“Right so far.”
Meghan hesitates. She lowers her voice. “And then she turned on you, completely flipped out. She told everybody you’d forced her to kiss you, that you’d come on to her.”
I close my eyes against the words, then open them again. A few weeks ago, I would have been crying by now. But things have changed. A lot has. “Right again.”
“And then she transferred out of school.”
“And cut off all contact with me. Refused to answer my calls, texts, or e-mails. Said she’d get a restraining order if I kept harassing her.”
“What a bitch!”
I shake my head. “She was just scared. I was, too. I mean, our school’s full of homophobia. And she did try to stick it out. Maybe if people hadn’t put up posters of us all over the halls or if they hadn’t trashed her locker, things might’ve been different.”
“Kendra, you are way too kind to her, after the way she treated you.”
I shrug. I don’t know why I’m not more upset. Maybe it’s because Meghan is here with me and I know that she likes me. Or maybe it’s because I’m so full of pain that I can’t feel any more. “It took me a while, but I think I’m over her. I started being over her the day I met you.”
Meghan smiles. “I noticed you the first year of high school. I wanted to get to know you better. Wanted to—” She licks her lips. “Get to know you much better. But I figured you weren’t a free woman.”
She noticed me! My heart flutters.
Meghan’s eyes darken. Her hand tightens on mine. “I won’t ever do what Sarah did to you; I promise. I don’t care what people say.”
“I know.” I try to smile.
“You’re still feeling rotten, aren’t you? Because of what that bastard did to you. I can see it in your eyes.”
If this was anybody else, I’d be out the door by now. But I’m so drawn to her; I want to be with her, even as I want to run. “I know I’m not good company right now, but would you stay for a while? Would you … hold me?”
Meghan wraps her arms around me. I breathe in her scent, relax against her. Her hand moves slowly across my back.
“Are you doing this because you want to?” I ask.
Meghan jerks away from me, her face flushed. “Goddamn it! I was trying to comfort you—”
“Because you feel sorry for me?”
“No! Because I think I love you! And I thought I could make you feel better, and then I just wanted to touch you.”
I pull her back to me, press her close. This is the first time someone has touched me that I haven’t felt his hands on me instead. The first time it’s actually felt beautiful. Maybe he’s finally lost his power over me.
The side door slams. “I’m home!” Dad calls.
Meghan and I jerk apart. For a second, her eyes are wide and startled, and then she grins and says, “When can I see you again?”
I laugh. “Tomorrow,” I say.
I miss her already, and it’s only been a half hour. I keep reliving our time together, savoring it. I try not to think about the package he sent. Every time I do, I want to cut again. It’s crazy.
Dad’s heavy footsteps start down the hall toward me. I rush to straighten the covers on my bed. Dad stands in my doorway, looking at me. “You weren’t around much, today,” he says.
“No….”
“Your mom says you were out with a new friend. And you brought her home afterward.”
Don’t they have anything to do but talk about me? “Yeah. Meghan.”
“Meghan.” Dad hesitates, starts jingling the change in his pocket.
I want to laugh. “It’s okay, Dad. Yes, I like her, and yes, she’s my girlfriend.”
Red creeps up Dad’s neck and into his cheeks. “Good. That’s all we want, your mom and I. We want you to be happy.”
“You do. I’m not sure Mom does.”
“You don’t give her enough credit. She loves you, Kendra. She just doesn’t want you getting hurt.”
“Meghan’s not going to hurt me.”
“I didn’t say she would.” Dad sighs and sits down heavily on my bed. “I want to protect you from the world— from heartbreak, from people’s prejudices. That’s what every parent wants. But I can’t always do that. And some things are worth the risk.” He looks at me. “Are you happy with this girl?”
“Yes, I think so,” I say.
“Then that’s what matters.” Dad kisses my forehead. “Sleep well, Kendra.” He walks back down the hall. I hear him go down the stairs, hear the TV turn on, the canned laughter pouring out. I rub my face. We don’t spend much time together any more, not like we used to. I think he misses it.
My cell phone rings—Carolyn’s ring tone. I flip open my cell. “Carolyn?” I get up to close my door.
“Kendra! I’m sorry I missed your call. I just heard your message, and you sounded really shaken. How are you doing?”
“Okay. Better now, I think. Way better than when I called you. But it was bad today. Really bad.”The handkerchief falling to the floor. His hand, gripping my wrist.
“What happened?” she asks. “Do you want to talk about it?” The caring in her voice is so real, I want to tell her everything. But my arm throbs like a warning. “Kendra?” Carolyn says. “You said in your voicemail that he sent you another message?”
“Yeah, he—I—” I see the package again, the white handkerchief and the palette knife against the red tissue paper, like a sea of blood—
The desire to cut comes over me, gripping me fiercely. I close my eyes.
“Kendra? Can you tell me what’s going on?”
“No one will ever believe you.”
I’m crying suddenly, a deep, panicked sobbing that I can’t control. “Hang on,” I gasp and dash into the bathroom, locking the door. I turn the faucets on full blast.
“Can you still hear me?” I manage to get out between sobs.
“I hear you. Tell me what happened.”
“He—he was trying to silence me again. And it affected me so badly, Carolyn.”
“How?”
“I—” But I can’t tell her about the cutting. I can’t. Panic rips at my chest with sharp claws.
“Kendra?”
I wipe my eyes. “I just—I need to know that you’re not going anywhere. That you’re going to stick around, no matter what I tell you.”
“I promise I’ll be here for you as long as you need me,” Carolyn says. “Whatever it is, Kendra, I can hear it.”
Some of the panic recedes. I take a shaky breath, then another, the sobs fading away. I breathe out slowly, trying to keep myself calm.
I want to tell her so bad, it’s a fight to keep the words in. But I just can’t tell her about the cutting. His threat, yes. The memory—or parts of it. And Meghan; I can tell her about Meghan. But I can’t go into that now. I can’t let my parents see me like this. I wipe my cheeks. “I’ll tell you Monday, when I see you.”
“Are you going to be all right tonight and tomorrow? Until your appointment?”
“Yeah.” I shut off the running water. I feel calmer, now. Safer. Even my arm doesn’t hurt as much. It helps to know Carolyn cares. And it helps to know that I won’t have to hold on to everything all by myself.
She’ll help me sort it out—whatever I tell her.
29
I’m dreaming of Meghan, and I feel so happy. Then her eyes widen, and I follow her gaze to see him watching us from the shadows.
His hand grips my shoulder. I’m screaming before I open my eyes, knocking his hand away, still half in the dream. My head is muddled.
“Kendra! It’s only me. Wake up, honey,” Dad is saying.
I shudder and sit up. It’s Dad. Just Dad. I struggle to breathe.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” Dad says, his voice strained.
“It’s okay.” I rub my face, trying to collect myself. My arm throbs with pain, and I look down to see rust-colored stains on the sleeve of my nightshirt. I lean back on my arm to hide it, try
ing to look relaxed. “You wanted something?”
“I wondered if you wanted to go to Sunday school with me this morning. I’ve been telling the kids about you, about what a good artist you are, and they’d love to meet you.”
This again. I grit my teeth. “Not today, Dad.”Why can’t I tell him “Not ever”?
Dad looks closer at me. “You okay, kitten? You look really washed out.”
“I’m fine.” My arm hurts really badly now, but I can’t let him see it.
Dad hesitates. “You sure?”
“I’m sure!”Just go away.
Dad straightens up. “All right. Maybe next week.”
I wait for a whole minute after he leaves, then I push my sleeve up, unwrap the bandage, and pull off the pads. My arm feels hot under my fingers; the skin around the new wounds is puffy and red. Some of the cuts are oozing yellow pus.
I swallow. I’ve never seen my arm like this before. I gingerly pull my sleeve back down and stumble to the bathroom.
“You up, Kendra?” Mom calls.
“In a minute!”
I rifle through the medicine cabinet. I don’t even know what I’m looking for until I see it—a brown plastic bottle labeled “Hydrogen Peroxide”. I have a vague memory of Mom pouring it on my skinned knees when I was little. I uncap the bottle and pour it liberally over my arm; it bubbles and foams up, then disappears down the drain.
“Kendra?” Mom’s footsteps click down the hall.
“Coming!” I dash into my room and yank another shirt over the stained one.
Mom comes in. “Your dad thinks you’re not feeling well.”
“I’m fine.”How many times do I have to say that before they’ll leave me alone?
Mom’s all dressed up in her best clothes, wearing her makeup, jewelry, and perfume, so she can go to church and pretend that everything’s okay.
“Are you coming with us this morning?”
I clench my fists. “Why do you ask me every Sunday? You know I don’t go any more.”
“It hurts your dad. How do you think it looks, him being a Sunday school teacher and you not even showing up? It’s not his fault some man hurt you.”
“It’s not like I’d go to his class if I went. I’m not a kindergartner any more. Besides, where was God when I was being abused?”
Mom sighs. “I don’t have an answer for that—except I’m sure it hurt Him to watch.”
He, she, it—if God really exists. I don’t want to be having this discussion. “You just want me there so you can look good. I’ll bet you haven’t told anyone about Dad’s job.”Or about the sexual abuse.
“You’re right, Kendra, I haven’t. They’re not those kinds of friends. And I don’t believe in airing our dirty laundry in public.”
And you wonder why I don’t want to go? I’ve had too many secrets; I don’t need any more. Besides, there’s a lot of things I’d rather do. Like be with Meghan.
I clamp down on a smile. “I’m staying home,” I say. “See you at lunch.”
As soon as they’re gone, I phone Meghan. “I’ve got the house until noon. You want to come over?”
“You kidding? See you in half an hour!”
I shower fast, the hot water stinging my arm. Meghan’s coming! I find myself singing as I dress. I change my outfit three times before Meghan arrives, checking my armpits for sweat stains and brushing my teeth. My breathing is fast, my head too light—but as soon as I see Meghan, I relax.
“You look so good,” she says in a throaty whisper.
I laugh, then reach up to touch her soft hair. “You do, too.”
I take her hand and lead her to my bedroom, but as soon as we sit on my bed, we both become awkward and shy.
“How you doin’ today?” she asks. “You feeling okay?”
“God, I wish everyone would stop asking me that!”
Meghan pulls back, a hurt look on her face.
I reach for her hand. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it like that. I’m glad you care. It’s just that both my parents asked me the same thing this morning. It made me want to scream. And I feel all muddied inside, trying to see it all— how cutting’s helped me and yet that he taught me to do it. They feel like two separate worlds that I can’t piece together.”
“Maybe you don’t want to.”
“You’re right; I don’t. I don’t think I can bear it. It’s like he’s tainted everything important to me, everything I’ve ever needed—even this.”
“He hasn’t tainted me,” Meghan says, leaning forward.
We kiss—softly at first and then hungrily, almost desperately. I pull back.
Meghan groans.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” I ask.
“Yes, I’m sure.” Meghan presses her lips against mine before I can say anything else, and soon I’m lost in our kissing.
Afterward, I look into her flushed face. “I love being with you. But I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to. I want there to be only good stuff between us. So any time you want to slow down, just tell me.”
Meghan smiles tenderly. “You’re so sweet.”
I laugh.
“No, really. You are. No one’s ever treated me this way before, Kendra. No one’s ever asked me how I felt or what I wanted.”
I think about the boys she’s slept with, and I want to snarl. I glare at the wall.
“What? What just happened?” Meghan asks. Now she’s leaning over me.
I’m jealous. That’s what. “Nothing!”
“Kendra, one of the things I love about you is that you don’t bullshit me. You tell me what’s going on. So don’t shut me out now.”
“All right, all right! I was thinking about all those guys you’ve…”
“Screwed?”
“Slept with. How probably all they ever cared about was sex. I want you to know that I’ll never treat you like that. I’ll never use you.”
“I know.”
“And—maybe I was feeling a little jealous.”
“Ha! I knew it!” Meghan play-slaps me. “What kinda girlfriend would you be if you weren’t? But Kendra—I’m not going to be with anyone else, not any more, okay? I don’t think I could, not now. When we’re together, I want to cry and laugh with how good I feel, how connected and happy and alive I am. But when I’m with guys, I’m all shut down. I act like I enjoy it, but I’m waiting to get it over with, waiting to feel something. But I never do. Not like with us.”
She touches my hand, and the snarly feeling inside me vanishes.
Meghan glances at her watch. “I should get going, before your folks get home. But I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”
Meghan strokes my cheek. “We won’t be anything like you and Sarah were. I promise.”
“I know we won’t,” I say. And I do know. Meghan is strong, right to her core. Strong in a way that Sarah never was.
30
Early morning traffic sounds drift through Carolyn’s window. I pick up my mug and take a quick sip of the water she’s poured for me. “I don’t want to start with the message he sent.”
“Okay.” Carolyn uncrosses her legs. “What do you want to start with?”
The good news. Then decide how much to tell her. My legs shake. “I think I’m in love.”
“Kendra, that’s wonderful.” Carolyn sets her mug down. “Have you told me about this person before?”
Person. She didn’t say “guy.” She didn’t say “him.” I look at her face. She’s smiling, leaning forward, her gaze intent on mine.
“It’s a girl,” I say. “I love another girl.”
“Love is love, Kendra. Gender doesn’t change that.”
“That’s not how my parents see it.”
“How do they see it?”
“They think that I’m making things harder for myself.”
“And do you think that’s what you’re doing?”
“No! I love Meghan. I feel good with her.” I grip my hands together. “Why aren’t you surprised?
I mean, that I’m lesbian?”
“You never talk about boys—or about feeling attracted to them,” Carolyn says. “But you have talked a lot about other girls. I didn’t know for sure; I just kept an open mind.” She smiles. “I’m glad you’ve found someone you like.”
“Yeah, me, too.” The ferns on her bookshelves seem to nod with me. “I can’t remember feeling this happy in a long time. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this happy. At least, I’m happy when Meghan and I are together. When the memories aren’t crashing in.”
There it is: The brief sadness in her eyes, the compassion—like she understands what I’m saying on a deep level.
“My mom said you’re a survivor. Was she right?” Carolyn sits back. “Yes, I’m a sexual abuse survivor.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Now I’m leaning forward.
“Because it’s not my job to burden my clients with my history or my problems. As a therapist, it’s my job to help you with yours.”
“But it would’ve helped me to know! I’ve never met another survivor, never known that anyone could feel really happy again after something so horrible—and you were right here the whole time!”
“I’ve always told you that happiness was possible for you.”
“But being told something is different from seeing it. I can believe it, now that I know about you—now that I’ve started to feel happy myself. But I didn’t believe it was possible before.”
Carolyn rubs her chin. “It sounds like I should have told you. I try to keep my personal life out of my therapy practice as a rule. But I see now that this is one piece of information that might have helped you. I just didn’t want to make things strange between us. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
I love how Carolyn always hears me, even when I’m angry at her; I love how she can admit when she’s wrong. I wish, as I always do, that she was my mother. But the pain isn’t as strong this time. I know I’ll find a way to keep seeing her, find the money to pay for my sessions. And I know that what she gives me is more powerful and less complicated than anything my mother ever could.
“My mom—” I hesitate. “My mom said that she and my dad are going to set up an appointment with you, to try to find out everything I haven’t told them.”
Scars Page 12
