SCARS

by Jaimie Roberts

  By the time they let me out, I was almost broken. When the guard finally opened the door and guided me toward the showers, I cried. I stood in the shower and let the water hide my tears. All it took was one gentle touch on my arm from a guard I had never even met before. I let the tears come, for I knew once I was out and dressed that I would have to keep up the fucking hard, stony-faced charade I had been putting on ever since I was put in that godforsaken place.

  Only one person made me crack. I was still vulnerable, and the loneliness which had penetrated my bones seemed to be staying there. I was brought back to my cell where my cellmate was waiting. When he saw me, he smiled. I don’t know why he smiled because I had been treating him like shit. Once the door was closed, he stared at me and said, “Man, you look like shit.” I don’t know why, but I laughed. I found myself laughing, and at first, he didn’t know how to take it. I think he thought I was going to wail on him. I didn’t, though.

  When the laughter eventually subsided, he offered me his hand for a shake. “I’m Jace. Nice to meet you.”

  I stood there for a moment—just staring at his hand. All that time, I had been craving contact just like this, but it never came. Jace didn’t know it at the time, but he had caught me at just the right moment. I accepted his hand. “I’m Jarrod,” I said before taking a seat on my bed. “This doesn’t mean we’re fucking best friends now.” I had to keep some of my dignity.

  He smiled, but raised his hands up in surrender. “I never said we would be. It would just be a shame to spend all this time locked up together without some sort of conversation. We have to pass the time somehow, right?” He grinned at me, and for some reason, I knew it was genuine. It was from that day on that I knew I liked that boy. I never in a million years thought that we would end up as the one thing I told him we weren’t. We left the detention center within a month of each other. We were equals, but Jace never really left. I was still top dog even when we were out. He kept that respect for me, and all that he asked of me in return was to be my friend … to help me out whenever the time came. In the end, I told him what I had done and what I was planning on doing next. He’s been standing by me ever since.

  Coming back to the here and now, I shake my head. “She won’t hate me.”

  Charlotte frowns. “How do you know for sure?”

  I almost shiver when I think back to my time inside. “Believe me. I know.”

  I wake again with a headache. I feel sick. With aching feet, I get up to run to the bathroom and throw up. Once I finish, I feel better, but now all I want is a shower. I look down at my leg, remembering my bandage. I have another fresh one on today. I can’t help but wonder how he does it. Is he that gentle that I simply do not wake when he changes the bandages? I stretch, moaning when my aching bones cry out in protest. I really do need that shower.

  I get up, and with determination, I undress, put the water on, and wait until it warms up a little. It’s hot, and I’m sweating in here. The bedroom is nice and cool, but in here, it’s muggy—almost stifling.

  Being ever so careful, I step in with one leg, while awkwardly keeping the bandaged one out. It’s the most uncomfortable shower I’ve ever taken in one sense, but in another, I’m so desperate to get clean that it’s also one of the most wonderful. I pick up the soap and awkwardly clean as much of me as possible. Once done, I switch off the water and step out. I close my eyes when I feel the coolness hit me. I almost want to stay like this for a while because it’s the most comfortable I’ve felt in a long time. However, I know I can’t stay here forever. I’m hungry now that my headache has subsided. As I dry myself off, I notice a t-shirt and a pair of shorts sitting on the chair.

  When did they arrive?

  I pick them up and look to see if they’ll fit. They’re my size. “Of course they are,” I say to thin air. I realize again just how alone I am. I’ve lost everyone dear to me. I sink to the floor and let the tears flow. I don’t know if he’s watching me, but I would hope he had the decency to let me have my privacy in here.

  Once the tears stop, I get up off the floor and get dressed. I instantly feel a lot better—more human again. As I step out from the bathroom, the smell of bacon hits my nose, making my stomach growl.

  “Are you feeling better?” he asks as I step towards a plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon.

  “Much, thank you.”

  “Were you sick?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you need anything?”

  I pick up the plate of food and the orange juice beside it. “A cup of coffee would be good.”

  “Coming right up. Do you think you can eat?”

  As I sit down, I sigh. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Well, then why won’t you let me go?”

  “I can’t. Not now. You need to heal, and you need to have an open mind to the truth.”

  “What truth?”

  I hear him sigh. “We’ve gone over this before. I can’t tell you yet. You’re not ready for the truth. All I can say is that everything I do here now, I do for you. I know I’ve already said it, but it’s the truth. I am not the enemy, Lily. I never really was.”

  I close my eyes and shake my head. I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about. All I know for now is that I’ve lost everything, and now he’s keeping me prisoner here. I thought I was messed up before, but now I know I truly am. How did I manage to let him in so easily? Not only did I let him touch me and taste me, but I even let him take my virginity. That is something I can never take back.

  “What are you thinking?” he asks as I pick up my plastic fork and start eating.

  What is it with the paper cups and plastic cutlery, anyway?

  “Why don’t I get proper plates and forks?” I ask, holding up the one in my hand.

  “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

  I frown, asking what he means, but I don’t get anything back. For a moment, I wonder where he’s gone and if he’s left me. For some reason, that frightens me a hell of a lot more than him keeping me here does. “J?” I ask, feeling the panic rise.

  It is then I hear something at the door. My heart creeps up into my mouth when the possibility of him coming into my room makes my head spin. For some unknown reason, I want him here. I need comfort from someone, and he’s the nearest person I can get to. I’m not going to let him know that, though.

  As I stare at the door transfixed, a tiny door within the door opens at the bottom, and I see his tattooed hand as he places another paper cup inside. This one is steaming, though. “One coffee as ordered,” he states as he quickly shuts the little door. How come I never noticed that before?

  I chew what I have in my mouth and make my way over to the coffee. My God, it smells good. I pick it up, placing it to my lips. Never in my life would I have believed that homemade coffee in a paper cup could taste this good.

  “You like?” he asks, over the speaker.

  “Oh, God yes!”

  I hear him chuckle. “Go sit and eat. You must be hungry.”

  For some reason, I do as instructed. I pick my fork up and savor the remaining food. Not only can he make a great cup of coffee, but he can also cook really well.

  “I like seeing you eat.”

  “So, you are watching me then?”

  “Only to make sure you’re safe. Besides, I like watching you when you sleep. It calms me.”

  I take stock of what he’s said. At first, no words form. I just can’t understand it. I can’t understand any of this. “I don’t understand anything that’s happening. Are you punishing me for letting you get close to me? I can assure you that I’ve never done anything like that in my life. You were my first … my only.” I sigh as a single tear drops down my face and onto my fresh t-shirt. I just don’t know what to think and feel anymore. I’ve lost the capacity to tell right from wrong.

  “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not keeping you her
e as a punishment. You may not believe me now, but you will one day.” I hear him sigh. “And don’t think for one second that what happened between us meant nothing to me. It was a big deal for me too.”

  “But how?” I ask, flinging my hands up in the air.

  “At first, it was your feminine walk and the way you brushed your soft, chestnut hair away from your eyes. Then, it was the way you smelled when I was with you. I inhaled, and I was instantly lost in your aroma. I finally got to feel your soft skin and the way you surrendered so easily to my touch. You have no idea what that did to me, do you?” My breathing starts picking up when I go back to that first encounter in the bathroom a couple of months ago.

  How different things were then. I hadn’t a care in the world. Now, look at me!

  “Then, it was your taste.” His raspy voice brings me back to the scene on the boat. I will never forget that explosive night. “Your taste was exquisite. It left me wanting more than I should take.”

  “But you did take.”

  “Only because you asked me to. Only because I knew that was what you wanted. And I wanted it too. I wanted it more than you’ll ever know, and I’ve been wanting it again ever since. You truly are addictive.”

  “Then, why can’t you come to me. Why can’t you face me?”

  “Is that what you really want?”

  “I need to see you. I need …” I sigh, not knowing what to say. I do need him. I need his smell, his comfort … his taste, but I will be damned before I’ll let him know this. He has enough power over me as it is.

  “Maybe you need time to think about this.”

  I instantly panic. “Don’t go. Please. I don’t want to be alone.” All I hear is silence for a moment, but then I hear a faint click.

  “What is it you want?”

  I sigh, stand up, and walk to the window. I peer out again, but again, all I see are trees.

  Where the hell am I?

  “If you won’t come to see me, then at least talk to me.”

  “What is it you want to talk about?”

  I turn and start pacing back and forth. I’m a little sore still, but I need some exercise. I don’t think I have ever been so still in my life. “I don’t know. Anything. Tell me where you grew up?”

  “Arkansas. I lived in a little town called Van Buren. I moved from there about a year ago.”

  I smile, thinking this is about the most information I have ever gotten from him. “Did you not like it there or something? Why did you move?”

  “It held bad memories for me.” I could tell by the sound of his voice that there is immense pain held there somewhere. If only I knew what.

  “Is that where you got your scar?”

  “Yes,” he sighs.

  “So, bad people did that to you. It wasn’t just an accident, then? Didn’t you have family to look after you? Where are your parents?”

  “I think we have discussed all that we can today.”

  “Wait! I didn’t mean—”

  But, it’s already too late. He sounded pissed at me, and now he’s gone. I probed too much, and now I will be made to suffer because of it. If only he would tell me! If he’s frightened I would tell other people, then he has underestimated me. I would never betray a trust once it’s bestowed upon me.

  I sigh as I take my plate and place it next to my brand new lily flower. Today, it is purple—much like the bruises on my arms and legs. I cringe as I think back to the accident. I can’t go there … not now. I will slip into a darkness that will drown me in its wake if I do. I need to be stronger at least until I know what the hell is going on here.

  And then what?

  That thought scares me more than anything.

  What’s going to happen to me once I get out of here? I’m an orphan. I have no one to take care of me anymore.

  I close my eyes when I consider the fact that I’m now considered an adult. I’m eighteen, so, legally, I don’t “need” to be looked after anymore.

  What am I going to do? Where will I live? Will I be able to go back home and live in our house, or will it be put up for sale?

  I sink on the bed as I contemplate this and many other things.

  Do I really want to leave here? Maybe J is right. Maybe I am safer here. At least I can tell that he really is here to look after me. Why he is, I have no clue, but I still don’t feel any ill will from him.

  It’s an idiotic thought, but it’s one that I can’t shake.

  The hours pass, and the boredom really sets in. For the first three or four days, all I did was sleep, but now I’m finding that I’m wide awake. J brings food for my lunch and then again for dinner, but he doesn’t converse with me. I miss it. I miss him.

  As the lights outside dim, the world outside lets me know that it’s night again. I crawl back into bed and take the tablets that were left from this morning. I pat myself on the back, knowing that I had been in a little discomfort all day, but had refrained from taking them. Now, though, all I want to do is sleep. My body aches, but my mind is too alert. I feel exhausted physically, but my brain just won’t shut off. Visions of my sister next to me in the car fill my head. I finally fall asleep, but it’s a fitful sleep. My mind is awash with water and blood—lots and lots of blood. I see the blood dissipate, and I squint, trying to get my eyes to focus. Soon, I see a figure get closer to me. It’s Elle. Her one good eye is focused on me, but the other still has the glass through it. I gasp, trying to get away, but something holds me in place. She gets nearer, and the closer she gets, the more my heart wants to rip in two. She grabs my arm, yanking me towards her.

  “Why didn’t you save me?!”

  I wake up screaming and flailing my arms around. At first, I don’t know where I am, and I panic that I’m still in the car and that Elle needs me.

  “Lily, calm down. You’re okay. You’re safe. Please, Lily. I’m here.” I immediately calm when I hear his voice. As my erratic breathing subsides, I look around my room and can tell it’s already daylight again. The sun is shining through the window, making it feel as though this day brought not a care in the world. How well I knew that to be untrue.

  “Do you need anything?” he asks in what seems like a panicked voice.

  “Coffee would be good.”

  “Okay,” he says, and I know he’s about to go.

  “Please don’t leave me.” I grip the sheets tightly to my chest. I can feel the panic coming again.

  “Okay, I won’t, but I can’t make you coffee if you want me to stay.”

  I nod my head. “Just a couple more minutes. I just need to hear your voice.”

  “You had a nightmare.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want to share it with me?”

  I moisten my lips. With all the heavy panting, I have made both my throat and my lips dry. “It was about the crash. My sister was there, but she wasn’t dead … not exactly anyway. She wanted to know why I didn’t save her.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says, and I can tell by his tone of voice that he genuinely means it. “It’s perfectly normal to feel this way. You had an accident. Your sister didn’t survive, but you did. It’s normal for you to feel guilty about it on some level, but put it this way: If it were the other way around, how would you feel if Elle felt guilty that you had died and it was she who was left alive?”

  I close my eyes, steadying my breathing further. “I would feel devastated. I would want her to live her life with no guilt about what happened hanging over her head.”

  “Well, don’t you think she would want the same for you? You two were pretty close, right? Don’t you think she would only want the best for her little sister?”

  I sigh as I let the guilt come. I can’t seem to help it. “I know what you’re trying to say, but she had her whole life ahead of her. She would have been starting her new job in just a few days. She had just found … just found love,” I hiccup. I wipe yet another tear from my face. I’m sick of crying. I’m sick of feeling nothing but pain.

  �
��What makes you think that she was any more worthy of life than you are?”

  “I don’t know!” I shout angrily. “I just feel like fucking shit whenever I think about what happened. I’m an orphan now. Don’t you realize that? My whole family is gone. My whole life is gone. Everything … gone.” I sigh on a choked sob. “What do I do now? How do I carry on? I don’t even know where to start.”

  “Start by forgiving yourself.” I cry at his words. Endless tears stream down my face. I need comfort. I need his arms around me, but my stubbornness about asking him is stopping me. He didn’t come when I asked before, so why would he now anyway?

  “Tell me about them?” he asks, surprising me.

  My crying abruptly stops. I wipe my tears and take a deep breath. I need to stop with the crying already anyway. “About my family?” I wipe away some more tears and wait for his answer.

  “Yes. What were they like?”

  I take in another deep breath not knowing where to start. “My mom was kind … gentle.” I smile when I picture her making pancakes on a Saturday morning. “My mom was a career-driven woman, but she still liked to keep that part of her separate once she came through that door every night. She liked being the kind of mom who made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches before we went to school, baked cookies on a Sunday afternoon, and took us trick-or-treating when we were small.” My heart aches to have that back again. Now, it’s gone, and I will never get it back. “Elle was a different story. She was smart and definitely all career-orientated. She didn’t let her heart go that easily. She kept her cards close to her chest. I often wondered if I would ever see my sister get married. Now, I know that will never happen.” I start sniffling again as new tears surface.

  “And what about your father?”

  I wipe my nose with my hand, which I know is a disgusting habit, and it’s one I never grew out of—much to my mother’s chagrin. “He was like what any dad should be. He was kind, but disciplined. I often wondered why he let me get away with stuff, but then I realized it was because he knew he could trust me. That earned him respect from me. For that reason alone, I always made decisions that I knew he would agree with.”