Page 103 of Beautiful Scars

Chapter 4

MEISIE

Yet again, I have whiplash.

Is it always going to feel like this with him? One minute I’m cursing the man was ever born, hating him for leaving me. Hating him for what he’s done to me.

And then I’m glad when he comes back.

He pushes me to uncomfortable places and then plucks me right out of them. I don’t know if it’s exhausting or exhilarating.

But right now, I’m just glad to be out of that house. I haven’t felt the wind on my face for weeks now.

Cillian opens the passenger door and I climb up into the car. He walks around the front to the driver’s seat, so confident, so heartbreakingly handsome wrapped in that delicious black suit...And I have the worst case of déjà vu.

This is exactly how it was the night when we left the club. The night that changed everything.

It feels like a lifetime ago.

He starts the engine and the car roars to life, Bruce Springsteen halfway through “Born to Run” coming through the speakers.

“Seriously?” I say through a giggle.

He laughs and puts his arm around the back of my seat while he reverses the car. “Don’t you fucking judge me. My generation still appreciates good music.”

“Sorry,” I tell him, but I’m still giggling.

Then I look out of the window.

The man drives like an absolute maniac. I clutch the seatbelt every time he takes a corner too fast.

I can’t help looking at the road signs. Trying to find my bearings. Working out where he’s been keeping me.

Should I feel bad about that? The fact I’m still going to run?

A part of me does.

Which is stupid, because I bet there isn’t a single part of him that feels bad for kidnapping me.

“You said you used to know what you wanted,” Cillian says, turning the stereo down. I glance over at him. “Was that before me, or before the… before her.” He nods in the general direction of my stomach.

What a question.

“Bit of both.” I shrug and look straight out of the window. “I used to want to be a mom.” I laugh. “I mean, can you imagine? Me? Being all responsible and shit?” Glancing up at him, I raise my eyebrows.

He smiles. Smiles! It’s still a bit awkward, but I think he’s getting better at it. “I can think of far worse examples.”

Shit. I probably shouldn’t have said that.

What are you trying to achieve by opening up to him, Mesie?Trish asks.A man like him...He’s probably just trying to find another weakness he can exploit.

Jaded much, Trish? But you’re right. He’s a bad man, and don’t you ever forget it.

“Me and Cole, we never had a mum,” he says. “I’ve spent a lot of time wondering if it’s better to have a shite one, or none at all. But for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’d be a shite one.”

I turn around and stare at him. He looks...genuine. “Where did she go? Your mom? Is she...”

“Dead?” He shrugs, and then leans his elbow against the window. “Maybe. Probably. I don’t know. We got loads of versions when we were kids, all dependent on what mood my old man was in. The first version, she was on smack—heroin—she left the hospital to get a hit and just never came back for us. Then one night, Cole was crying for her—he did that a lot—and Da’ said he’d buried her in the back garden, and if Cole wanted her, the pair of us needed to go out and dig her up.”