning, I remember panicking. But you took that away. All I feel now is such deep want. No more hang-ups. I know your feelings are still complicated. Maybe when you learn the truth, you can just feel me. Or maybe you’ll never be able to. But if we can share kisses like this every once in a while, that’s enough for me.”

  He pulle
d her close to him. “Can we lie down for a while?”

  “Yes.” She pulled him toward her bedroom.

  “When will Eric show up?”

  “In an hour. Maybe two.”

  She kneeled by his duffle and pulled out his Tremarian folder. Then she climbed into her bed. “Spoon me and take a nap. I’m going to read through these stories. Did you start these while you were having sex with your mother or after?”

  He shook his head.

  She patted the bed. “Get in. I’ll wake you up when he calls.”

  Hunter lay down behind her pressing his body tightly against hers. She was propped on her left side, the stories on the sheets in front of her. She pulled his arm to her stomach. Hunter slipped his hand under her shirt and fell asleep.

  *****

  Jazz remembered the last story Hunter had shown her nine or ten weeks ago. She flipped through pages toward the end to find it. She wanted to know what he had written just before the visions started. She remembered his first memory story—a boy and girl Face-Timing while masturbating, caught in the act by the boy’s mother. After she’d first read it, Jazz thought the boy and girl represented the illicit acts Hunter and his mother committed which were then judged and condemned by an adult figure. But maybe there was another interpretation.

  The boy did not ejaculate until his mother entered the room. From what Jazz now knew, Hunter and his mother had frequent sex. It made sense that his first vision dealt, however obliquely, with a mother and son and sexuality. Those were at the core of Hunter’s troubles, the memories that had to be erased.

  What started their return?

  She flipped to the last story in Hunter’s Tremarian folder.

  The woman and a teenage boy fled across the rocky plateau toward the cliff’s edge, pursued by a squadron of Tremarian soldiers fighting for the Keen, the genderless ruler who started a war ten years ago against the only remaining country still committed to distinct genders. The Keen (a combination of king and queen) believed the Dumarians posed a threat to the demise of male and female sexuality, which had threatened the survival of the planet Marian years ago before most of society demanded gender neutrality.