Scratch

by Rhonda Helms

  “If you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

  I nodded.

  “Casey? Does it . . .” She paused, seemed to search for the right words. “Does it have to do with your parents? You never talk about them, and I’m guessing . . . they died or something? Were you guys in an accident, and that’s why you have scars?”

  My chest squeezed tight, and my head got a little dizzy. I tossed the pillow aside and stood, drew in slow breaths through my nose and exhaled through my mouth. Megan jumped up and rubbed a few soothing circles on my back. Part of me wanted to shove her away—her pushing was why I was having the panic attack right now. But another strange part was craving her closeness, wanting to take comfort in the gesture.

  When the symptoms finally eased up I gave an embarrassed chuckle and backed away. “I’m fine, sorry,” I blustered.

  Her eyes were so despondent they almost made me want to cry. “I just wanted to help. To find out why you’re so . . .”

  “Messed up?” This time my laugh was mirthless, bitter.

  “Sad.”

  “Yes, my parents died,” I told her, and looked away. The ice cream was melting in the container. The couple on the TV were fighting, with the heroine starting to cry. But my chest grew numb, and the coldness spread to my limbs. I was almost happy for the pain to stop. At least I could function this way. Fake it until I felt better. “I’m going to my room now.”

  I could feel the weight of Megan’s gaze on my back as I put the ice cream back in the freezer, then closed the bedroom door quietly behind me. I stretched out on top of the bed, pressed my fingers to my scars. Dipped my pointer finger along the puckered ridge, the deep groove.

  I’d been a breath away from death. Stared it right in the face. Watched my family die right in front of me. I’d gone through that and yet somehow still woke up every day. Went to classes, went to work.

  But this conversation with Megan tonight, having my past hanging unspoken right there between us, put a guilty twinge in my heart. Yes, it was easier on me to pretend none of it had happened. Yet it had, and I was starting to forget the small things about them. Stuff it hurt to remember but would kill me to forget.

  My hand shook as I reached to my bedside drawer and pulled out a worn photograph. I stared at my mom’s and sister’s faces, glowing in the sunshine. The park’s lush, green grass and trees were behind them. Lila was perched on Mom’s back, soft tendrils of hair caressing the sides of her face and brushing the very top of Mom’s forehead. They looked so damn happy.

  I stroked my thumb across their brows, a bittersweet pain stabbing me in the chest, stealing my breath. Then I flipped the photo over and, grabbing a ballpoint pen, found a small, empty spot in the top corner.

  Lila loved peanut butter and bananas, I wrote in tiny block letters. Mom’s favorite snack was strawberries dipped in honey.

  I put my pen down and ran my gaze over the phrases, words, sentences jotted on the back of the image. Snippets of memories I couldn’t bear to forget, captured here, where they would be safe. There were a few other photos of them in the drawer that looked the same, packed with memories on the backs of them.

  I turned the image back over and brushed a small kiss on their faces. Hot tears slid down my cheeks. It was supposed to get easier with time, the pain. What a lie. What a horrible, horrible lie.

  My hands didn’t shake as badly when I put the photo back in its spot. Somehow, the ritual of writing those things down about them eased the ache just a touch. Eased the guilt—of living, of moving forward, of wanting so desperately to let go.

  I swiped my eyes and lay back down. Megan didn’t push me as hard as she could have. But I’d revealed more than I’d planned to. I knew all about her family and she knew nothing about mine, except small snippets about Grandma and Granddad. It was better that way for me.

  Something in my head told me, though, that now that I’d given her an inch, Megan would press me hard until she got more out of me. Until then, I’d do my best to cram these feelings back inside and try to pretend like I wasn’t slowly cracking apart.

  “I like your hair.”

  Daniel’s soft words, whispered as I walked past him on Friday to exit class, stopped me in my tracks. I gave a self-conscious laugh and patted the back. “Oh, it was really hot this morning so I just tossed it up.”

  Total lie. I’d spent a good twenty minutes twisting and pinning my locks so the updo looked casual, effortless. Because I’d wanted him to notice me. And he did. The intensity in his eye, the heated interest, stirred me to my toes.

  Something about this man kept calling me closer. Though I tried to keep a cool head, keep a cool heart, he warmed my blood. He’d walked with me after class on Monday and Wednesday, talking about nothing important—the weather, the school’s sports team, a random newspaper clipping he’d read. But it didn’t matter what the subject was. My ears had tuned in to the frequency of his dulcet tones, the soft sway of his words, the easy cadence of his consonants and vowels. He was a siren’s song, a fishing lure on a hook, and I took the bait every time.

  “Casey, I want to hang out with you again.” Daniel stood, stared down at me. The liquid desire in his gaze almost knocked me off my feet. “When are you free?”

  “Um, what did you want to do?” Wow, what a stupid question. Did it even matter? Whether we went to dinner, hung out at the coffee shop or studied, I knew I was going to enjoy the time with him. I had so far this week.

  Wednesday night we’d studied philosophy together. He’d sat so close to me at my kitchen table that I could almost share his breaths. His thigh had been pressed against mine, a constant overload of sensation.

  Needless to say, I’d been distracted. Trying my best to not think about those hands on my skin, cupping my ass to draw me against him in the water. Apparently he’d been thinking about it too, because his gaze had fixed on my lips and he’d brushed the softest of kisses on my mouth.

  Unfortunately, that had ended all too soon because Megan had come barging into the apartment. I’d jumped away, not wanting to be caught again making out like horny young teens, and resolved to turn my focus back on studying, where it belonged.

  It didn’t help things that I couldn’t get the physical memory of him pressed between my legs, hot and hard and hungry, off my mind. How I’d wanted him closer, had had a burst of desire to feel our naked bodies sliding together. It would be so easy, so dangerously easy, to lose myself in this.

  “Hm. Maybe we can work some more on our philosophy paper,” Daniel offered, stepping closer. “It is due next week, after all. And I still have a few more pages to write and revise before it’s ready to be turned in.”

  Students for the next class started pouring in, and I grabbed my bag. My heart hammered against my rib cage, nervous tingles skittering along my veins. In that moment I wanted to just be with him, even if only studying. “Want to come over later this afternoon for a couple of hours then?” The words sounded effortless, casual. I was proud of myself. “I have time before going to my grandparents’ tonight.”

  “Sounds great. Send me a text when you’re free.”

  I nodded. I was going to Grandma’s house for dinner, and then off to work afterward. But I couldn’t resist the opportunity to squeeze in time with him. He was like a bright flame, illuminating the edges of my dull world and setting me on fire with every hot look in his eyes.

  His lips parted in an easy smile, and he brushed a thumb along my cheek. The green in his eyes was almost swallowed whole by his pupils, and there was a promise of something in his gaze that kept me transfixed in place. “See you at two.”

  I watched him walk away, taking a moment to compose myself before exiting the room. I walked out into a warm, humid gust of air. It was going to storm later today; I could feel the crackle of tension in the air.

  The same crackle between me and Daniel.

  I was losing myself, my steady life, bit by bit. Instead of seeking the solace of privacy, I was starting to discover the hea
dy rush of Daniel’s company.

  It frightened the hell out of me.

  It also made me ache for more.

  Chapter 12

  Studying went well. Okay, there wasn’t much studying that happened. Daniel showed up just after two, and as soon as he stepped into the apartment, I lost all desire to crack open a book. Outside the window I could hear the ambient sounds of the storm; it was far too cozy being holed up in here with him.

  “Um, we can sit here,” I suggested, pointing at the table.

  We spread all our papers and books out and began to slip into that strange, comfortable silence. I tried valiantly to pretend for a good half hour that I was going to keep my attention on philosophy, but dead philosophers couldn’t explain to me why I was feeling this way. Why every time he was around me, I lost all the oxygen in my lungs and became filled up with something new, became buoyant and tingling and alive.

  He opened his mouth to ask me a question, then stopped. Instead, he just looked at me—in me. Some sort of emotion flickered across his face, but before I could decipher it, he slipped his fingers along the back of my neck and took my mouth in a kiss.

  This wasn’t the gentle brush he’d given me on Wednesday. This kiss filled my pores, slipped into my bloodstream like heroin. I was drugged, drinking his mouth, taking, wanting. My body came alive instantly as I tasted his maleness and detected a slight minty flavor.

  I moaned, and my core twinged. My breasts became heavy, full, nipples hardening and pressing against the thin fabric of my cotton bra. It took everything I had to not arch and slide my chest along his torso.

  “I can’t get enough of tasting you,” he murmured against my mouth. Our breaths panted, and his fingers tightened on my neck as he pressed his forehead to mine.

  He wanted more and I wanted more, but I was too damn scared to run past first base. With a sigh I pulled back.

  “What are you doing tomorrow, around lunchtime?” he suddenly asked. His lips were slightly plump from our kissing, a little moist, and it made me want to take his mouth again.

  I steadied myself. “Um, nothing.”

  “Want to come to lunch with me?”

  I nodded.

  He smiled. “Good. Because I want you to meet my family.”

  I couldn’t believe I’d agreed to it. But after saying I would go, he wouldn’t take no for an answer or let me back out. I’d finally caved when he’d promised we wouldn’t be at his family’s house for long. Just lunch.

  I stared into my closet. What the hell did one wear to go meet the family of my . . . what? What exactly were Daniel and I?

  It didn’t matter, I told myself. I was good with whatever we had right now, even without a label. Because being his actual girlfriend would bring a pressure I wasn’t ready for. I would have to tell him things I didn’t want to think about.

  I decided on a nice pale pink shirt and jeans with flats. Simple. After all, I didn’t actually need to impress them—we were going to have lunch there, since he’d promised his mom, then go to the park. It was more of a quick interlude with his family, really, not even an official “thing.”

  And if I kept telling myself that over and over for the next half hour, maybe I’d even start to believe it. I scoffed at myself, slipped into my clothes, grabbed my purse and ran out the door before I could fuss over my appearance anymore. Daniel was going to meet me in the parking lot in a few minutes.

  Was it possible for a heart to explode from extreme nervousness? I waited underneath a nearby tree. The air was thick and hot, and sweat beaded on my brow, my upper lip. Good thing I hadn’t fussed with makeup beyond lip gloss and a coat of mascara, because it would be sliding down my face right now.

  My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out.

  Have fun today, and just be yourself. They will love you, promise. And eat all the food on your plate—you’re too skinny. Oh, and PS—I expect to meet this boy at Friday dinner VERY SOON. XO Grandma

  Tension seeped out of my tight lungs, and I laughed. Leave it to Grandma to know when I needed to hear from her.

  I’ll eat two full plates if you stop signing your texts, I wrote back, still chuckling. I figured she did it to tease me now.

  Daniel’s dark red car pulled up to the curb, and he turned off the engine and opened the driver’s door. He stepped out, his hair mildly tamed down, wearing a bright white shirt and jeans. My pulse picked up.

  The car made a strange clacking sound under the hood.

  He laughed. “Yeah, I know she sounds bad,” he said, waving to his car, “but she still works.”

  “She?” I raised an eyebrow.

  “Well, her name is Go-Cart, but she gets mad when I call her that.” He gave an adorable shrug and patted the top of her hood. “My parents gave her to me when I turned sixteen. She’s been chugging along nicely for me ever since.”

  “My grandparents helped me get my car,” I said as I walked over to the passenger side.

  He cranked the car back on; sweet air-conditioning hit me, and my skin got goose bumps instantly. “Tell me about them. Are you guys close?”

  “Very.” I forced my body language to stay neutral as we drove down the road. This was veering toward dangerous territory. “They’ve helped put me through college,” I say as a way to deflect to a more current history. “Granddad loves it when I tell him historical nuggets I learn in class. He’s a history buff, especially with World War Two.”

  “I took a Euro history class last semester,” he says. “It was engaging and frightening at the same time.”

  “That’s basically how he feels about it too. He collects a lot of memorabilia, feels it’s important for us to remember the past so we don’t repeat it.” Whereas I preferred to bury the past and not let it drag me back down into the mire.

  Daniel drove us on the highway, humming along to some old song on the radio. “So, I want to warn you. My family is . . . rather rambunctious. I have all sisters, as I think I mentioned before, and they are just as vocal as me.” He glanced over and grinned.

  My palms began to sweat, despite the blast of air on my face. I rubbed them on my thighs. How pushy would they be? Were they going to insist I talk about my family, about my life?

  My lips started to tingle. I closed my eyes and drew in a few short breaths through my nose, exhaled out my mouth. This was not the time to panic. I would just deflect. We would only be there for an hour, max. I could make it through.

  A firm hand wrapped around mine, and I startled, my eyes flying open. Daniel gave me a sideways glance, his other hand parked on the steering wheel. “Hey, I promise they won’t bite. They’re nice people.” He paused. “I know there are things you don’t want to talk about. I can see it in your eyes. But . . . you have to let people in sometime, Casey. Shutting yourself off hurts you more than you realize.”

  I knew he meant well. I could see it in the kindness of his gaze. But I resented being preached at. Like I didn’t know that stuff already. Like Grandma and Granddad and the therapist hadn’t already told me the same damn things. “I’m fine,” I said.

  His hand stilled. “I know you are. I’m just trying to help.”

  I didn’t want help. I wanted to just live and breathe in the now. But I also didn’t want to get into a fight with him before we spent the day together. “Thanks.” I hoped it sounded genuine, even if I wasn’t feeling it.

  I thought I heard him give a soft sigh, but with the air blasting as hard as it was, I could have been mistaken. Nevertheless, he kept his hand on mine and resumed the thumb-stroking. I wanted to dig my phone out of my pocket and listen to music, one of my favorite ways to de-stress, but that would be rude. So I sang songs in my head until the tension leaked from my muscles.

  The drive was over far too fast. We pulled up in front of a two-story colonial home on the corner of a nice neighborhood street. The front door was open, and a big, hairy dog sat behind the screen door, staring at our car.

  When Daniel got out, the dog stood, tail thumpin
g, tongue lolling.

  He opened my car door and led me up the sidewalk. “That’s Frankenstein,” he said. “We don’t know what kind of dog he is, but he slobbers a lot. Just to warn you.”

  “Who named him?” I asked.

  We stepped up to the stoop. Frankenstein’s whole body was wagging in excitement at this point.

  “My oldest sister. She went through a . . . weird phase when we got the dog. Was mildly obsessed with old horror movies.” He chuckled and opened the screen door, and the dog jumped up and planted two huge paws on Daniel’s chest, giving a little howl. “Hey, buddy,” he crooned, rubbing his hands over the dog’s face. Sure enough, Frankenstein’s tongue slathered his chin. “Come on,” he said with a laugh, pushing the dog back down.

  Frankenstein stopped and stared at me for a long moment, and I could swear his eyebrow was raised. His fur was mostly gray around his face; he was older than I’d expected. Must have been in their family for a while.

  I reached out a hand under his nose so he could smell me. We used to have a dog a long, long time ago, back when I was in kindergarten, and though I hadn’t been around many pets since then, I still remembered how fun they could be.

  He sniffed my hand, then thrust his head under my fingers. I skritched his fur, and his tail began thumping again. I even saw his back leg begin to twitch as I hit just the right spot above his ear.

  “He likes you,” Daniel said. I could hear the smile in his tone.

  “Daniel? Is that you?” a light but masculine voice called from a room out of view.

  That started my heart racing again. But I guess I couldn’t just stand here in the doorway for an hour, playing with the dog.

  Daniel took my hand and led me through a tiled hallway. My heart galloped as hard as the dog’s feet behind us. The hallway opened into the kitchen, with a large, open-floor family room extending beyond. There was a fireplace on the right, and a tall, lean man perched on the edge of a fluffy, cream-colored L-shaped couch.