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“What?” I pretend I didn’t hear her.
“I have scars too,” she says so quiet I can barely hear her.
Then she’s sitting up, slipping her tank top over her head.
I forget about my shame, and squint into the darkness trying to see her. I should never have turned out the lamp.
She returns to my waiting arms and says, “You can feel them if you want. They’re on my back.” And then she relaxes against me.
It takes me a moment to process her words. Because there are small breasts pressed plumply against the side of my chest and hard nipples scraping at my coarse hairs. My cock is instantly hard. I have the presence of mind to be glad our bodies are not perfectly aligned. My erection won’t bother her unless she crooks a leg over my crotch.
“Wh—What?” I say again.Real bright, Erik. Be careful you don’t dazzle her with your intellect.
“If you want, you can touch my scars. They’re on my back.”
She has scars too, she said. She will let me touch them.
Do I want to touch them? Do I really want to feel evidence of violence she’s endured?
My hand has a mind of its own. My palm flattens on her lower back, just above the waist of her denim shorts. Her skin is smooth and cool. As I move upward, I feel her backbone and ribs making low ridges under her skin. I will feed her so much good food, she will be plump for me in a few months.
I move higher still, and suddenly, I stop. There. Rough, puckered skin takes the place of smooth. It’s not just one small scar. It’s dozens. More, maybe. Covering her from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. I feel band-aids on some of them.
“Oh, sweet flower.” My eyes well with tears. I am glad for the darkness.
I stop feeling her skin and tighten my arms around her. My heart aches.
“Cigarette burns,” she says.
My heart breaks. I begin to cry. And then I cry some more. And then I become lost in an agony I haven’t let myself feel in a long time.
Cora
One moment, Shep isholding me. The next, I’m turning the tables, wrapping my arms around him. They don’t go all the way around his thick frame, but I don’t let that deter me. I hold on for all I’m worth while he trembles and sobs into my neck.
I recognize this type of crying. I’ve done a lot of it in the past two years. This is the kind of purging you do when you come to terms with soul-shearing pain. This type of crying comes with a realization that your life will never be the same. The things you knew, the people you loved, all that is gone. It’s the type of crying you do when you’re at your very lowest and there’s nothing left but to rebuild yourself, if you can.
“I’ve got you,” I say, rubbing Shep’s massive back. I don’t know what he’s been through, but I have an idea.
A change came over him when I asked about the leather straps he wears on both wrists. His usual responses, laced with good humor, became clipped, one-word answers. I made him uncomfortable. Like Jud made me uncomfortable when he toweled me dry after my bath the first day I arrived here. I hadn’t wanted him to see my back. My shame.
Many times, I thought about ending my suffering. I’d had opportunities. There had been knives in the various kitchens of the homes Leon would bring me to. There were sharp edges on wrecked vehicles we would stop at to syphon gas. It wouldn’t have been hard to do. Wrists were easily accessible, and Leon couldn’t watch me every second.
But deep down, despite all Leon put me through, I didn’t want to die.
I’m guessing that at some point, Shephadwanted to die. I’m guessing he tried to end his life, and that beneath those leather straps, he bears the scars.
“Let it all out, Shep. I’ve got you.”
For long minutes, he pours out his grief. Maybe it’s regret that what he tried didn’t work. Maybe it’s regret that he ever tried it in the first place. It’s not my business. All I care about is comforting him. So that’s what I do.
I pet him and murmur to him that he’s okay now. It’s all okay now. And I let him purge his pain.
In a twisted way, it’s nice to be on this end of pain. I suspect I have more sobbing jags in my future—I’m not over my past, yet, and I probably never will be. But tonight, I get to be the one doing the soothing. It’s a gift Shep’s giving me, and I appreciate it beyond words.
Slowly, his tears dry up, and he stills. I think he’s fallen asleep in my arms, until he sniffs and says,“Erik. My name was Erik.”
“Hello, Erik,” I say. “It’s nice to meet you.”
