Page 56 of Savagely Scarred

She said he doesn’t want to kill her anymore, so what’s the point?

Down.

Why can’t I connect the fucking dots?

Up.

This waiting game is like shoving toothpicks under your nails.

Down.

Why won’t my constant racing thoughts just fuck off!

Up.

I let my arms drift back and slam the weights down into rack. They drop to my side and I stare up at the ceiling. Movement on one of the mirror panels on the wall catches my attention. I turn my head to see Liv standing in the doorway wearing my Nirvana shirt.

I throw my head back onto the padded backrest. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” I ask while looking up at a dirty spot on the ceiling. Not sure how it got there, but it’s been bugging me for the last ten minutes.

Her soft footfalls approach me. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” I repeat on autopilot.

Liv swings her leg over me and straddles my lap. With a gentle touch, she turns my chin towards her.

“What’s wrong?”

I blow out a puff of air. “Everything.”

“Is it your nightmares?”

My gaze falls and becomes unfocused. She grabs the sides of my face and presses her forehead to mine. Her rose and peony scent masks my sweat, and I breathe her in for comfort.

“Please talk to me,” she whispers.

No more secrets.

“I—,” I pause and she leans back to look down at me patiently, her hands resting on my chest. “I was going to tell you on the way to my Mom and John’s house.”

Her brows furrow. “Why do you call your dad, John?”

“Because he’s not my father.”

There’s a long pause of silence before my eyes finally lift to meet hers. I swallow hard, my throat suddenly bone-dry.

“I killed my father when I was eight.”

Liv stares at me in bewilderment and disbelief, waiting for me to elaborate. I break eye contact and look to the left into the mirror.

“Mom was at work. She worked third shift at the hospital a few times a week. It was early morning when the fire started. My father tried to get us out, but the downstairs was already engulfed in flames. He broke a window upstairs and dropped me out of it. Cut myself pretty good.”

Tears begin to form in the back of my eyes, picturing the last time I saw his face. How broken he looked—resigned to his fate. He knew he wasn’t going to make it out alive.

“I was too worried about the fucking dog. He turned back to look for him. I never would have—,” I choke back a sob and look at Liv’s hands on my chest until my voice steadies. “The propane heater exploded. He never had a chance. And the firefighters couldn’t keep up with the fire. So, I sat on my mom’s lap on the lawn, and we watched the entire house and our life… burn to ash.”

Olivia’s tears fall steadily onto my abdomen as she grazes her fingers lightly down my chest over my tattoo. She stops at the ridge of scar tissue hiding amongst its feathers.

“A phoenix,” she whispers, “bursts into flames and rises from the ashes.”