Because He's Perfect

by Anna Edwards

  I notice her eyes focusing on my hands.

  “You’re looking at my scars…” I accuse.

  She looks at me, sadness etched on her face, reflecting back at me from every direction. “Only because you are.”

  I hadn’t really realised, but I was focusing on each line, each mark. It was a habit.

  “They’re hideous.” I shove my hands inside my pockets.

  Olivia tugs on my sleeves, pulling my hands free. “Andrei, they’re barely noticeable.”

  “How can you say that? They’re disgusting.”

  “Where did you get them?” She places her hand over mine, her skin cooling. She’s like a balm for the fire in my soul. The anger, the fear, the anxiety is all kept at bay by her touch.

  I take a deep breath before admitting, “I was a disobedient child.”

  The therapists said that it wasn’t my fault, my mother was ill. But they weren’t there. They didn’t understand. I was a naughty boy, I never listened, and I deserved my punishment. My mother wasn’t a bad mother, she was just strict. Very strict. I cried when they took me away to live with my father at the age of twelve. If my mother was abusive, wouldn’t I have hated her? Abusive was thrown around like that explained everything, but it didn’t. The word was like a shoe that didn’t fit, rubbing, blistering my skin every time it was used. They didn’t understand. They didn’t listen. I deserved it.

  “Andrei…” There it is. The pity. More sadness.

  My current therapist, Dr. Goodridge, thinks that my childhood is at the root of my ‘imagined ugliness.’ He’s a fool. Are my scars imagined? No. They’re daily reminders of my inability to listen. My worthlessness visible for everyone to bear witness.

  “What did she do?”

  My chest feels tight as I think about it. As I think about her. My mother was a beautiful woman with dark hair and green eyes, and when she changed, my family was torn apart.

  “She would get angry at me, and take a fork from the drawer. Using the box of matches she kept on the shelf, she would light the hob, turning the fork over in the flames, letting the metal get hot before placing the prongs on my skin.”

  It would feel like my flesh was melting when she did it, but in the days after, as my skin healed, it mainly itched. A constant itch that I sometimes feel now, even though she’s long gone.

  “And did she do that often?”

  “As needed.” All this talk of my mother is sobering me up, and all my insecurities are creeping back in. I’m not used to being this exposed outside of my mirrored safe haven. These fun house plastic mirrors just aren’t the same.

  We say nothing, sitting in the dark in silence, watching our own warped reflections.

  Her soft voice whispers beside me, “Here, let me show you something…”

  She shrugs off her jacket, and as she pulls her dress up over her head, I spot it. Her imperfections. She pauses when she notices where my eyes are, and I can see her stop herself from covering up. On her stomach and thighs are small little raised white lines, rows of them, as if she was tallying off something. Scars. Rows and rows of tiny scars.

  “Self-inflicted,” she explains, but I’d already guessed that.

  I run my fingertips over them, mentally counting each and every one. There are thirteen by her left hip alone.

  “You aren’t the only one,” she whispers as her hand covers mine.

  “I’m a monster,” I croak.

  She gives me a secret smile that’s edged with sadness. “Am I?”

  I pause. We are both damaged. Defective. But she is different, she isn’t ugly on the inside. “No, you’re perfect…”

  “But I’m the same as you, Andrei.” She moves my hand over her skin again, across her stomach, over her hip, down to her thighs.

  “No.” She’s not the same as me. She didn’t deserve these marks.

  She slides her hands up my arms and down my back, fingers gently exploring my own sins. My secrets exposed like braille as she reads my very soul.

  She cups my face gently. “Let’s be broken, monstrous things together.”

  THE END

  About Alice La Roux

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  Dedication

  Autism has a million different faces. I love the one I look into every day. Lion-man keep being you. Mummy x

  For Heather Grey, who saved our sanity more times than I care to count. Thank you x

  Chapter One

  Holy. Shit.

  I watched with keen interest as the kid upended his rainbow coloured case with a clatter. Pencils spilled out over the little wooden desk where he sat in the kiddie’s corner, then he lined up every single one in front of him.

  Colour coded. In one long line.

  I shit you not. Reds, blues, greens, yellows… a myriad of colours in a uniformed row across the table before him.

  His dad, because they were related - it was in the eyes - smiled at the young boy and encouraged him to place the last two pencils on the end of the row. Grey and black.

  He didn’t look up as his father spoke quietly, then tapped his fingers upon his small hand when he’d finished. Glancing around the hushed library, I glared at the woman glaring at the man.

  Yes, this was a library, and the common rule was quiet, if you lived in the stone age. But come on, he was a kid, surely not every single thing caused her an annoyance. He didn’t know any better; she did. It wasn’t as if he was running riot either. Her pursed lips turned down in displeasure, made her ugly, and I glowered her way until she caught my stare and looked back down at whatever tripe she was reading.

  Bitch.

  The low murmur of the man’s voice grabbed my attention again, and I swung my gaze back around to where he was sitting with his boy. Straining to listen, I smiled when I heard him counting, then expelled a breath when he reached number fifty. He had fifty brightly coloured pencils in front of him. The kid was clever, his counting methodical, even I knew for a kid of his age, getting to fifty was quite an achievement.

  Dad grinned at him and tapped on his hand again, the gesture meaning something between the two. I found the move tender, so tender I almost ached inside. I couldn’t ever remember my father looking at me with such pride - and for simply counting pencils.

  Pulling my attention from the sweet father-son moment, I continued on with cataloguing the returned books. A monotonous job but somebody had to do it and that someone was me, what with being in charge and all.

  The serenity of the building was only interrupted by the tapping of a pencil now and again as the boy picked up colours and drew on the paper his father had placed in front of him. He was hunched over a mammoth book, worrying his lip occasionally.

  I’d noticed both of them the second they’d entered my domain and watched with interest as they’d disappeared down an aisle, then wandered over to the kid’s corner. The man wasn’t familiar. I’d never seen him in the library before, nor around the small town, and I wondered if they’d come specifically to this library or if he was a newcomer. Alcott was a small town, and if someone new had arrived, I’d have heard about it by now. My library tech was a fierce gossip, you couldn’t cough without her knowing about it.

  The man and his son were fascinating. I didn’t know why, but I couldn’t stop myself from looking in their direction every few minutes. Both held my attention, distracting me, a sure-fire way to get no work done. I sighed to myself and made a mental note to stop bloody gawping. Easier said than done because the boy’s dad was stunning. Just my cup of tea; someone I’d make a beeline for if I saw him out in a club. I’d try real hard to get all up in his business for sure. He was
older than me, maybe by a few years, not entirely difficult; I was still a young whipper-snapper at the tender age of twenty-three.

  When he wasn’t giving the boy his attention, a frown would settle on his forehead as he read whatever was laid out before him. As if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, every now and again he would pinch at the bridge of his nose. I wondered what was so heavy for him to bear, what caused the stress to show so evidently on his face.

  The thud of a thick book snapped me from my maudlin thoughts, and I cringed when I looked up.

  “Mrs Swift. You find what you were looking for today?” I pasted on a smile and moved in front of her, the counter a suitable barrier between us because I never, ever wanted to be too close to a woman like her.

  “Yes. Thank you,” she answered primly with a tone of disgust I didn’t miss.

  “Let me check that out for you then. Do you have your card?”

  She huffed and dug about in the enormous bag she carried around with her, probably hiding a cauldron in there, such was the witch she was. “I do.”

  She slapped the card on top of the book, slow to move her hand when I reached forward. “I don’t appreciate the noise. The boy should be in school.”

  Oh, here we go… “There was no noise, Mrs Swift. I can assure you, I don’t tolerate it.”

  Side glancing the man and boy, she leaned across the counter. “Don’t make me complain to Henry.”

  I fought hard not to roll my eyes. Guess whose husband managed the library? That’s right, Henry Swift was my boss, and darned sure he liked me far better than he did his own wife. She detested the fact he’d employed a gay boy - her words - and her aim was to make my life a misery. On every attempt she failed, it was such a shame she refused to understand she wasn’t important enough to cause me distress. Thank God her husband was made of better stuff, my sexuality not an issue for him. How he put up with being married to Eliza Swift puzzled me, they were opposites in every way. I happened to like Henry Swift far more than his wife.

  I scanned her library card once she moved her hand then continued doing the same with the book. Even her literature was ridiculous, I struggled to stifle a laugh. I mean, who the hell read books about defending themselves from alien abductions? And why the hell was this on my shelves?

  I didn’t bat an eyelid as I handed her both the book and card. “Will that be all today?”

  “Yes.”

  Her parting was sweet, I could breathe easier without her poisonous perfume tainting the air. When I looked across the room to check on the father and son duo, my heart gave a flutter of the most exceptional kind as chocolate brown eyes stared right at me, a smirk tugging at the corners of the man’s mouth. Shit, he was delicious.

  He’d witnessed Mrs Swift’s wonderfully stimulating conversation, making me feel all of two feet tall. If I’d wanted to impress the stranger, I’d failed miserably. Who was I kidding? I never made an impression anyway. I’d always been the awkward, geeky kid with no spine to speak of. Why wouldn’t he find my dressing down amusing?

  As fucking gorgeous as the man was, I scorned him for a teeny tiny second.

  They were the only two left in the library, so the young boy’s noise level wasn’t an issue as he clapped loudly. His exuberance at whatever had tickled him was enchanting. When he stopped, I took the chance to be nosy.

  “Do you need help finding anything else, Mr…” I trailed off hoping he took the cue to fill me in on his name.

  He shook his head then squinted back down at the book he’d been so wrapped up in, his frown appearing again. “Is the legal section available to borrow?”

  Our legal section was tiny, so I asked, “You want the whole row?” I laughed and watched intently as he blushed. “Yes, you must be a registered member before I could let you sign anything out though.”

  “Oh, right. That’s no problem. I’ll need to update my details.” His hand tapped over the little boy’s again as he leaned in to speak. I didn’t hear what he said, but when the boy beamed, I guessed it was something good for him.

  The chair scraped loud over the old wooden floor as the man stood. He was tall, taller than me and even with a long-sleeved shirt on I could tell he looked after his body because the way he filled out his clothes, especially those jeans. Well… mine were filling out too.

  Colour me mortified in the most embarrassing ways. Inappropriate or what?

  “Can I do that now?” he asked, approaching the counter as I wiggled on the stool.

  “Are you a resident here? Have a valid card?”

  “Yes.” He turned to check on his son who was still colouring contentedly.

  “You’re local then?” Nosy bugger I was.

  “Yes. Been here a few weeks. Not had much chance to explore. Ollie -” He stopped talking, his sentence petering off.

  “Ollie’s your son?”

  Clearing his throat, he smiled. “Yes.”

  “Cute kid.”

  “Thank you. He’s -” Another awkward unfinished sentence. I didn’t pry. As inquisitive as I was, I knew when it was none of my business. “Do you have opening and closing times?”

  “Same hours every day. Nine until six during the summer, ten until four when it’s dark out.”

  The nine-hour shifts didn’t bother me because the library was an old an airy building, no air conditioning required. It was cool in the winter, but an extra jumper was cosy enough.

  “Jack.” I held my hand out across the counter between us. His hold was tentative, but warm, and I prayed my hands weren’t clammy when they connected. No one needed a sweaty handshake that made you want to wipe your hand on your jeans.

  “Lewis. Ollie’s dad.” He hitched his head to the side, his eyes shining with pride. But hell, there was more to this man than a kid’s father and I wanted to find out what else he had going on.

  “How old?” I gave him my best smile I saved for when I was trying to pull. Because I was definitely trying to pull. Maybe not a gay man. At my work. I was full of such fantastic ideas.

  I wasn’t aware until his warmth retreated from my palm, we still held hands. My new friend - we would unquestionably be friends - rubbed at the back of his neck, a flush on his cheeks I was convinced I’d put there.

  “Umm… five. He’s just turned five.” He glanced back around to his child. “Are you able to get a book for me? I didn’t see it on the shelf.”

  “If another library has it, then sure. Two days would be all it takes.”

  “Perfect.” He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and slid it across, ducking his head as I lifted it to read the title.

  “Right.” I coughed into my hand. “I’ll get that for you. If I’m not here, my sister will be. Jill will make sure you get it when you come in.”

  A grin erupted on his face while I waited for the inevitable comment. “Jill? Really?”

  I laughed warmly. “Mum had a sense of humour.” Which was more than could be said for my waste of a space of a father. “My sister covers my lunch.”

  “So, umm…” Lewis was nervous although I didn’t know why. “Where’s good to eat that’s child friendly? I need a menu with chicken nuggets on it,” he grimaced.

  “Your favourite, or Ollie’s?”

  His smile, when full like it was now, was utterly spellbinding and boy was I smitten. His whole face changed, looking less weathered, less like he was carrying a suitcase full of stones on his back.

  “Ollie’s,” he chuckled. “My tastes are more refined.”

  I swore fire licked up my spine right then, positive I hadn’t imagined the subtle eye fuck Lewis had glanced over me from the other side of the counter.

  Shit. Was my gaydar wonky? Or was I seeing what I wanted to see? Tugging at the neck of my shirt, I pointed to where he’d been sitting. “You want me to hold the book for you?”

  “You’d do that? I’d very much appreciate it.”

  “No problem. Drop it up here.” I enthusiastically patted the counter in fr
ont of me. “When you leave.”

  “Which would be now.” He raised his arm to check the time on a rather nice watch on his wrist. “Feeding time.”

  From the corner of my eye I noticed Ollie meticulously picking up his pencils one by one and placing them into his rainbow coloured pencil case. I guess Lewis was right; it was dinner time.

  “Try Mabel’s. She’s like the town’s Grandma. Has a great kid’s menu and shouldn’t be too busy. Right down the street.”

  “Thank you, Jack. I hope to see you again soon.”

  Oh, he did now? Well, maybe I’d eat lunch behind the counter for the foreseeable future so I didn’t miss his return, the view would be far more appealing if Lewis was around.ˆ

  Chapter Two

  Mabel’s looked to be the perfect eating spot. Jack had been right. Quiet, with the precise menu to salve Ollie’s chicken nugget desires. At least he ate the nasty breaded fuckers with vegetables, one thing I refused to give way on, tantrums be damned.

  An older woman approached our table with a cheery smile on her face. With her grandmotherly look, I took her to be Mabel.

  “Well now, who do we have here?”

  I smiled up at her, while she grinned down at Ollie. He was running his finger across the lines of text on the menu, unaware of her presence. His bright red ear defenders were great for cancelling out the noise of the world around him, something he needed to function. His sensory difficulties often over-rode everything else. Yes, Mabel’s was quiet, but I knew better than to insist he took them off, it wasn’t a necessary battle. If Mabel found it rude, she didn’t say.

  “Lewis. Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

  “Psshh… Less of the ma’am, please. You’ll make me feel old.”