Page 154 of Beautiful Scars

She stands a few steps in front of me and I pull her in closer. People gather all around, phones out. Why they feel the need to record this I don’t know—I’m not exactly the kind of man who’d just spontaneously break into a fucking tango. We haven’t pre-rehearsed the whole Dirty Dancing routine to wow the audience with our amateur-at-best skills. But apparently that doesn’t matter—it’ll be on Facebook before the hour is up.

We wait for the music to start. I don’t even know what the song will be. Sarah asked me a week ago, and I told her to choose and be done with it.

The music starts. Lewis Capaldi—Before You Go.

It’s a breakup song.

I find Sarah in the crowd. I thought she’d choose Can’t Help Falling In Love, or evenwhat’s his face—Bryan Adams. Why did she choose a breakup song? She blows me a kiss and breaks into a grin.

Then I realize, it might be a song about breaking up, but the lyrics are kinda true. It’s about a girl whose own mind makes her feel worthless, and about not saying the things you should have said to make it stop hurting. I shake my head at Sarah—Meisie can’t see me because she’s tucked well under my chin—but she just smiles.

I wish Cole wasn’t such a cunt to her. I wish he was capable of treating her the way she deserves to be treated.

Maybe I should set her up with Derek? That way we could keep her around. I’ll have to mention that to Meisie.

Then I shake my head. The fuck am I trying to play cupid when the girl with her hands on my chest is barely hanging on by a thread?

“Meisie?”

She looks up at me, expression blank.

I should tell her something. Anything. But the words stick in my throat and she looks back down.

Blown it. Silly bastard.

My fingers are itching for a cigarette. A drink. Something. Anything.

“Those vows...they were bullshit.”

Meisie turns to stone in my arms. Rigid. Still keeping up the pretense of dancing but I feel her muscles lock up under my fingers.

“Nah, nah,” I shake my head. “Look at me.”

When she doesn’t, I tilt her chin up.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I meant they were true...mine were true.” Hers were about zombies or something. “I meant, they could have been better. Theyshouldhave been better.”

She swallows, and I feel the muscles in her throat shift under my fingers. “Then tell me. Tell me what you should have said.”

I don’t know how to. That’s my problem. It’s her problem, too, but apparently I’m the fixer.

“I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, too. But that’s not a vow.”

She’s right. What’s a vow, really? A promise? So I start with something real. Something easy, that I know we can stick to.

“Every night I’ll come home and ask you if you missed me. And you’ll tell me some shite about rusty nails and pulling teeth and...chainsaws. And I’ll know you don’t mean that. And you’ll know I never wanted you to have to miss me in the first place.”

There’s a wee tiny flicker of amusement in her eyes. “You make a vow sound like a threat.”

I chuckle. “Good. I never fail to carry out a threat.”

“Give me another one.”

Now I’m the one smiling. “When you have a nightmare, I’ll wake you up and give you something real to cry about.”

She smiles a little bit and then looks away.