by Leddy Harper
“You don’t like them?” The disappointment in her tone was palpable and struck me deeper than a filet knife could.
“It’s not that.” I released her hands and walked farther into my living room, keeping my back to her because I knew I’d lose my composure if I had to see her eyes. “I like things simple for a few reasons. One of which is because I don’t want to live in a house resembling the one I grew up in. I don’t care about living lavishly or having a room full of furniture straight out of those expensive decorating magazines. It’s not who I am. And it’s not how I want to live. I also don’t want you spending your money on things I’ll never use.”
Her hand came to rest on my shoulder blade. It sent her warmth straight through my back and into my chest, acting as a pacemaker to my heart. But she didn’t move to stand in front of me; instead, she chose to keep herself out of sight.
“I didn’t find these things in a magazine. There’s an elderly couple in the area who makes these. The woman weaves the rugs, and her husband carves wood—all by hand. They both served in Vietnam, and for the last twenty years, they’ve been creating these amazing tables and other woodcarvings, along with blankets and scarves. They sell them and then donate every penny they make to the local VA hospital.”
I slowly shifted on my feet until I had turned all the way around, no longer able to keep myself from seeing her. The pride in her tone was enough to entice, but it was the softness in her words that forced my attention to her.
Her gaze didn’t meet mine. It instead focused on the new additions to my living room. The way she tilted her head as she studied the rug and table with her lashes shielding her eyes from me, spoke volumes, yet all I could do was stare and wait for her to continue.
“I can’t even begin to imagine the things you see in your mind, or the haunting nightmares you experience on a daily basis. I only wanted to show you how, even with the ugliness you’ve witnessed and the hatred you’ve experienced, you’re still capable of creating something beautiful—like this couple has done.”
Reactive impulses overtook my thoughts, filling my head with so many things I wanted to do to her. I wanted to hold her, relieve the worry from her eyes, and calm the quivers racking her shoulders. I wanted to kiss her, prevent her from saying another heart-wrenching word that threatened to tear my soul apart. I wanted to pick her up, take her to my room, and not leave until we both grew too exhausted to do anything else.
But I didn’t do any of those things. Instead, I stood there and watched her, observing how her wary eyes refused to meet mine. Her fidgety fingers played with the hem of her shirt, and her feet wouldn’t stay still, shuffling against the carpet as she rigidly swayed from side to side.
And for the first time since coming home, I truly noticed her. I took her in—all of her. She’d changed out of her work clothes and stood in front of me in a T-shirt and cotton shorts. Her feet were bare except a pair of bright-white ankle socks. Instead of the curls she had draped next to her face in my office, she had her hair twisted in an unruly knot atop her head, and her face appeared to be free of makeup. Fucking stunning.
“I don’t deserve you.” It wasn’t meant for her to hear, simply a thought escaping me in the form of whispered words.
But she did hear it, and her line of sight drifted up my chest before settling on my face. Everything slowed down and became fuzzy—hazy. The soothing sounds of the piano faded into silence as her eyes held mine, captivating me…hypnotizing me. She stood maybe two feet away, but it seemed to take forever before her chest was against mine, her heart beating against mine, her breaths mixing with mine.
And then her soft, warm hands rested against my cheeks, making me aware of how clenched my jaw had become.
“You deserve so much…so damn much, but you refuse to allow it. You refuse to accept it, to see it.” The soft pads of her fingertips trailed down my jawline to my neck, where she began to unbutton my collared shirt. “Can you do something for me?”
My mouth grew dry. It made swallowing difficult and uncomfortable. Her hands on me, working at the buttons in order to remove it, clouded my thought process and left me with only the ability to nod—not really sure what I’d even agreed to.
“Show me your scars…and I’ll show you mine.”
The muscle in my forehead grew taut, and even without a mirror, I knew how harsh my expression must’ve been to her. It became evident in every inch of my face, from my pursed lips to my tense jaw, even the space between my eyebrows ached with tension.
“Just because I don’t wear them on my skin doesn’t mean I don’t have them, Nolan. Everyone has scars. Everyone has dealt with some varying degree of pain. We’ve all been hurt one way or another.”
“And what will seeing your scars do for me?”
She shrugged with her fingers holding onto my shirt, unmoving, simply waiting. “Hopefully make you understand you’re not alone. Maybe help connect us in some way. Bring us closer, and allow us to open up to each other in a way we’ve never been able to with anyone else.”
“How could we possibly understand each other’s pain?” My voice rumbled heavily as the words escaped me. The oxygen grew thick around us and made it difficult to hold onto my bearings.
Her gaze fell to her fingers once they began to resume their task—pulling my shirt from the waistband of my pants before unhooking the very last button. Then she ran her palms up my chest. Heat spread over me like the sun peeking through the clouds. It left me lost in her touch. Her hands moved to my shoulders, beneath my work shirt, and then torturously down my arms. She pushed my shirt off my body with an unhurried ease.
My white undershirt remained, covering my chest and hiding the unsavory reminders of war. She stood in front of me, staring at my torso like it was a blank canvas, waiting for it to reveal something to her. Gentle fingers caressed the fabric at my sides, leaving behind trails of deep shivers like paths of singed nerves that sparked and sizzled long after her touch had moved on.
Her scrutiny proved to be too much to handle, and without thought, I roughly grabbed the hem of her T-shirt, yanked it over her head, and left her in nothing but a plain black bra. Wide, cerulean eyes met mine, and a soft, airy gasp resounded around us. Her jaw slackened, mouth hanging open in surprise, and I had to stop myself from closing it—with mine.
“What could possibly come from sharing our pain? What is it you think you can offer me that would heal me? How could your scars, your pain, the battles you’ve fought even come close to mending mine?”
She took a step back and crossed her arms to cover her chest. Her eyes fell to my feet, glistening tears trickling like a river through a broken dam. I moved one foot, intending to close the gap between us and offer her comfort, but she held up a hand and turned to the side.
Pins and needles covered every inch of me, sending sharp and unwanted pain through my veins and into the center of my heart. My arms were heavy with the absence of her, making me fully aware of the space between us—the distance I put there with my harsh words and unrestrained defense.
“Novah…” I whispered, hoping she’d react better to my soft tone and desperate plea. But I should’ve known better than to assume one word could ease the pain caused by my curt and selfish monologue.
She vigorously shook her head and sniffled before wiping her face and retrieving her shirt. With it balled tightly in her fist, she used it to cover herself, and briskly exited the room.
My feet took action long before my mind had a chance to comprehend her departure. I caught up with her in three strides, but with me at her back, she picked up her pace until she found herself cornered, no way to escape. Two wrought-iron stools boxed her in on either side. The granite slab on the kitchen breakfast bar pressed against her front, hitting her just below her ribcage. I stood behind her, leaving enough room between us to offer her some space, but not enough to allow her past me.
I wanted to touch her, run my fingers over her creamy skin. I ached for her warmth. But more than th
at, I needed to comfort her. Her shoulders and lower body quivered with her tears and each useless sniffle. She arched forward, leaning farther into the bar as she frantically tried to right the shirt she still held in her hands. But her attempt was futile. She couldn’t seem to stop shaking enough to figure it out.
I couldn’t take it anymore and pressed my chest against her trembling back. I felt her calm slightly the moment my arms wrapped around her bare waist.
“Novah…” I breathed her name against the soft skin of her neck and her body relaxed a little more. Not much, but some. Enough for me to understand the effect I had on her.
She bucked against me, then pushed backward against my chest until she had enough room to turn around. The whites of her eyes were streaked red, making the blue overpower the green until her eyes shone like a cloudless sky on a summer afternoon. Her eyelashes were wet, turning them into thick black barriers to hide her pain every time she closed her eyes.
“I wasn’t trying to compare your scars with mine.” The way she spoke didn’t sound angry, but seemed to be out of deep rejection coating each word in thick emotion. “Who has the most pain inside isn’t a game I want to play. It was never meant as a competition. And I’m not trying to discredit what you’ve been through by offering to share parts of me.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond. Deep down, I knew it wasn’t what she’d tried to do. And, honestly, it’s not even how I’d taken it. But for whatever reason, I’d grown defensive over her request to reveal my haunting demons. Yet I couldn’t form the words I needed in order to explain it to her.
“I’m sorry…” My voice was hoarse, heavy with uncertainty and unbridled remorse. “I’m not very good at this. I don’t know how to share myself with anyone. I’ve never done it before.”
She swallowed harshly and nodded. “That’s why I wanted to share myself with you. It’s why I thought if we both opened up, it might be easier.”
I grabbed her face and pulled her closer to me until her flesh warmed my entire torso through my thin shirt. “This came out wrong the last time. So if it comes out wrong again, please don’t push me away.”
Her head barely moved in my grasp, but it was enough for a nod, a silent promise. It was enough to offer me the comfort I needed to go on, without the worry of her walking away again.
My throat was raw, achy, like I’d swallowed shards of glass, my words scratching to get out. “I want to hear about your life…about you. I want to know all there is to know about who you are and what you’ve been through—what made you the person who’s standing in front of me right now. But I don’t understand why you’d think we could bond over our suffering.”
Her hand came to rest over my left pec and then drifted to the side, just beneath my armpit. With the numb scar tissue, I could barely feel anything other than the pressure of her touch.
She focused her attention on the place beneath her palm and licked her lips. “Because I think our scars were born from the same tragedy. They might not look alike, or feel the same, but I believe our pain originated from the same source.”
“What do you mean?”
Her gaze met mine, and then everything else faded away. The only sounds were of her heavy breathing. The only thing I could see was the raw agony in her eyes. And I couldn’t sense anything other than her presence in front of me, surrounding me, filling me until every muscle in my body coiled tight with the anticipation of her words.
“We shared something together all those years ago. Something I don’t think either of us were expecting. I was nothing but a girl who went to school, kept to herself, content in her own little bubble. You were just a boy who existed in everyone else’s world, trying to find his own place to fit in. And for whatever reason, sitting in your parents’ back yard, we connected on some level most people never experience until they’re much older. I let you into my bubble, and in there, you found somewhere to belong.”
My bottom lip trembled as her words took me back to a time that had, since then, only lived in my dreams. A time I’d long ago believed I’d dreamt up, because there was no way the universe would’ve offered it to me, only to rip it away from me before I could have ever called it mine. I’d held onto the memory for so long, but not once did I ever believe I’d get another chance. And standing here, listening to Novah’s version of a lost boy and lonely girl, I finally realized the moment I’d carried with me for all those years had lived inside her, too.
“I gave you a part of me that day, more than you realize. Yes, I gave you a taste of me, more than anyone else had ever gotten before then, but what I really gave you went beyond my body. I gave you my dreams, and you’ve owned them ever since. And I must’ve unknowingly given you my heart as well. I just don’t think I realized it until you showed back up in my life. I’ve dated—some serious, although most were casual. But not once, in all this time, in all the men I’ve seen, talked to, dated, been with…not once has my chest felt this full. Like it’s sat empty for years, waiting for you to fill it.”
The backs of my eyes stung with the threat of tears, but not caused by sadness. They were brought on by the deep, emotional sentiment of her words, her confession. I knew without a doubt she believed everything she said. Every word. Every memory.
“I’m not entirely sure how you feel.” She began to fidget, her fingers twisting in my cotton shirt. “I mean, you’ve said some stuff, and I think I understand. At the very least, I know I’ve been in your thoughts enough to lead you back to me.”
The need to end her nervous rambling suffocated me, but burning curiosity hindered me from acting on it. “You said our pain came from the same tragedy…what did you mean by that?” I regretted my question the moment it slipped past my lips. Using a spoon to rip my heart out would’ve been less painful than watching her reaction.
She immediately cowered, probably taking my curiosity as rejection, but at least she didn’t pull away from me. With her head tilted down, blocking even more of herself from me, she said, “I never recovered from what happened between us. The kids at school were mean—and not in the little kid way. I was literally traumatized every day. I thought it’d get better after Christmas break, but it didn’t. It was brutal. I thought maybe my sophomore year would be easier after your friends had graduated. But I guess I didn’t realize how many people adored you in all grade levels. Each year got somewhat easier as new kids began to fill the hallways, but it never stopped the ones who knew about it from tormenting me.”
The agony filling her voice, her every word, sank into my chest and twisted my heart into an unruly knot. It reached deep inside and fisted my lungs, squeezing out every ounce of oxygen in me.
“Boys would ask me out, and the few times I said yes they left me crying in my room, never wanting to show my face again. One guy brought a camera, saying he wanted to take pictures of me while I sucked his dick. Another guy took me out to eat, and then made disgusting comments the entire time about how I should lie naked on top of the table, because it wasn’t like everyone hadn’t already seen it.”
“Novah…that’s enough.”
“No.” She vehemently shook her head and locked her eyes on mine for the first time since opening up. “You wanted to know how this affected me, so I’m telling you. All of it.”
I slowly nodded for her to go on.
“It stopped after high school, but the scars never went away. Dating was never easy for me, and every guy I met, I’d lump him in the same category as the cowards from school. I lost my virginity when I was nineteen in the front seat of a sports car, because I grew tired of holding onto something I believed would never be valued by anyone but me. I started thinking I was crazy. Every kiss, every touch…I’d compare it to yours. Because even though our moment had been tainted, I still couldn’t fully convince myself it wasn’t real. It felt so real, and I think that’s why it hurt so much. I felt betrayed, and that betrayal stuck with me for fifteen years, turning into hatred, both with myself and with you. My hatred eventually left
me void. I lost the need to care about being respected by a man. Genuine guys didn’t exist to me. I couldn’t allow myself to believe their gentle touches, kind words, and meaningful gestures were sincere. They did nothing but leave me expecting the worst.”
I wiped a lone tear from her face, and then held my finger over her lips, hoping she’d end my torment. I couldn’t stand to hear another word, knowing I’d been the cause of the suffering she’d carried around with her.
She closed her eyes and pressed a kiss to my fingertip before pulling my hand away. “I didn’t tell you any of this to hurt you, or to cast the blame on you. I know now you were just as much a victim as I was. That one event burned us both. Scarred us both. However, it’s led us back to each other.”
I pressed my forehead to hers, wrapped my arms around her waist, and held her close to me. It’s what I should’ve done in the hallway while we waited outside the principal’s office. But I’d been too much of a coward.
Her breath fanned my face as she said, “Fifteen years ago, you showed me something beautiful, but it became ruined, tainted, turning our moment into a nightmare—for us both. We were too young to defend ourselves, which left our fate in the hands of others. But we’re not young anymore, and we are fully capable of determining our destinies. Now…it’s my turn to offer you the chance to experience something beautiful. This time, we only have ourselves to blame if it goes bad.”
Ten
Nolan’s lips attacked mine, ending what I had to say. The way he clung to me, his fingers painfully gripping my hips, his mouth consuming mine, left no doubt in me how he felt.
I twisted his shirt in my hands in an effort to pull him further into me, even though we couldn’t possibly get any closer. His lips left me lightheaded, stole the breath straight from my chest, and caused me to become unsteady on my own feet.
But then the buzzer on the oven sounded, dousing our heated exchange like ice water. He dropped his forehead to my shoulder and grunted, digging his fingertips into my hipbones with enough force to leave lasting marks on my skin.