“What happened?”
“A bar fight. Some guy tried to spike Eva’s drink and had a problem with me having a problem with that.”
She chuckled. “How old were you?”
“Twenty.”
“What about this one?” She ran her finger over the one on my left bicep.
“Bar fight.” I grinned at the eye roll she gave me. “Only two of my scars are non-bar fight related. One you can’t see because it’s hidden by my hair and the other one…” I trailed off, pulling my hair from the left side of my forehead to show the scar at my hairline. “I guess they’re both technically hidden by hair.”
She peeled herself off my chest. I almost frowned but then she straddled my waist instead, and leaned over me to get a better look. It was an ugly scar; I knew from looking at it in the mirror that it never healed right. I wasn’t allowed to get stitches for it.
“What happened?”
I didn’t like to talk about it. Not even Eva knew the real story, only that I’d shown up with it after winter break in grade five. I told her I’d gotten it skating, but that was a lie.
Violet leaned down and kissed the scar gently before shifting so she could lay flat on my chest.
“I only have one scar,” she said, taking the focus off me.
She never pushed, like the time she asked what I had against blonds, realized she’d hit a nerve, and changed the subject immediately.
She was too good for me.
I’d never let her go, though. I was way too selfish.
“I wish I had a cool story about a bar fight but it’s so dumb.” She lifted her head and pointed to a small scar right next to her eyebrow. It was tucked right into the hair; I could barely see it. “I was twenty-two or twenty-three. A couple of my friends dragged me out to a playground. It was like 2 a.m., we were high as fuck and fooling around on one of those climbing rope things. It was shaped like the Eiffel Tower, and my foot got caught. I went face-first into the sand and gravel. I had scrapes all over my face, and my nose was bleeding for nearly three hours but it wasn’t broken. I got really lucky, I’d say.”
“I was ten,” I blurted out.
“You don’t…”
“My grandparents owned a hotel chain so my mom had a huge trust fund. She died when I was two, and she left me everything in her will—set it up in a trust my dad could only access if it was for school, so he sent me to private schools from the time I was three. Boarding school once I was old enough. Anything to get me out of the house and away from him.
“Grade five was so nice. I left in September and didn’t have to deal with his yelling or his outbursts. I wasn’t tiptoeing around his moods; I was free. I’d planned to stay on campus for winter break but he got himself a new girlfriend and she wanted tomeet me. He demanded I come home, and I didn’t exactly have a choice.
“Everything was fine until Christmas dinner. He hired a private chef and a small team of waitstaff. He hadn’t told the chef I didn’t like cranberry. It was in everything. I mean literally everything. The gravy, the basting for the turkey, even the fucking mashed potatoes.
“I spent the whole dinner picking at everything, taking bites here and there trying to swallow it down, but it didn’t matter. His girlfriend asked me why I wasn’t eating. I tried to say I wasn’t hungry but my traitorous stomach gave me away by rumbling. I admitted I didn’t like cranberry, and she made a whole big deal about it. Not in a bad way. She was just fussing that she wished she’d known, how did my dad not know, things like that.
“I knew I was in trouble. The second everyone left I tried to escape to my room, but I was required to help clean up the kitchen first. He was screaming at me. I embarrassed him. I should have sucked it up and ate it. I disrespected him. I learned very young that trying to defend myself made everything worse so I just stood there and let him rant. He…”
Violet pushed my hair out of the way to lightly brush her finger over the jagged white scar while I took a second to get my shit together. I hadn’t thought about this moment for over ten years. I hadn’t talked about it—ever.
“When I thought he was done, I turned to go back to my room. He wasn’t, and he was pissed that I’d tried to walk away. The next thing I knew something hit the back of my head and my forehead caught the edge kitchen counter.
“I blacked out, woke up two days later in my bed. No stitches, no hospital. Luckily, I didn’t have any permanent brain damage. But he nearly killed me that night. It was the last time I went home for a holiday.”
“He’s dead now?” Her voice was so soft. “Tell me he’s dead now.”
“I went back on my eighteenth birthday for all my important documents so I could take over my trust. He was drunk and tried to pick a fight with me. I was a lot bigger and stronger than the last time he’d seen me. I think it took him by surprise when I hit back. Then I just kept hitting.”
“Good.” She smiled before kissing me softly. “I’ve plotted a lot of murders, but I’d never committed one. Not sure I’m ready for that to change, but I would have made an exception for you.”
I grinned, running my thumb over her cheek.
“You’d kill for me?”
