Someone To Kiss My Scars: A Teen Thriller

by Brooke Skipstone

  Destiny and Danielle would know forever they were saved by those willing to die for them. That knowledge had to help them heal even as it saved the rest of them.

  After they arrived at the house, the girls helped Jazz look through her old clothes to find things they could wear. They acted as if they were given exclusive access to an entire department store, giggling and squealing as they tried on different outfits. Claire made a good dinner for all of them. Jazz had forgotten that her mother was a decent cook when she wanted to be.

  Then the girls took showers, which they hadn’t had for years. The sounds of their laughter and groans of delight filled the house and brought smiles to everyone. How could a simple shower bring such happiness?

  Danielle and Destiny showed no interest in answering questions about their past. They wanted only to enjoy the present, relish the now, and explore an entire house without a metal bar anywhere.

  After they fell asleep in her bed, Claire knocked on Jazz’s door.

  “Come in,” said Jazz who lay next to Hunter on top of her bed, both in boxers and t-shirts.

  “You sleep together?” asked Claire, her eyes bulging and mouth wide open.

  “Yes,” said Jazz, sitting up, “but we don’t have sex. We just hold each other.”

  Claire’s eyes widened, and she walked toward them. “Your scars.” She reached out to touch Jazz’s shoulder then put her hand over her mouth. “When?”

  “Over the years, but I’m better now.”

  “And Hunter?” Claire touched his arm.

  “We’re good, Claire. They’re from the past. Eventually they’ll fade. Are the girls asleep?”

  She sat down in Jazz’s desk chair. “Yes. I love them,” she said through her tears. “I know I’ve been a shitty mother to you, Jazz, and I’ll try so hard to make amends. But these girls have had no one to care for them. And I helped save them. They’re giving me a second chance to be a mother. Can they stay?”

  “Where else would they go?” asked Jazz.

  “Child services will want to place them with someone else,” said Claire.

  Jazz frowned. “Why?”

  “Because I got kicked out of rehab, because we have no money or job. Because you killed Wesley.”

  “I’ll talk to Stanley,” said Hunter. “Maybe he can help us.”

  “You should call your father,” said Claire.

  “I will tomorrow. He made mistakes because he was too focused on himself. He needs to try something different.”

  “Jazz, do you have alcohol in the house?” asked Claire.

  Jazz felt her stomach drop. Just when she thought her mother was acting more responsibly, more like a real mom, she slapped that thought away.

  “A little,” sighed Jazz.

  “You need to get rid of it. I don’t want those girls to be exposed to drinking.”

  Jazz felt her eyes bulge. “I thought—”

  “I know what you thought, but I was sober for six weeks then had a couple of shots. I don’t want any more, not as long as we have the girls. Are you still drinking?”

  Jazz swallowed and grabbed Hunter’s hand. “Hunter and I decided to drink one shot a piece each night for a week at bedtime to see how my body reacts to cutting back.”

  Claire frowned. “Do you drink, Hunter?”

  “Just started three days ago. I don’t need it, but I wanted to help Jazz get off of it. I don’t think she should go cold turkey.”

  “OK. One shot at night for a week, then no more. If you have to detox at a hospital, then you will. Jazz, how would you have paid for food today?”

  “Because MawMaw and PawPaw send me prepaid cards. They’ve been doing that since we left.”

  Claire’s eyes teared up as she looked at her daughter. “Have you talked to them?”

  “Sometimes. I want to see them . . . and Rosie.”

  Claire wiped the tears off her face. “Would they let us?”

  “Maybe. If we’re sober. If we explain what’s happened.”

  “They wouldn’t want Danielle and Destiny,” said Claire.

  “How do we know that? Let’s give it a week, see how the girls do, and then talk to them.”

  “OK.” Claire went to Jazz. She reached out her arms toward her daughter who stood and grabbed her mother. “I love you, Jazzy. I hope you can love me, too.”

  “I never stopped loving you, Mom. Despite everything, I love you.”

  Claire reached her hand out to Hunter. He stood and joined the hug.

  “I know you’ve seen me at my worst, Hunter, but I hope we can start over.”

  “We already have. I need a mom who cares about me, so if you can

  possibly—”

  Claire let go of Jazz and pulled Hunter into her. “I’ll try so hard, Hunter. For you and Jazz and the girls.”

  She let go and wiped her eyes. “When I was sixteen, I loved a boy named Daniel, and he loved me. We gave ourselves to each other. Our love-making was the first for both of us. Then his family had to move, and every boy I screwed after that was not the same. It was just sex, like getting drunk just to feel good for a while. It didn’t mean anything. And that’s all those girls have experienced. But I think you two can feel something different with each other. You two are something special. You’d give your lives for each other.”

  “Like you would have today for us,” said Jazz.

  Claire nodded. “Like we all would have for those girls.”

  Jazz kissed her mother’s cheek. “Good-night, Mom.”

  Hunter kissed Claire’s other cheek. “Good-night, Mom.”

  “I love you both,” said Claire, wiping her eyes then left the room.

  Jazz climbed onto the bed and reached for Alessandro’s poster. “Make sure I don’t fall.”

  Hunter held her calves as she ripped the picture down.

  She hopped off the bed and gathered the pieces in her arms. “I’ll be back after I stuff him in the trash.” Hunter opened the door for her.

  When she returned, Hunter stood naked in the darkened room by the bed. After her eyes widened, she smiled, and held her hands over her eyes.

  “Can I peek?”

  “No more games, Jasmine Lucille Williams.” He moved toward her and kissed her lips as he curled his fingers around the bottom of her shirt and lifted it.

  Jazz pulled her lips away slightly. “Can I help?” He nodded, and she lifted the shirt off, then undid her bra. He helped her slide down her pants and underwear. They gently pulled each other closer.

  “God, you feel good, Jazz.”

  “In case you’re wondering, I’ve been on the pill for years.”

  He moved his hands down her ribs then across her hips to her bottom while she played with his earlobes. He kissed her neck. “I think tonight I’ll kiss you in other places besides your scars.”

  “You’ll have to search hard for empty skin.”

  He bent down and kissed her breasts. “Found some. Actually, a lot.”

  “Mmmm.”

  “I love you, Jazz. More than anything. More than myself.”

  “Despite everything?”

  “Because of everything.”

  Epilogue

  During their love making, Hunter saw only Jazz, felt only her skin, and heard only her moans of pleasure. She was his present and future, pushing his past to a time and place as remote as the planet Marian.

  Claire slept with the girls every night, not because they had nightmares, but because they wanted a mother to love them.

  Claire taught them how to cook and worked with them on reading and math. Jazz found some old art and craft supplies, and they all painted and glued creations, stringing them around the house. But what the girls liked the most were Jazz’s science demonstrations and nature walks.

  By the time the girls went to a clinic, they had gained some weight. The doctor gave them medicine for various minor maladies, but otherwise no one would have suspected what the
y’d endured for years. Trips to Pioneer Park to ride bikes and the train and to see movies at Regal Cinema with extra butter on the popcorn were pushing bad memories aside for good. Happiness and love led to a rapid recovery.

  Danielle and Destiny refused to answer questions at the police station. They wanted no part of talking about the past. Stanley said they had enough evidence without their testimony. Wesley’s videos identified many clients, including Leon, who were arrested and charged. He also said their entire encounter with Wesley was recorded on surveillance cameras, so there would be no charges or complications for any of them.

  Hunter asked Stanley if they had to stay in the state for any reason.

  “I didn’t hear that question, Hunter. What did you say?”

  Hunter smiled. “Nothing. Wasn’t important anyway.”

  Hunter talked to his father and told him their plans to move to Oregon. “When I offered to take your memories away, I intended to take your pain and your guilt. I meant it. So I hope you understand that at some point.”

  “Thanks, Hunter. I know that now.”

  “Maybe you’ll find someone you’d be willing to do that for.”

  “Stanley’s giving me another chance, so maybe . . .”

  “Good luck, Dad.”

  Hunter had not seen any more memories of his past since that night at Joe’s, nor had he tried to take memories from Claire or Jazz. Everyone was too busy reveling in the girls’ newfound freedom to look backward.

  But Hunter’s mind saw glimpses of the girls’ pain when they drove by kids playing on a trampoline or saw a bearded man in a store. Danielle and Destiny quickly turned away and talked or laughed while the images faded. When the day came they wouldn’t fade, he would add their memories to the hundreds in his mind, protected by Jazz’s love and his desire to save others.

  Had he seen all of his past? No. The years of doctors’ visits and self-mutilation before they moved to Alaska were still unknown. But Hunter was in no hurry to relive that time. He had too much to do with his life going forward. Besides needing to help the girls and Claire and Jazz, he knew there were many others he could help if given the chance.

  Joe, along with Claire’s parents, split the cost of plane tickets for the five to fly to Portland where they would be met by MawMaw, PawPaw, and Rosie.

  Before they left, Hunter compiled all his stories, including those about his mother and Frankie, changing the names of people and places, and sent them to Dr. Ru.

  Along with this note. “Deleting bad memories doesn’t cure anything. People start to heal when someone cares enough to accept their suffering. They finish healing when they kiss someone else’s scars. But first they have to feel the pain of others. Use these memories, Dr. Ru. Help people see the scars.”

  THE END

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I have known too many teens and adults who have endured similar events described in this book, many who gritted their teeth and lifted themselves up again, and many who never found the strength or support from others to mend their bodies and minds. They are all a testament to the façades that most of us live behind.

  Though I published this book myself, I received much help and guidance from others. Many beta readers and editors contributed, including Marni Macrae, Corrine Sosa, Sarah Abiz-Strugala, and especially Elisann Grant, who understands what I write better than I do. Jerrica McDowell was the first to read the beginning chapters, after which she ordered me to write more and finish. The story was too compelling in her mind to give her a taste then wait months before another bite. Every writer needs such an enthusiastic supporter.

  And a special thanks to Barbara Kuzic, who refused to be swayed by “shocked” or “tired” or lots of other modifiers that meant nothing to her without specific physical and emotional responses. She has made me a better writer—no, can’t use “better.” She forced me to live every moment through each character’s eyes and gut and share the details.

  This story challenges the limits of the YA genre and the reader’s ability to endure. I was very worried how my first reviewers would respond and considered the possibility that Hunter and Jazz’s story might never be told. But Jamie Michele, K.C. Finn, and Jack Magnus from Readers’ Favorite allayed my fears and gave me the confidence that my message was worthwhile and should be shared.

  Cherie Chapman is an awesome cover designer. Every option she gave me was original and beautiful and true to the story. The best is always hard to choose from her creations because all are the best.

  And to my two favorite characters—Hunter and Jazz. How often does a writer get to create a gun-toting, vodka-drinking, science genius female with the biggest heart in Alaska? And a boy who sees the amazing gem she is “despite everything”? Though both were nearly destroyed as young teens, they found resilience in sacrifice for others. More is in store for these two.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Brooke Skipstone lives in Alaska, where she watches the mountains change colors with the seasons from her balcony. Where she feels the constant rush toward winter as the sunlight wanes for six months of the year, seven minutes each day, bringing crushing cold that lingers even as the sun climbs again. Where the burst of life during summer is urgent under twenty-four-hour daylight, lush and decadent. Where fish swim hundreds of miles up rivers past bear claws and nets and wheels and lines of rubber-clad combat fishers, arriving humped and ragged, dying as they spawn. Where danger from the land and its animals exhilarates the senses, forcing her to appreciate the difference between life and death. Where the edge between is sometimes too alluring.