The Scars That Made Us

by Inda Herwood

  “To a degree,” I admit, feeling my body tense with the mention of my past. “But not completely.”

  She raises those red brows, asking me to go on, but I don’t know if I can.

  It’s been so long since I told someone the truth.

  But if there’s anyone that deserves it, it’s Cyvil Montae.

  -20-

  Confession

  “We were on our way home from one of my soccer games. My mom never missed a game, or any important moment in my life, really.” I think back to the time she took me to get my driver’s license, how proud she had been that I’d gotten it in her lucky charm, the Camaro. A little known fact about my mother was that she used to be a racer in that same car when she was my age. She would tell me about the guys she smoked in high school in drag races near the train tracks late at night, how she was able to make quite a profit on her wins. But more than that, she was a mom – my mom. There was never a bake sale she missed, a birthday she didn’t make special, or find ways to make every day into a memorable one, whether it was having food fights in the kitchen, or taking me to the homeless shelter with her to see the harder side of life. Mom wanted every day to count.

  A knot unrelated to my injuries starts to form in the back of my throat, choking me. This is going to be worse than I thought.

  One of Cyvil’s warm fingers crawls over my hand. And then another.

  I latch onto the feel of them as I continue.

  “It had been downpouring, and we were fighting again about the same topic: Renee. My mother disliked her, to put it mildly. We had only been dating for a few months, but…I was gone. It didn’t matter that she was controlling and cruel – sadistic almost. She was beautiful, and sometimes she let a warmer side of herself show, and that’s what I focused on, telling myself that that was the real her.” And what a stupid idiot I was for falling under her manipulating clutches. Maybe if I hadn’t been such a pathetic, lovesick teenager, I wouldn’t be having this story time with Cyvil right now.

  She makes some sort of snort in the back of her throat. Clearly she feels my mother’s sentiments on Renee.

  “Anyway,” I say, sealing my eyes on Cyvil’s hand, using it as a comfort – seeing it wrapped around mine, “My mom was once again telling me why I shouldn’t be with her, that I could do better. It enraged me, honestly. I’d been brainwashed into thinking Renee was it for me, and the fact that my mother didn’t think so, and kept reminding me, threw it over the edge. I continued to slam on the gas the longer we talked, and eventually we hydroplaned, right into a concrete divider at a hundred miles an hour.” I bite the side of my cheek, tasting blood, and fail at keeping the glassiness out of my eyes. I can feel them wanting to spill over, to release the pain. I refuse. “They told me when I woke up that she was dead on arrival, since it was her side of the car that took the hit, but they tried for twenty minutes to get her heart started again. In the end, though…it was useless. She was gone, and I had killed her. Without a single scar to show for it.”

  It’s something that has stayed with me since the day my mom left me, and then when I met Cyvil and saw the scars she wears every day. It pissed me off even more. I should be the one covered in the wounds of my past. Not her.

  “So that’s why you freaked out when you saw Renee at the party,” she says, putting it together out loud. “Was that the first time you had seen her since –?”

  “Yeah.” I clear my throat, finding that the lump is still there. And maybe it will never leave. “A week after what happened, she dumped me. Saying I had grown too weepy since Mom died.” I still can’t believe I dated someone so evil. My mom was right when she would call her Lucifer’s favorite daughter.

  Cyvil’s mouth drops, and then she proceeds to creatively mix together every swear word in the book, cursing Renee’s very existence.

  Honestly, it helps. I’ve wanted to do that for years. But hearing it from her lips is even more therapeutic.

  “I should have karate-chopped her throat when I had the chance,” she grumbles, shaking her head to herself.

  “And risk a charge?”

  She’s dead serious when she says, “I’m not afraid to go back to prison.”

  What the hell –

  “Don’t ask.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it. Now.”

  Her grin is small, but it lights up the entire room.

  It’s almost enough to make me forget what we were talking about.

  Oh, right. Me being a murderer.

  “Cyvil,” I say, looking at her openly, not hiding a thing from her anymore. At least one weight has lifted off my chest with telling her the truth. But another is soon to replace it. “I never told you about my mom, not because I didn’t trust you, but because I don’t deserve the sympathy in your eyes right now, the sadness. I’m not a victim. I’m the villain. You…you deserve so much better than me.”

  The gold in her eyes clouds over, realization taking its place as she says, “You said you started racing when you were nineteen. That would be around the time your mom died, right?”

  Did she not hear a word I just said about being a terrible human being?

  “Oh, my gosh,” she whispers to herself, her entire body shrinking as her eyes look at me, crushed. There’s no way she’s figured it out, I tell myself, feeling my stomach flip over at the thought. Even my therapist missed the signs. She couldn’t have put it together so quick –

  “You – you don’t race for the money, or the adrenaline. You do it because of the chance that, that…” the tears are back again, rolling down her flushed cheeks like rain water.

  Well, damn. She did it.

  “That I won’t make it, just like my mom didn’t,” I say evenly when stating the fact, deciding I might as well finish it for her. My blasé tone only upsets her further, as I should have expected.

  “And you almost got your wish,” she says, a thread of hurt and anger slicing across her face. She stands from the chair suddenly, her hand that was once cemented in mine now free, falling lifelessly to her side. The chill from its absence is almost as bad as the disappointment in her grimace.

  “You don’t get it, do you?” She wipes her tears with her sleeve, saying, “The feeling you have every day with your mom being gone, the emptiness? That would have been what you’d made everyone that loves you feel if you had accomplished your mission on that mountain. If you had died like your mother did, you would have burdened all of us with that agony, Jagger. Did you ever think of that?”

  No. I didn’t. All I did was think about myself. Big surprise.

  Her whole posture changes now, shoulders hunched, head hanging low – defeated. The finality of it fills me with dread. “Jagger…I’m sorry about your mother. I really am.” Sniffle. “And I’m even sorrier for what the guilt of her death has made you want to do with your life. But as someone who truly cares about you, I’m not going to sit here and act like what you did is okay.” She slashes an arm over her face, trying to destroy the evidence of her tears, but it’s a futile battle, which she soon aborts.

  Staring down at me, like her whole world just fell apart, she says, voice like glass, “I meant it when I said I can’t imagine a life without you in it. But it looks like I’m going to have to try, since…since obviously, you don’t feel the same way.”

  Grabbing her purse slung over the chair, she walks towards the door, my panic starting to set in for real this time. She’s leaving? Permanently?

  “Cyvil, wait –” Don’t leave. Don’t make me deal with this on my own.

  Cyvil

  “I’ll have Moon call to update me when you get out.” I try to stem the tears, but it’s useless. My chest feels like it’s caving in, knowing this is probably the last time I will ever see him.

  Who knew a broken heart could hurt so physically.

  “Goodbye, Jagger.”

  His eyes…they reveal everything he can’t find the words to say. He doesn’t want me to go, I can see that. But I have to. It’s too much. All of
this is too much. But my feelings, which have only quadrupled for him since watching him these last few days, makes it feel impossible to do so.

  As he laid too still in that bed, I remembered every example of his kindness, his encouragement, the peace he gave me as a friend. I thought of his kiss, the gentleness of his touch, his words, and it made me realize that my feelings went beyond that of a crush. I had fallen for him. I fell for a guy that hid a past that was almost as dark as my own, but the difference between us is that he doesn’t want to live his second chance. No. His pain is too great for anything to save him, including me. And that was the realization that hurt the most. For him to go and do something so reckless, without even thinking about what it would do to me, means my attachment is obviously greater than his. Because I never would have done anything to hurt him like he just hurt me.

  Mentally shaking my head at myself, at the pain I’ve let myself feel, I admit that none of this felt right from the start. From using my father’s tactics – stooping to his level – to having us pretend like we were okay with our situation, and then manipulating our friends into this mess. But even more, it was doomed to fail from the moment…from the moment he smiled at me behind the shelter, making me feel seen for the first time in nearly eleven years. I should have known in that instant that he had the power to break me, and break me he did. Even if he didn’t know he was doing it.

  Shutting the door behind me before I do something stupid, like confess more than I already have, I let my emotions collapse in the hall. Sinking down to the cold floor, the tears roll silently down my face. I can’t believe I let it get this far, allowed myself to think there was a chance. So stupid...

  The hallway is quiet as I let myself grieve the decision I just made, knowing it’s going to affect the rest of my life, in ways I don’t even want to think about right now. It makes me hiccup tears, failing to catch my breath. And then footsteps are racing down the tile floor towards me, loving arms wrapping around me. I fold myself into Moon’s embrace, crying into his shoulder as he coos calming things to me, rubbing his hand up and down my back in soothing repetition. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong, or if something happened to Jagger. I have a feeling it’s because he knows what this kind of cry is about. That I just had my heart broken.

  Once I have myself together, and it’s just Moon and I on the floor, staring at nothing, I say emotionlessly, completely drained, “You knew I had fallen for him, didn’t you?”

  He sighs, fingers clutching mine. “We all did, sweetie.”

  “Even before I realized it.”

  “Pretty much.”

  I let my head fall back on the wall, closing my eyes. “This really hurts, Moon.”

  His hand squeezes mine.

  “But I have to do this, don’t I?”

  He doesn’t have to ask what I mean before whispering, “Yes. I think you do.”

  My heart falls further. I was really hoping he was going to contradict me.

  “I’m going to miss this,” I say to myself, feeling one last tear escape.

  He looks down at me, confused. “Miss what?”

  “This,” I mutter simply, looking at him. “You, Rosy, Lotta. Being a part of an actual family.”

  “Hey, just because one part of your life is changing doesn’t mean the rest has to. You’ve become as much a part of our circus of a family as the rest of us. You couldn’t cut us out even if we let you.”

  I want to believe him. I really do. But things aren’t going to be the same. What he’s forgetting is that Jagger is a part of his family, too. And where he is, so are his friends, and Lotta, and the crazy Nunez/Reyes clan. He was their family before they were mine. It doesn’t feel right to mess up the status quo they have set. And anyways, I know Jagger needs their love. Even more than I do.

  I mention none of this to Moon as we remain quiet, letting the unspoken truth pass between us.

  ***

  Okay. I was wrong. The pain of leaving Jagger in the hospital was painful, heart shattering. But facing the door to my father’s office, knowing I’m about to disappoint him more than anyone possibly ever has, is devastating.

  I knock twice, feeling my hand shake as I do. Staring at the dark grain of the wood, I take short, quick breaths, trying to calm myself. But when the door opens, breathing is left impossible.

  This is it.

  My father’s smile is unsuspecting and a touch sad, his eyes going to the deep purple bags under my own. His hand folds around my shoulder, inviting me in.

  I sit down in the chair I had occupied the last time I was here, my body feeling numb, just like it had then. He takes the matching seat next to me instead of the one behind his desk.

  I give him a strange look, which he translates easily.

  “We’re not doing business. I figured I can sit next to you like a normal father would.”

  That would suggest that we were normal to begin with, which we are not. Seeing this on my face, he sighs, interlocking his fingers on his lap. “Cyvil, I know the last week has been hard for you. And I’m incredibly sorry about what happened to Jagger. Seeing someone you love in pain is the worst thing anyone can experience,” he says, and for the first time in years, he looks at me like he used to when I was a little girl, like I was the world to him and full of possibilities. It makes my gut tighten to think it’s taken all of this for me to make him happy again. The loss of my own happiness.

  “You’re right,” I say, looking him in the eye, seeing our similarities – and all of our differences. “I do love him. And that’s the problem.”

  His head tilts to the side, brow barely moving in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

  Over the next half hour, I confess everything to him. Everything. I don’t leave out a single detail, and find myself going cold because of it. Splayed out in the open, it all seems so cheesy, so predictable. Girl falls for the boy she wasn’t supposed to. It’s the age old human stigma of wanting what you can’t have. Like putting yourself on a diet, only to binge because you told yourself you couldn’t. Jagger was my binging, the delicious sundae I knew I shouldn’t have. And I guess in the end, I never did.

  My father’s face doesn’t change throughout the entire conversation. He remains stoic, refusing to ask any questions while I get it all off my chest. I can’t imagine my mother will have the same reaction. “So,” he says once I’m done, voice stiff, “what do you want me to do about it?”

  “I want you to make me pay for my mistake, not Jagger or his father. Mr. Wells had no part in any of our plans.” I make clear, hoping he believes me. “Jagger just wanted to be a good son and help his father. He wouldn’t have received any reward for what we were doing. I was the one being selfish. So please, don’t blame this on them. It was all my fault to begin with.”

  He’s shaking his head before I can even finish. “That’s not true. He would have received a very wonderful prize had you two actually gone through with our original deal.”

  Now it’s me who doesn’t understand.

  And when he sees this, he says, “He would have received you.”

  The backs of my eyes start to sting, watching my father look at me so sincerely, like he actually means it. And in a rush, my terrible week, or last few months, if I’m being honest, flood me, and I collapse in tears, wanting to take back everything that brought me to this moment.

  “My dear Cyvil,” he says, voice almost sounding human for once. “I can’t lie and say that I’m not upset by what you’ve done. You betrayed my trust, your mother’s. But I’m not going to sit here and pretend that if I had been in your position, I wouldn’t have done the same thing.”

  I look up, shocked at the admission, but also disappointed. “Then why would you make me do it?” I ask, anger leaking into my veins. “Why would you take away my choice, embarrass me by literally selling me to the highest bidder?” I shake my head, closing my eyes, deciding to get it all out there, finally. I have nothing left to lose anymore.

  “There hasn’t bee
n a day since I was seven where you didn’t remind me that I was different; broken like a doll that couldn’t be fixed. You blackmailed me into marrying a man so I could go to college, for heaven’s sake. Do you know how horrible that is?” I’m standing now, staring down on him in rage, letting everything I’ve ever wanted to say to him for the last decade slip through my lips.

  “You want to talk about trust? Seriously? I know I betrayed yours, Dad, but you betrayed mine years ago. You made me live my life as though I was the one that had to pay penance for someone else’s mistake. I never wanted to be like this! To have the world look at me like you do, as though I have no purpose anymore.” The tears are coming down in a torrential rain, almost to the extent that I can barely see his shocked expression through them.

  “All I ever wanted was to be your daughter,” I blubber. “I’ve done everything in my power to show you that I’m not useless, that I can have a life like the one I would have had before I was taken. But you never even gave me a chance. And look what happened to me,” I say, motioning to myself. “I fell in love with someone I was never meant to, all because of you.”

  Storming out the door, I bypass my spying mother, barely able to comprehend what I’m doing. But before I know it, I’m entering the guest house, packing up the small number of belongings I have, and taking Grim with me. I fit us all in the Bug and I head for the only place I know will make me feel loved.

  Knocking on my sister’s door as night falls, I wipe my nose with my sleeve, my eyes feeling swollen like a bee stung them. When the door swings open, Quincy doesn’t look surprised to see me standing there, a complete mess.

  Without a word, he takes my bag, wraps a comforting arm around my shoulders, and shuffles me in, Grim crying in my arms, just like her mother.

  Atillia is the next to enfold me in a hug when we reach the living room, holding me close as another wave of tears hits, shaking my shoulders, and also hers. I try to stop them, I really do, but it’s pointless. I need these tears and the release they can give me.