Scarred Souls: Second Collection

by TT Kove

  For the first fifteen years of my life I hadn’t had much of a relationship with her at all.

  It did feel good to finally have it now though. She was a good Mum. She’d just trusted the wrong person to take care of me while she’d been busy with her career, busy making a life for us where we didn’t have to worry about money.

  Not that we’d been lacking ever, considering Grandma came from a well-off family, but still.

  ‘I love you, Mum.’ I told Damian all the time, but it wasn’t often I told her. I needed to tell her, and I hoped it was something she needed to hear. Or appreciated to hear.

  ‘I love you too.’ It came out a bit strained.

  I couldn’t blame her. Mum had never been an affectionate person. She was cool, calm, always practical. She was not, however, someone who frequently spoke about her feelings. Maybe she did with Harriet, but hardly ever with me.

  The first time I’d actually seen her cry was back after my first suicide attempt, after Andrew had been arrested, when she’d told me about her own abuse. Abused by her own father. That was worse than being abused by my step-father. I couldn’t even imagine that.

  Your own flesh and blood.

  Andrew was once again in prison. But at the cost of Damian’s uncle, the only relative he had left who was older than him. Ray was dead because of Andrew, because of Andrew’s obsession with me.

  ‘I wish it’d been me.’ It came out a whisper.

  Mum tensed up, so she must’ve heard me. I didn’t know if I’d meant for her to or not.

  She wrapped her arms around me, wrapped them tight—and she just held me.

  I was wound so tight I felt I was seconds away from breaking.

  It felt unreal to see Damian locking us into Ray and Claire’s house. We’d never have to use a key before, it had always been open and welcoming.

  ‘Aren’t they home? Claire, and Matt, and Matilda?’ My palms were sweaty. I tried wiping them on my joggers, but it didn’t help.

  ‘They are.’ Damian pulled the key back out and pushed the door open. ‘But we keep the doors locked now.’

  He didn’t look at me. I didn’t think he even gave a thought to it, but that simple reminder brought me back to that day—

  I’d been alone, it’d just been me and the dog. And then he’d been there. He’d got in through the veranda door, which should’ve been locked. It could’ve been one of them who had forgot to lock it—or it could’ve very well been me. All I knew was that that day was the worst day of my life. Well, in the last six years, anyway.

  And it would also be the worst day in Claire, Matt and Matilda’s lives. While Claire had popped in for a quick visit at the hospital, Matilda and Matt had not, so I didn’t know what would greet me inside the house. I couldn’t blame them for not coming to see me. Their dad had just died.

  What would I be walking into now?

  Did they blame me?

  Did they think it was my fault Ray died?

  Or were they so devastated that there could be nothing else on their mind?

  ‘Stop it.’

  I started.

  ‘What?’ Looking at Damian, I found him scrutinising me.

  ‘Stop worrying. I can see you’re doing it, and just—just stop.’ He sounded so resigned.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I bent to put my shoes away properly.

  ‘Josh…’ Damian grabbed me once I straightened up and crushed me in a hug. ‘You better not leave me.’

  ‘I won’t.’ I linked my arms behind his back, a bit confused as to this major show of affection, and major show of worry. ‘I won’t leave you. You better not leave me either.’

  There was always the possibility of him growing tired of me and my emotions and my bullshit, but I’d never get tired of him.

  He was my rock.

  If I didn’t have him to hold on to, I’d drown. I’d shatter into a million pieces and there’d be no way to put me back together.

  ‘You just can’t leave me, Josh. Not in any sort of way.’

  I read him loud and clear. No more suicide attempts. No anything that could lead to me leaving him.

  ‘No. I can’t.’ I buried my face in his neck. ‘I don’t want to, not ever.’

  ‘Good.’ Another tight squeeze, then he abruptly let me go.

  I watched silently as he shrugged out of his jacket and put his shoes away, then I followed him further into the house, dreading what I would meet, what I would see, what they would say.

  Claire and Matilda were curled up on the biggest sofa, while Chloe was on the smaller one. All three of them stared at the telly that was on low volume. I didn’t think they actually watched it, though, that they’d simply put it on for show.

  Matt was conspicuously missing.

  ‘Where’s Matt?’

  I didn’t think that was the best way to open the dialogue for Damian, but he did get their attention.

  ‘In his room.’ Matilda sighed, curled up on herself, and wrapped her arms around her knees. ‘Been there for hours. Just him and Storm.’

  Should I say something? Hi, maybe? But Damian had already announced our arrival, already started up the conversation, and it felt silly to say hi now. Instead I stood by awkwardly, hardly daring to look at them.

  Socially awkward, that was me.

  Usually it was Damian, I was a lot more sociable than him. It was thanks to me we even had friends outside of Silver and Kian. Yet, now… this whole situation was partly my fault.

  Damian took a step forward towards them, away from me. With him not blocking my sight anymore, I could see the kitchen out of the corner of my eye.

  Don’t look.

  Don’t look!

  But I did. And there it was. The table. Where he’d beat my head against the corner. Where he’d left me to die. And between the kitchen and the sofas were the veranda door. That’s where he’d come in—

  No.

  No no no.

  I took a step backwards.

  He’d been in here. With me, while I’d been here alone. He’d hurt me, tried to kill me, had nearly succeeded, and he had killed Ray, and it was not okay—

  I took another step backwards.

  I knew, rationally, he was back in prison and couldn’t come through the veranda door again… but my mind was rarely rational.

  Another step back.

  ‘Josh?’

  Damian had turned around and he now watched me curiously.

  ‘I can’t—’ My gaze flickered to the kitchen table. Maybe I imagined it, but a flash of pain shot through my skull.

  His brows furrowed.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I shook my head.

  I wanted to be strong.

  But I wasn’t.

  I never was. I could never be strong.

  ‘I just—I can’t.’ I ran out of there like my heels were on fire.

  ‘Josh!’ He followed me.

  When I turned from where I was crouched over in the driveway, he stood just outside the door.

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ I was such a mess. Why did I always have to be such a mess?

  He pressed his lips together, throat working as he swallowed.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  Going?

  ‘I don’t know.’ I didn’t have a plan. All I knew was I needed to get out of that house. ‘Home. Or to Mum’s. I don’t know. But I can’t—’

  ‘I get it,’ he cut me off. ‘But I’ve got to stay.’

  Of course he had to. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. I wanted him with me, but— the people in there were his family. They were hurting. He couldn’t run after me and my messed-up mind. Not now.

  ‘Yeah.’

  Of course you have to.

  I don’t blame you. Much, anyway.

  I walked away.

  37

  Bloody Confessions

  Josh

  I knocked on the door, frantic. No one answered, but I didn’t give up.

  He has to be here. He has to!

  Eventually I saw
light turn on from the tinted window, and then the door pulled open. Cooper emerged, with tousled, blond hair, and face split in a wide yawn. His chest was bare, he was only clad in loose-hanging pyjama trousers.

  Once he finished his yawn and opened his eyes to peer at me, I saw they were bloodshot.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’

  He swayed a little.

  ‘I’m right here.’

  He’s drunk.

  ‘Ray’s dead.’

  ‘What?’ He rubbed his eyes.

  ‘Ray. Damian’s uncle. He’s dead.’ He had no idea. His facial expression was blank. ‘Haven’t you spoken to anyone recently?’

  ‘No.’ He let go off to the door. It swung open, admitting me into his flat. ‘Why should I?’

  ‘Because he’s dead.’

  ‘He’s not my family.’ He yawned again as he walked into the living room, where he dropped onto the sofa.

  I stood in front of him, staring down at his drunken form.

  ‘I nearly died. Twice.’

  He blinked, a bit more alert.

  ‘What? When? How?’

  ‘I swallowed all my pills.’ And failed at doing what I was supposed to do. Always a failure. ‘And then Andrew tried to kill me.’

  He sat up straight.

  ‘What?!’

  ‘I told everyone he was after me, but no one believed me.’ I hung my head. ‘And then he came for me. At Ray and Claire’s house…’ I couldn’t go on. It hurt too much. It left me too much of a frightened mess.

  Cooper peered up at me. There was almost no white left in his eyes.

  It worried me.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Me? Yeah. Awesome.’ He rubbed at his eyes again. Maybe they itched. Surely they must, what with the way they looked. ‘Fell asleep with my contact lenses in.’

  ‘Are they still in?’ It didn’t seem comfortable.

  ‘Well, yeah. Else I wouldn’t be able to see much, would I?’

  True.

  ‘Everyone’s here, you know.’ I sank down on the sofa next to him. ‘Everyone’s been to see me. They’re all here for the funeral.’

  ‘When’s that?’ His nose scrunched up. Because his family was here, or because of the funeral, I had no idea.

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  He fell back again.

  ‘Now you mention it, there’s been a lot of activity on my phone lately.’

  ‘Why haven’t you answered?’

  ‘Don’t want to talk to any of them.’ He sighed.

  I sighed too.

  ‘I met him. Face to face.’

  ‘Who?’ A beat of heavy silence, then— ‘Andrew?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I couldn’t stop seeing him in my mind, how he’d looked standing there. He hated me for what I’d done to him, but he had no right to. I was the one with the right to hate—and I did. I hated him so much I didn’t even have words to convey it properly.

  Then the waterworks started.

  Again.

  Cooper patted me awkwardly on the shoulder, but otherwise stayed quiet.

  I was grateful.

  ‘I w-want to g-go b-back.’ It had plagued me ever since I left.

  ‘Go back where?’

  ‘To Ray and Claire’s house.’ Why couldn’t I have been strong enough to push past my own traumatic recollection?

  I wanted to be there for them, to be with them. With Damian. Yet I’d left. I’d gone all the way into the city to see Cooper, of all people. Damian would not be pleased.

  ‘Then go back,’ he said, matter of fact.

  He made it sound so simple.

  It isn’t.

  ‘He got in. Through the veranda door.’ Just the thought of his voice made me shiver in fright. ‘He hit my head against their kitchen table. He left me on the floor to die.’ My breath came out shaky as the images, the memories, played through my mind.

  Cooper’s breath hitched, but that was the only indication he gave that my words moved him.

  ‘Go back, Josh.’

  No!

  ‘You have to go back there. Face your fears. You’ve got to.’

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

  ‘This coming from you?’

  ‘We’re different. Quite different.’ He turned his head, bloodshot eyes meeting mine. ‘First, I don’t have a brain injury. Or a mental illness. Whatever the fuck it is you’ve got.’

  I wanted to snap back. I knew his secret, I knew what was wrong with him. But the words wouldn’t come. I turned away instead.

  ‘Josh…’ He sighed. ‘I’m sorry. But I think you should go back. Be with the people who matter.’

  ‘I think you should talk to your family.’

  He snorted in contempt.

  ‘I don’t think so. I’m better off on my own. But you… you’re not. So go back. You can’t stay here.’

  Knife to the heart.

  ‘Why not?’ I could always stay with Cooper. He never minded.

  ‘Because I don’t want to wake up from this hangover tomorrow and find you dead in my bathroom.’ He delivered it softly, but matter-of-factly. ‘Andrew almost killed you. He managed to kill Damian’s uncle. I can’t be responsible for you. I’m not even good at being responsible for myself.’

  This must be the alcohol talking.

  Cooper would not be so emotional without it.

  But he had a point.

  He was the most irresponsible person I knew—and what with my borderline and what that entailed… This was not a good time to stay with him.

  ‘You have to leave.’ He dropped his head back to rest against the sofa. ‘You’ve got to, Josh. Go to your mum, if you don’t want to go back there. But go somewhere that’s not here.’

  I know when I’m not wanted. I know he’s right.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Good.’

  Silence descended over us as I clutched at my knees. I didn’t want to leave, to go out there amongst all the people, to head through the city again… but I had to.

  I didn’t know where I’d go. Mum’s place wasn’t that far off, but Damian… I wanted Damian.

  But did I want him enough to go back to that house?

  I knocked softly.

  The house was dark by now. It was late, but not that late. Then again, we all had to be up early in the morning to face the hardest day of their lives.

  Well, one of the hardest days. Could the funeral trump the day Ray had died? Probably not. But it would likely be close.

  There was a snick as the door unlocked and opened, and then Claire’s pale face peeked through the slit.

  ‘Hey.’ I buried my hands in the pockets of my hooded jumper awkwardly.

  ‘Josh.’ She let the door slide open further. ‘They’ve all gone to bed.’

  I only nodded as I shuffled over the threshold. I didn’t know what to say to her. Sorry maybe, but it didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel enough.

  ‘You should go downstairs. Be with him.’ She closed and locked the door as soon as I was inside, then wrapped her arms around herself.

  Her eyes were just as bloodshot as Cooper’s had been, but she’d been crying. He’d just been drunk and worn his contacts too long. She had a legitimate reason for looking like hell. She’d just lost her husband.

  A fist squeezed around my heart, paralysing me in fear for a moment.

  It could’ve been Damian.

  What if it had been Damian?

  I would’ve been locked up in the madhouse and never been let out again. Without him, what did I have?

  ‘Goodnight,’ I murmured, then hurried downstairs to check he was really there and alive.

  I needn’t have been so afraid. He was asleep, yes, but his chest rose and fell noticeably under the duvet.

  I let out a relieved sigh.

  What did you think? a voice in my head said. That he’d died the few hours you’ve been away?

  You can never be sure of anything. Least of
all that the people you love will always be there.

  I walked over to the bed slowly. Sat down as gently as I could, then leant back until I lay down too.

  He didn’t stir.

  Good. He must be exhausted.

  I tried to sleep, I really did.

  But sleep didn’t come. Not even close.

  My mind was too busy to settle down. Too busy with everything; Damian, Claire, Matilda, Matt, Andrew, being in a coma, how that must’ve been for everyone, Ray dead, funeral tomorrow, who knew what the days after would hold, what would happen then—

  I got out of bed.

  I felt all jittery and if I stayed I’d be tossing and turning, and would eventually wake Damian. He needed to sleep. He’d had a hell of a week—over a week. I’d been in a coma, Ray dead, and he’d had to take care of Claire, Matilda, and Matt and plan a funeral. Chloe too, of course, but she was more emotional than Damian. He kept it bottled up inside.

  I couldn’t stay in the room. I’d pace, and that would wake him too, so I headed upstairs. All was dark, the house was silent. Everyone else was asleep. I was all alone on the ground floor, just me and my messed up mind, alone in the darkness.

  That never boded well.

  The kitchen called to me. It didn’t have a door, just an arch, and I stared in through it, straight at the drawers. The drawers containing cutlery. More specifically, knives. I resolutely refused to look towards the kitchen table.

  I wasn’t even aware I moved. One moment I was standing next to the door leading back to the basement, next I was pulling the top-most drawer open.

  There were a lot of knives. Black handles, silver blades. They glinted in the weak lightning. They called to me, begged to be used.

  Cutting…

  I hadn’t done it in a while now. Not that the previous cuts had healed completely. Though the stitches had been taken out—while I was in a coma, but I pushed that thought away—my arms were still red and sore and the stitches themselves had left more scars on my skin. They joined the others, the crisscrossing of them all over my skin. Self-inflicted scars, scars from stitches meant to hold my mutilated skin together…

  I didn’t want more. But I did. Cutting was… it was a part of me. I couldn’t stop. It was like a drug. I was addicted—addicted to the feel and the pain and the blood and the scars. They’d never go away—and I hated them, often, but sometimes I liked them. I hated them when they reminded me of everything that had happened to me, everything Andrew had done. But I liked them when they reminded me of how they’d kept me alive.