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“I’m fat and ugly,” she says again.
“You’re hardly worth it now, you know? Fat, ugly bitch.”
Brett’s malicious words to her echo through my head. I tighten my hands into fists. For a moment, I wish he was still alive so I could beat him to death again.
“He said that to you.” I clench my teeth. “He did that just to break you down. You’re beautiful, you’re strong, and I’m still in awe of you.”
She shakes her head but doesn’t speak. I kiss the top of her head, hold her, and try to think of something clever to say. I’ve never been a wordy guy, and I don’t think I can really start that now. I’d spent all that time looking for her and thinking about her, dreaming about her, but now I don’t know what to say to her.
Maybe that’s the answer.
“I spent all that time looking for you,” I tell her. “Every day, I’d picture your face in my mind. I’d remember what it felt like to hold you. I’d hear your voice in my head, usually yelling at me about something.”
She looks up at me and cracks a smile as I wipe the tears off her face.
“I’d remember how you smell and how your eyes would shine when you’d look at me. That’s what kept me going. I knew you were out there and that you needed me.”
“I thought you were dead,” she says quietly. She sniffs and tightens her grip. “That’s what they told me. They said they shot you dead.”
“Nearly.”
She pulls her hand around and presses it against the scar on the side of my stomach. She freaked out the first time I took my shirt off and she noticed it. She cried when I told her exactly what had happened.
“Now that is ugly,” I say with a smile. “You used to ogle my abs.”
“I did not!” She tucks her head against my chest again.
“Blushing, aren’t you?”
She shakes her head vehemently.
“Liar.” I place a finger under her chin and tilt her face up to look at me. Her cheeks are tinged with red, and she won’t meet my eyes, but there is a hint of a smile. “Does it make me ugly?”
“The scar?” She narrows her eyes in confusion. “No, not at all.”
“Do you still want me even though I’m not the same as I was before?”
“Yes.”
“I have other scars,” I tell her. “Not the ones you’re thinking of. I’ve got scars you can’t see, just like you have. Some of those scars…well, they changed me and not in a good way.”
I take a step back and run my hand through my hair. I try to figure out what I need to say—how I can make it clear—and decide the beginning is as good a place as any.
“When I was overseas…” I stop in mid-sentence. I don’t know how to explain this.
Hannah takes my hand in hers. She leads me over to the edge of the bed, and we both sit down. She doesn’t let go of my hand. I stare down at our entwined fingers, take a deep breath, and start.
“When I was deployed, I saw a lot of shit. Horrible shit. Shit I can’t think about even now. That got to a lot of the guys in my unit. Some of them never got over it.”
“It didn’t get to you?”
“Not in the same way.” I shake my head. I’m already not explaining it well. I decide to just move on. “There was this…this kid in my unit. Eighteen years old. Went to basic right out of high school. Before we were deployed, I met his parents. It was a dinner function I didn’t even want to attend, but I had to go anyway. He introduced me to them, and they were so proud of his decision to enlist, but his mother pulled me aside and told me how scared she was for him.”
I take a long breath and slowly breathe it out again.
“I told her not to worry. I told her I would bring him back, safe and sound.”
“He didn’t come back, did he?” Hannah squeezes my hand.
