Someone To Kiss My Scars: A Teen Thriller

by Brooke Skipstone

  “Let’s make these the last you ever do.”

  “I hope so.”

  He kissed them. She thought she would faint.

  “Hunter, aren’t you grossed out?”

  “No. Just immensely sorry. And determined to keep you safe.” He kissed her thighs.

  Jazz couldn’t suppress a whimper.

  Hunter lifted his head to her. “In this house, we don’t hide our scars. We don’t hide anything.”

  She felt so light-headed. “Thank you, Hunter.”

  For the first time in her life, she felt comfortable in her own skin. She didn’t need to hide herself from Hunter. Her clothes had always provided some protection against others who would ridicule her body, her skin. She had battled the world from behind the shield of secrecy, never allowing any sign of vulnerability. With Hunter she could expose both her appearance and her nightmares, knowing he would accept them, care for them, maybe even love them.

  He stood. “I’m dead tired.”

  “Where do you want to sleep?”

  “I’d love to sleep with you, but I think I should deal with my past first.”

  “I’m OK with that.”

  “I’ll get the blankets from the closet. Can you bring me a drink?”

  “Sure.”

  They both left the room. When Jazz returned with two glasses of vodka and Coke, she found Hunter sitting on the floor on top of blankets, leaning against the wall, holding the Mount Rainier knife he had found yesterday afternoon. She sat next to him as he held the bone-handled knife with a four-inch blade away from its leather sheath.

  “Is it sharp?” she asked while handing him a glass.

  He picked up the matchbook and pulled the blade across the cardboard cover, slicing it easily. “Seems to be.”

  “Can I see the sheath?” He handed it to her then took a drink.

  The leather had been nicely worked to depict the famous mountain. Beadwork and leather fringe projected a Native American authenticity. She looked inside the sheath and saw what appeared to be darkened blood.

  “Was this yours?” Jazz asked. She tilted the glass to her lips.

  “I don’t know.”

  “There’s dried blood inside. Look.”

  She held it to the light so he could see inside.

  “Maybe this was mine.” He placed the blade against some of his scars. “Why would Dad keep this rather than burn it with everything else?”

  “Ask him. Maybe he’ll be more willing to give you answers over the phone without worrying about showing you his memories.”

  He returned the knife to the sheath and tossed it into his duffel. They both drank in silence until the glasses were empty.

  “I hope I can sleep through the night,” said Hunter.

  “If you don’t, I’ll be close.”

  He smiled. “And I’m here for you.”

  She leaned toward him and gently kissed his lips. “I’d like something to think about as I try to fall asleep.”

  Hunter touched her lips with his fingers. “Your lips are so soft.” He kissed them slowly and gently, barely pressing.

  “Thank you.” Jazz stood and smiled down at him on the floor.

  “Good night, Jazz.” Hunter lay on his side facing Jazz as she turned off the lights and climbed into bed.

  “Good night, Hunter.”

  *****

  Sometime during the night, Hunter opened his eyes and saw his old bedroom in his parents’ house. He heard a noise coming from the hallway and sat up. He saw a twin bed on the other side of his room—empty. Where was Frankie? When did he sneak out of the room this time? The clock showed two o’clock in the morning.

  Rising to his feet, he stretched, then heard a moaning. Mom?

  He opened the door and stuck his head into the hallway. More moaning. What was his mother doing?

  He stood outside her door and listened. He heard the bed shaking, his mother grunting, then his brother yelling, “Mom! What are you doing?”

  She kept grunting.

  “Mom! Stop it!”

  Hunter opened the door and turned on the light. Frankie stood next to the bed, shielding his eyes.

  Hunter saw his mother’s body jerking under the covers, her jaw clinched. Her eyes flashed open.

  “Frankie. What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “You woke me up,” said Frankie. “You were having a nightmare or something.”

  She sat up and looked at Hunter, her eyes wide with shock.

  “Frankie,” said Hunter. “Go back to your own bed.”

  His brother stared at his mother, tightening his eyes like he was having trouble seeing her. “Mom?”

  “It’s OK, Frankie. Go back to your room. I’m sorry I woke you up.”

  Frankie walked out of the room, and Hunter closed the door.

  Hunter tried to control his anger. “Tell me you were dreaming and didn’t know what you were doing.”

  Savannah smiled. “I was dreaming and didn’t know what I was doing. Which is the truth, Hunter. You know what else is the truth? I was dreaming about you.” She licked her lips and smiled. “Want to know what we were doing?”

  “You’re drunk.”

  “Yes, I am. Or was.” She flung back the covers. Hunter turned away, not knowing what she would be wearing. “I’m dressed, Baby. God, can any man in this house want to look at me?”

  Rising out of the bed, she walked to her dresser. Hunter stole a glance to make sure she wore clothes. Seeing her panties and lace camisole top, he watched her grab the vodka bottle. She faced him, leaning against the dresser and took a swig from the bottle.

  “Want some?” She offered him the bottle. He shook his head. “Do I disgust you?”

  “A little.”

  “Only a little?” She walked toward him slowly. “I disgust myself more than that.”

  Hunter tried to keep his eyes on her face, but they kept drifting downward.

  “Sometimes I think I should get in the car and drive into a tree.” She stood so very close to him. He could smell her and feel the warmth radiating off her skin. “You think I’m that disgusting?”

  “Not disgusting.” Would she really kill herself? “I don’t want you to die.”

  “Good. What do you want me to do, Baby?”

  Hunter could not stop staring at her breasts through the lace. He was breathing so rapidly he felt dizzy. “I don’t know.”

  She moved closer and gently hugged him to her, purring into his ear. “Would you want me to stop doing this?” She slowly rubbed his back. “I could stop touching you, Baby. Is that what you want?”

  Warmth flooded his body, sending jolts to his fingers and toes. “No.”

  She backed up a little. “I could make sure you never see me dressed like this.”

  Again, he could not keep his eyes on her face. He could feel his penis pushing against his underwear.

  Her eyes flashed and a sly smile crept onto her lips. “Your eyes don’t lie, Baby. You do like looking at me.” She put her fingers under the edge of her camisole. “Tell me when to stop.”

  She slowly pulled it up.

  Hunter’s heart pounded. He whimpered as he tried to turn his head.

  “You haven’t said stop, Baby.” She continued to lift her shirt until the bottoms of her breasts were exposed.

  He groaned. “S . . . stop.”

  “You sure?”

  He could not move his eyes to her face.

  “No.”

  “You want me to pull it down?”

  He could not make his voice say, “Yes.”

  “Or off?” She slowly, teasingly, pulled her camisole completely off.

  She pulled his face into her breasts. “I could make you so happy, Baby, just like you were in my dream. You want to be happy?” She pulled his pelvis against her and slipped both hands down his back inside his underwear.

  “Yes.”

  “Like you were in my dream?
”

  “How?”

  She sighed deeply and groaned. “Let me show you.” She flipped the light switch and pulled him into the darkness.

  Hunter groaned and squirmed on the blankets until the sound forced his eyes open. He was on his side in Jazz’s room, naked, holding his erection. He felt a sudden coldness that struck at his core.

  A small light clicked on behind him. “Hunter? What’s wrong?”

  He heard Jazz get out of her bed and move onto his blankets. His throat felt thick, and he could barely breathe. She touched his shoulder.

  He flinched. Jazz pulled her hand away.

  “Where are your clothes?”

  “On the floor in my mother’s bedroom,” he spit out with disgust.

  Jazz covered him with a blanket. “It’s OK, Hunter. You were the victim. You were thirteen. What choice did you have?”

  “I could have said ‘No.’ I could have walked out of her room, but I didn’t. I couldn’t keep from looking at her.”

  “And she knew that. She manipulated you, Hunter. She seduced you. I know how it feels.”

  He turned over and studied her face. “With Micah?”

  She flinched. “Yes, and the guilt never goes away unless someone helps you forget. Like your father did. Have you remembered having sex with her yet?”

  “No.”

  “When that happens, you’ll wish you never wanted to remember.”

  He pulled a pillow to his chest. “I need to know what happened to her. Why she died.”

  “I’ll be there to help you when you learn the truth. I’m going back to my bed. I’ll lie down facing the wall. You put on your clothes and get in bed with me.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “If you don’t, I’m going to stay here next to you all night, and I don’t like sleeping on the floor.”

  She got up and slipped into her bed. Hunter put on his clothes, turned off her lamp, and climbed in next to her. He put his arm around her stomach. She grabbed his hand and pressed it to her.

  “Despite everything?” he asked.

  “Despite everything and more, Hunter. Good night.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The next morning, Hunter awoke and could not feel Jazz. He sat up, trying to breathe, his head pounding. Then he heard her singing from the kitchen, or maybe the bathroom.

  He sighed deeply. After the visions of his mother, he’d slept soundly for the rest of the night.

  Jazz entered the room. “Did you miss me?”

  “Actually, I did.”

  “Good. I had to pry your arm off me, you were clutching so hard.”

  “Why’d you get up?”

  “I had to call Patty and tell her I was sick, that I got whatever you had. I told her I puked my guts out all night. Not sure she believed me, ‘cause she laughed a little, but so what? I’m hoping you can steal some of my memories today.”

  “I’ll try. How did you sleep?”

  “Like a baby.” She kissed his forehead. “I woke up in the same position as I went to sleep in. I don’t think either one of us moved. How about you?”

  “It was perfect. I had no more visions.”

  “I think we should try it again tonight, if that’s OK with you.”

  He watched her lips stretch across her face in a smile and forgot to breathe. “I’d like that.”

  “Cool. C’mon. Breakfast is ready.” She pulled his hand and led him out of the room into the kitchen.

  Jazz squirted syrup onto her cheesy eggs as Hunter watched with a grimace.

  “Yuck,” he said as he shoved a bite of sausage and waffles into his mouth.

  “You have eggs on your plate which is covered in syrup. Every bite of eggs you take has syrup on it.” She sucked a big bite of eggs off her fork.

  “But that’s by accident. I don’t pour syrup onto my eggs. You always eat them like that?”

  “Always. Try a bite.” She held out her fork full of syrupy eggs.

  “I’ll try them for you.” He opened his mouth and took the bite. What decadence! The thick syrup covered his tongue in creamy sweetness as his teeth pushed through the soft clumps of eggs.

  Jazz raised her brows. “Yes?”

  “Mmmm! That’s good.” He poured syrup onto his eggs then devoured them all while Jazz laughed. “Do you have any more eggs?”

  “No. Sorry.”

  He lifted the syrup bottle and opened his mouth to receive the stream of liquid sugar he squeezed out.

  Jazz laughed and covered her mouth.

  “The syrup’s the best part. Why use eggs and waffles as an excuse to taste it?” He held the bottle above her mouth.

  She opened her lips and pushed out her tongue. Hunter squeezed the bottle.

  “Yummm!” Jazz licked her lips. “Tomorrow, breakfast will be just a bottle of syrup.” She waggled her brows and wiggled in her chair. “We can find creative ways to indulge our sweet tooths. Wait. You have a drop just beneath your lips.”

  She leaned over the table and kissed him. “Think I got it.”

  “You sure?” Hunter poured a little syrup on his finger and rubbed it on his lips. “I think you missed a spot.”

  She leaned across the table again, grabbed his face, and pressed her lips to his. “Double yummm!” She sucked his bottom lip and flicked her tongue along his top. “Definitely the best way to eat syrup. Did I get it all this time?”

  “Yeah, but I see some on your chin.” He kissed her chin. “And a spot on your nose.” He kissed her nose. “And your lips.” They kissed.

  Finally they separated. Hunter smiled as he moved his fingertips around her face. “How many bottles of syrup do you have?”

  “Plenty. Think we’ll have breakfast in bed tomorrow.” She walked around the table then hugged him to her. “We can do this, Hunter. We can break from our past.”

  “I hope so, Jazz. God, you feel good.”

  Jazz felt warm and weightless, floating in happiness. But she knew these feelings wouldn’t last very long. She still had her memories. One nudged against her consciousness though she tried to ignore it.

  Micah had pressed himself against her many times. How could she feel Hunter without feeling Micah?

  They had work to do. She would have to relive her memories this morning so Hunter could take them away.

  She squeezed Hunter again then released him. “Help me clean up?”

  “Sure.”

  They gathered plates and utensils from the table and took them to the sink, now much cleaner than during Hunter’s first visit.

  Jazz scraped food into her trashcan. “I got an update on the shooting. The boy shot himself. Survivors said he had no expression on his face when he fired. He didn’t say anything or even look angry. He came out of the bathroom with a Glock and an extended clip and started firing randomly. When his first clip emptied, he pulled another from his pants.”

  “Jesus. Why?”

  “Lots of speculation, but apparently he’d been treated for PTSD during the past year.”

  “Caused by?” Hunter rinsed plates then put them in the dish rack.

  “Something about his grandfather and the boy’s dogs being killed by coyotes. But there were also rumors about him being beaten as a child.”

  “How does that lead to killing students?”

  “I don’t know. His parents are accusing the doctor of misleading them about their son’s mental progress. And get this. The doctor’s name is Ru.”

  “My doctor?”

  “Could be. I haven’t checked to see how many Dr. Ru’s there are in Washington. But I did find a Hongyan Ru in Bremerton who specializes in child psychiatry and trauma therapy.”

  “Has he said anything?”

  “So far no one’s been able to find him.” Jazz sprayed cleaner on her stovetop then wiped it down.

  “I wonder if I should call Dad. He has the doctor’s number.”

  “Could be a different d
octor named Ru. Could be he’s on vacation. Or decided to take one to avoid the press.”

  “Or he’s guilty of something and disappeared on purpose.” Hunter dropped utensils into the rack.

  “That seems the least likely. I’m sure they’ll find Facebook postings or something about the shooter’s social life to give them clues as to why he killed his classmates. And doctors don’t try to create mass murderers.”

  “Maybe this reset idea is bogus. I wonder if the shooter had an implant? Maybe we should contact the police in Bremerton.”

  “That wouldn’t be a good idea. We already have three people who know about your ability. Do you want to risk more finding out?”

  Hunter sighed. “No.” He hung the towel on the stove handle.

  “More coffee?”

  “Yeah. I’ll get my computer.” Hunter walked out of the kitchen toward Jazz’s bedroom.

  Jazz put a pod in her coffee machine and rinsed Hunter’s cup. She knew which memories she would start with, ones she did not want to relive. Micah was entirely to blame for what happened between them, but she wished she’d acted differently at the start. She was twelve, however, and had just discovered her sexuality.

  *****

  Right when Hunter told Jazz how good she felt to him, he remembered dancing with his mother when she pulled him closer. He had tried to think only of Jazz’s body and inhale her scent, but he could not shake the memory of his mother. When Jazz asked him to clean up, he felt relief.

  How horrible was that? Would he always be haunted by his past? Would he never be able to hold Jazz without thinking of his mother?

  He looked at the bed they had slept in and realized he hadn’t thought of his mother while sleeping with Jazz. The difference was his arousal. Maybe that was his future—friendly contact was peaceful, but sexual contact brought back nightmares.

  He wondered if Jazz had felt something similar. Possibly. But he could fix that by taking her bad memories. He was sure there were more about Micah.

  He picked up his computer and went back to the kitchen. Jazz had set his cup of coffee on the table and moved into the living room. He took a sip and walked to a chair, facing Jazz. Her legs were crossed, and her arms covered her chest.

  “You ready for this?” he asked as he sat down.