Page 6 of Scar Tissue

“I didn’t want to stay,” she says, as if I didn’t already know that. I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady as I avoid saying all of the things that I should’ve said years ago. But I can’t.

“I know,” I reply, my voice barely a whisper. “But you’re here now. And I’ll…I’ll stay out of your way.” It’s all I can offer her and it feels like a promise I don’t know I’ll be able to keep, but for her, I’ll try. “Let me show you to your room and then I can show you where everything else is and how it works. That’s the furthest you’ll have to deal with me.”

She hesitates, her weight shifting again, and I catch a glimpse of her face in my peripheral vision. This is the first time I’m really noticing the evident fatigue etched onto her face. Her eyes are heavy with more than just exhaustion though. I still don’t know the full story but I’m starting to fill in some of the gaps from what I’ve observed over the last few hours. I know better than to pry, especially when we have our own problems settled between us. “Lead the way,” she finally says, her voice clipped.

I nod, my throat tight, and turn toward the hallway. The house, as big as it felt with just me, now feels entirely too small, the walls closing in with the weight of her presence. I can hear the soft tread of her footsteps behind me. “There are three bedrooms total, you can have your pick between two of them. The one at the end of the hall is mine. The guest bathroom is just past the second door on the right,but that room also happens to be the smaller of the two. This one…” I stop in front of one on the left, the one right next to my own. “Is the bigger one. It also lets in more natural light being on this side of the house.” My voice is steadier than I feel, though I’m not sure she’ll miss the hesitation beneath my words. A part of me desperately wants her to pick the room next to mine just as much as I hope she chooses the smaller of the two. Being so close to her that only a wall separates us…feels like an invitation to chaos. One I’m not sure either of us would walk away from. It’s enough just being under the same roof.

“Natural light sounds nice,” she whispers, and I can see everything she’s not saying, as if she wants me to know she’s been living in the dark for too long.

I push open the door for her, stepping aside to let her pass. “It’s not much, but it’s clean and the sheets are new. In case you get cold or anything there are also extra blankets in the closet. Pillows, too, if you need more.” She steps inside, her gaze sweeping the room, observing the queen sized bed, lounge chair in the corner, and desk that’s against the wall. She doesn’t say anything else for a long moment, and I can taste the tension between us.

“It’s fine,” she says eventually. I linger in the doorway, unsure if I should leave or if there’s more I’m supposed to say. But she doesn’t look at me, so I take that as my cue to walk away. If anything, I’ll help carry her stuff down the hall for her. As I bend to pick up a duffel bag and one of the boxes, I hear the sudden sharp clack of her footsteps in the hallway. When I straighten out, she’s standing in front of me with her arms crossed. “What are you doing?”

I blink, caught off guard by the fire in her eyes. “I’m just bringing your stuff?—”

“No.” She cuts me off, her hand darting to the strap of the duffel, her knuckles brushing mine as she yanks it out of my grasp before grabbing for the box. “I can handle it. I don’t need you doing that for me.”

I let go instinctively, but my confusion lingers. I know she isn’texactly happy about this arrangement, but the sudden change in her behavior still surprises me. “It’s not a big deal,” I say carefully, trying to temper the direction this conversation is headed.

“Itisa big deal,” she bites back, clutching the bag to her chest as if it’s some kind of shield. “I didn’t come here for…for charity or pity or whatever it is that you think this is.”

“It’s not pity, Thea. I offered because I wanted to help.” But I know even as the words leave my lips that wasn’t the only reason I offered.

Her laugh is bitter, almost a bark, and I know she probably realizes that isn’t my only motivation either. “Help? By carrying my things like I’m incapable? Like I’m some…brokenthing.”

“I wasn’t implying that,” I counter, stepping back to give her space even though every instinct wants me to stand my ground. “I just thought?—”

“That’sthe problem,” she snaps, cutting me off again. “You’re always thinking. Always trying to fix things, trying to make them better. But you never seem to get it. Some things can’t be fixed.” Her voice cracks just a little, the anger not fully masking the hurt that lingers underneath after all of these years.

I swallow, the words I want to say caught in my throat, and I’m suddenly keenly aware this isn’t just about me helping her with her stuff. The weight of her brother’s death still lingers between us. “I didn’t mean to…” I begin, but I don’t finish the sentence. What is there to say? It’s been too long since the accident, but I still don’t know how to explain my side of it without reopening old wounds. She shakes her head sharply, her eyes avoiding mine now as if she’s aware of the vulnerability she let show. “You don’t have to apologize. I don’t need that from you. I don’twantit.”

“I’m just trying to be here for you, Thea.” But apparently that wasn’t the right thing to say either because her grip tightens even further.

She tilts her head to the ceiling before blowing out a breath. “Idefinitely don’t need that from you, either. This is only a temporary arrangement.”

I want to argue, to tell her that’s not true, that everyone needs someone. But that wouldn’t matter; she has Dylan and Fletcher. So instead, I nod again, stepping toward the kitchen. “Alright, I’ll let you handle it.” It feels wrong, leaving her like that, yet I don’t know how to help without somehow making it all worse.

Chapter

Five

NATHAN

It’s been five days since Thea moved in with me, and we’ve done everything to avoid each other’s company. The only time I’ve seen her outside of her room is when she comes out to get something to eat from the kitchen or we accidentally run into each other in the hallway when she needs to use the bathroom. For the rest of the time, I’ve been busying myself at work or she’s been over at Fletcher and Dylan’s house. It’s becoming a routine, this unspoken distance between us. It’s almost as if we’re both afraid to confront the awkwardness that has settled since she moved in, and I find myself starting to regret the offer. It felt like the right thing to do at the time, but I wonder if I did it more for my own benefit or because I didn’t want to make her feel put out after Dylan made the not so subtle suggestion she stay with me.

I keep telling myself it’s for the best—maybe some time and space will help us both figure things out. I need to remind myself that she’s hurting for reasons that for once, don’t have to do with me. I can sometimes hear her through the wall that separates our rooms as she cries into her pillow, likely thinking it muffles out the sound. It’s hard, though, knowing she’s in pain and feeling sohelpless. I want to reach out, but the silence between us feels impenetrable. She isn’t mine to comfort, but I never thought it would be like this. The house is too quiet, too big with all the empty space between us. It’s like we’re both living parallel lives under the same roof. Two strangers who happen to share a past; a past that feels like it belongs to someone else now.

I can’t help but think about the way she used to light up a room. The easy laughter, the casual conversations we’d have that never seemed forced. I miss that Thea. I miss the connection we once had, the friendship that used to feel so natural. But now, even the smallest attempts at conversation feel like I’m walking on eggshells. I’ve tried to talk to her a few times, but it’s always met with short answers or distant glares. I’m starting to wonder if my presence is stunting the healing she’s fighting so hard for, since I’m responsible for past traumas, too. Maybe I should just let her have the house and go stay in a hotel. It’s not like I don’t have the funds to be able to afford it. I don’t know. But I also know it would’ve been just as easy to post her up in a hotel like she wanted from the beginning, and there is a reason I didn’t offer. Because even if she hates me, I want her around. She wouldn’t have accepted the money from me anyway. I’ve thought about talking to Dylan, or even Fletcher, but I know it’s not my place or my business, and I also know that there is every likelihood she’s already told them and I don’t know what I’ll be met with if she has.

Today, when I pass by her room, I hear her sniffling, and my heart breaks. I stand there for a moment, contemplating the catastrophe this decision could make. I don’t know if she wants to talk or if she just wants to be left alone. I don’t know if I can make it better, but I know I can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine. I take a deep breath, gather what little courage I have left, and knock on her door. The sniffling stops and I stand there for what feels like minutes turned to hours. I’m just about to walk away when I hear the door handle turn, her red-rimmed eyes peering out at me. She doesn’tspeak, instead just staring at me with a hollowness I’ve only seen on her face once in the past.

“I know of this really great takeout place. I was thinking about ordering something and thought I’d offer…” Really? That’s the best I could come up with? I was probably better off keeping my mouth shut. Better yet, I should’ve never knocked.

But before I can retreat, she opens the door more. Her eyes are puffy, her face still drawn with the weight of everything she’s been through, and yet she says nothing. She just looks at me, silent and guarded. There’s a chill in her gaze, but it’s not the kind that demands distance. It’s the kind that just doesn’t know what to do with me standing here, offering something, anything. The kind that happens after bone-deep exhaustion.

“I just thought that you might be hungry. You haven’t come out today.” I force the words out, hoping they don’t sound as awkward or as desperate as they feel. I want to say more, but nothing seems right. I’m afraid if I do, she will slam the door in my face, changing her mind.

Her eyes flicker to the side, looking at something in her room while she weighs her response. “Fine,” she says at last, her voice tight but not unkind. She doesn’t say anything else. No ‘thank you’. No questions. Just a gesture as if telling me to move out of the way so she can leave her room and follow me back down the hallway. I clear my throat as I turn on my heels and walk back to the kitchen. When I turn around, I offer her the menu from the takeout place, trying to make the moment less heavy. Something mundane we can both pretend matters. But she doesn’t reach for it. She just looks at it, then glances away. “I don’t want food,” she says flatly, her voice still raw.