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Sitting down, I place my books on the floor, spreading them out around me. “Okay, we’re gonna get as much of this done as possible.”
I don’t want to take up too much of his time outside of school. He has his job at the tattoo place downtown; I got that much out of him. Apart from that, he seems to not have much free time. So, we’ll have one more study session next week, and that’s all. I don’t mind doing most the work, but he made it clear he doesn’t want that. He wants to put in his share of the workload. I like that.
When Roman doesn’t sit beside me, I look over and find him looking at one of my many sketch pads. Oh, fuck. I scramble up, my book and pen dropping to the floor as I reach over to grab it from him.
But he sees me coming and turns before I can reach the pad.
“You still draw?” he asks.
I try to reach around him without touching him, but he turns. I curse at how tall and wide he has gotten. I jump onto my bed and bounce slightly as I hold my hand out to him and cock my head. “Excuse me, you can’t just come in here and look at my things.”
He cocks his head and gives me a smirk. It’s enough for me to drop my hand.
“Before you left, you drew me a daisy and gave it to me.”
How could I forget? That was the day I rode my bike to his house and kissed him. I give him a small smile, hoping he isn’t going to ask about the first kiss. No one has brought it again, and I hope to keep that buried. For at least fifty years.
“Yeah?” I reply hesitantly when he doesn’t elaborate.
He grabs the back of his gray tee, and in one move, it’s up and over his head and on my floor. Fuck…Roman.
Does he even know how hot that move is? I bite my lip as my eyes roll over his chest. He’s covered in tattoos here too. These are a little different from his sleeve, and the one that catches my eye is the one over his heart.
“Holy shit, Roman.” I move to the edge of the bed, wobbling a little on the mattress. Up here, I’m taller than him, and I like it. I have the urge to run my fingers through his long hair. I love the way it curls up at the ends. Maybe he will let me braid it before the game on Friday?
“Jeanie,” I whisper. It’s his Mom’s name. Under my daisy. It looks exactly like the daisy that I drew for him. Unlike the rest of his ink, there’s no color. It’s just a penciled drawing of a daisy bending over slightly. One that a twelve-year-old girl drew for her best friend, because she knew she wouldn’t be picking daisies with him anymore.
“Wow, Roman.” I’m choked up. He tattooed my drawing onto his body.
I study his whole chest while he stands there, looking at anything other than me. There are marks, scars, and old, yellowing bruises mixed in with purple ones on his ribs. There are round scars that are puckered and old, but they’re there. The tattoos can’t hide everything.
My throat thickens with sadness. I know where he got the round scars. I’d seen one on him before I left, and he told me not to worry about it.
I should have called him every day. I should have told my dad to save him, take him in. I feel a tear slip down my cheek, but I don’t wipe it away. I should have done so much to protect him, and I couldn’t. Now, he’s a broken man at the age of sixteen, and I blame myself. He wouldn’t have turned out like this if I’d been there for him. I know it.
My fingers reach out to touch the most visible scar beside the daisy, and he takes a step back. I bring my hand back to my chest just as fast.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
He turns and puts his shirt on. On his back, the scars are even worse, and I look away, blinking back the tears. I don’t want him to see pity on my face. I know he’s too proud for that. He can’t think living with his dad is safe? He needs somewhere safe to go.
“Do you want to stay here tonight?” I find myself asking before I’ve even spoken with my dad. But I know if I tell my dad what I saw, he’ll make Roman move in here in a heartbeat.
Roman turns around and shakes his head, grabbing his books off the floor as I stand there, not knowing what to do or say. Fuck. I shouldn’t have tried to touch him.
“No, I need to get going.”
“Work?” I question, thinking it’s the answer he’ll feel most comfortable with.
In reality, we both know he’s running away because he let down a wall with me tonight, and I overstepped by trying to push him on the touching thing. I keep forgetting he’s not the same boy I left. No hugs or smiles. It breaks my heart.
Roman just grunts and leaves the room, closing the door behind him.
I slump down on my bed and pull my knees to my chest and sob.
Oh, Roman. What has happened to you, my sweet hugger?
