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I continued. “You didn’t cut your face so that no one would call you Pretty Boy again. You did it to erase the memories. Erase Pretty Boy, erase the memories—and erase the pain.”
He gaped at me in epiphany.
My heart broke for him.
Before I could stop myself, I placed my hand on his cheek. “I understand,” I whispered, my chin quivering. “I understand that kind of pain. That kind of anger.”
I slowly trailed my finger down his scar, now the most beautiful piece of his body.
His eyes swimming, he took my hand in his and pressed it against his chest. I could feel his heart pounding through his shirt.
“I won’t let them touch you again,” he whispered against my lips. “I won’t let them hurt you again, Sophia. You have my promise.”
With those words, I dissolved into tears.
29
Justin
Watching Sophia cry was like reliving all the times I’d been tortured in a single teardrop. Sobbing, she collapsed onto her back and curled into the fetal position.
I saw my mom. I saw her crying on the couch while I did nothing. I saw myself turn my back and walk away. Because I was mad, because I was sad, because I was too goddamn selfish to help someone else while writhing in my own pain.
Never again.
I lay down, scooped Sophia into my arms, and held her tightly. I didn’t say anything, didn’t know what to say. I just let her know I was there—and that I would never, ever turn my back on her.
She fit like a puzzle piece curled next to me, one of those small but important pieces that completed a vital shape or color. Without it, the picture was nothing but disjointed chaos. A piece that had been missing in my life for years. With each shudder of her body, each sniffle, I felt my heart crack open just a little bit more.
Then, finally—finally—the trembles ceased. She started to pull away, but I grabbed her shoulder.
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
I closed my eyes and inhaled as she wrapped her arms around my torso, resting her head in the crook of my neck. I didn’t move, didn’t want to ever move again for fear of never experiencing this feeling again.
“You don’t know who they are, Justin,” she said, staring into the fire. “You don’t know how brutal, how savage Black Cell is. They will kill anyone who betrays them, or worse, make their lives a living hell.”
Sophia lifted up on her elbow. Her eyes were puffy from crying, the tip of her nose pink. She was the most vulnerable, strong, beautiful woman I’d ever seen in my life.
“This is the life I lived, Justin. Was born into. And do you want to know the worst part? I thought it was normal. I thought this kind of violence and eye-for-an-eye revenge mentality was simply how people lived day to day.”
“Sophia, I’m not going to pretend to understand what you’ve been through. And I’m going to confess to you that I’m not very good at dealing with emotions—giving or receiving. But I am good at listening, so please, keep talking.”
“You’re also good at saving my life.”
“Yes.”
She took a deep breath. “I don’t think you want to hear about my past.”
“I just confessed to you that I voluntarily dragged a kitchen knife down the side of my face.”
“That’s a good point.” A smile played on her lips, but her eyes were still marked with sadness. “Okay, if you think you can handle it ...”
I clutched her hand and pressed it against my chest. “I can handle you.”
