Beautiful Scars: Breathless (The Beautiful Scars Duet #1)

1. Chapter One

Chapter One

Sunny

Two hundred and two steps.

That's how far I am from freedom. Or at least as close to it as I ever get—my spot under the old maple tree in the backyard.

Just keep moving. One foot in front of the other.

My body screams with each step, but I've gotten good at ignoring pain. Practice makes perfect, right?

When I finally ease myself down onto the grass, I close my eyes. The late afternoon sun paints the inside of my eyelids brilliant red, touched by the black shadows of leaves catching the wind. It's almost peaceful out here. Almost.

As soon as my head hits the grass, the tears start. They trail down my cheeks and pool in my ears before sliding out and soaking into the ground underneath me. I don't bother wiping them away. What's the point?

This soft patch of grass is as far from the house as I can manage or dare to go right now. I'm exhausted. Broken. Unfortunately, the thing I really want to get away from is myself–not exactly a distance problem.

A groan escapes from deep in my chest as my mind starts playing its favorite game of 'let's-see-how-much-more-she-can-take-today’. The movie projector in my head rewinds and whirs to life, replaying every single sickening moment of the last few hours on an endless loop. The shudder that rips through me lights up every bruised and aching part of my body, making me want to throw up.

Silently, I begin measuring and counting each breath.

One...

Steam curls around me as I rest my head against the shower wall. The hot water running down my back feels like heaven—a rare moment of peace with the house empty. Mom's at the club, Garrett's at his meeting. It feels good to be able to relax.

Exhale…

And, two...

My favorite purple towel is still warm from the steam when I wrap it around myself. The citrus lotion I bought with Mom's stolen change feels like a small, but delicious rebellion as I smooth it over my skin. Through the window, I can see that it promises to be a perfect afternoon. Perfect to sit under the tree and read a while—pretend for a few hours that it's normal for me and not a luxury.

Exhale…

And, three...

The front door slams open while I'm working on getting the comb through my damp curls. Something crashes downstairs followed by the distinct sound of glass shattering. My heart stutters, then races. It has to be Garrett. He's home early. Too early. My hands shake as I grab for my clothes, trying to move silently despite the panic rising in my throat. I manage to step into my underwear. 'It's okay, it's going to be okay,' I whisper, even though I know it's a lie. It's as far from okay as it can be and I know it.

Exhale…

And, four...

The bathroom door bursts open—and I realize too late I forgot to lock it. Stupid. Garrett fills the frame, swaying, his bloodshot eyes crawling over my skin. The stench of whiskey and cigarettes erase the sweet citrusy clean smells of lotion and soap.

"Special surprise for you, Princess." His fingers dig into my wrist. "Been avoiding me, haven't you?" One twist forces my arm up behind my back until something pops in my shoulder. My fingers go numb and the towel falls.

Exhale…

And, five...

He marches me down the stairs and into the kitchen. The cracked, dirty linoleum smacking into my knees when he forces me down. "Look at me, girl," he slurs, pressing his boot under my chin. Tears burn behind my eyes, but I blink them back and swallow them down. He doesn't get those. They're mine.

The belt whips free with a harsh hiss—leather against denim. He folds it in half, testing it with a loud snap that makes me flinch.

Exhale…

And, six...

Step. Snap! Step. Snap! Each moment stretches out—pulled tight like a piece of string ready to break. When he stops in front of me, sweat beads on his forehead. The first strike is brutal—catching me across the top of my bare thighs without warning. I crush my lip between my teeth to stay silent. Through the pain, I see him tapping the belt against his leg, his other hand moving across the bulge in the front of his jeans—

The sound of someone clearing their throat above me yanks me out of my head. My eyes fly open, heart slamming against my ribs. I shriek—a small, choked sound—and try to scramble backward but fail miserably. My muscles scream at the sudden movement.

A figure towers over me, blocking out the sun. Too tall. Too big. My vision swims as I blink against the blinding light, desperately trying to focus. As the shadows shift, details emerge. A guy, maybe my age or a little older. Long legs covered in dark denim. Shoulders broad enough to block out the sun.

I can't see his eyes at first, but the harsh, angular lines of his face send panic racing through me. He shifts his weight, and I start calculating how fast I can get to my feet if I need to.

When he shoves his hands in his pockets, I notice something odd. He looks almost, uncomfortable. Which makes zero sense given he's the one who invaded my space.

"Damn, you're a lot more," he pauses, like he's choosing his words carefully, "nervous, than I thought you'd be. I didn't mean to scare you." His scowl deepens, like I’ve somehow personally offended him.

"You know, you'd be so much prettier without all those tears."

The words hit me like a slap. The fear evaporates, distilling itself down into anger. I welcome the shift—angry is safer than scared. I stare up at him, mouth open, momentarily stunned by his audacity.

What the actual fuck?

“Umm, thanks? Yeah, it sucks. Who...?” I take a deep breath before continuing. This is ridiculous.

"You know what? Never mind. I don't even care who you are. Fuck off. Get the hell out of here and leave me alone."

"I just..." He looks down at me, his scowl deepening. For a moment, discomfort becomes unsure. But it only lasts for a moment. Before I can object he collapses onto the grass next to me with a frustrated sigh. My body tenses at the sudden movement, but I force myself to stay still, cautious. He stretches his long legs out alongside mine, brushing thick dark hair from his eyes. "I meant, I've seen you around and I think you're pretty. It's a shame to see you doing anything to ruin it."

"Ruin it," I mumble, tasting the bitterness of the words. Because obviously, that's my biggest problem right now—not being pretty enough for this random asshole.

I push myself up, trying to hide how much it hurts, and study him. Is this some kind of sick joke? I start gearing up for a fight—God knows I've had enough practice today—but then his eyes meet mine.

A slow, warm smile spreads across his face, and something in my chest gives just a tiny bit. A tiny bit of space that gives me some room to breathe, which in turn causes my anger to deflate a little, which somehow pisses me off even more.

The tears are drying on my cheeks as he cocks his head, studying me right back. His eyes are the most intense shade of emerald green I've ever seen, and they pin me in place. I try to speak, to tell him exactly where he can shove his opinions, but words fail me. For the first time in my life, I'm speechless. My mouth opens, closes, opens again–nothing comes out.

"You shouldn't do that either. That thing with your mouth. Makes you look like a fish." His smile fades. "Also, you know it's kind of rude to not at least try to smile when you meet someone for the first time."

Me. Rude. The guy who invaded my space, insulted me, and is now telling me to smile is calling me rude. Un-fucking-believable.

"I'm Levi. We just moved into the house behind yours." He holds out his hand like this is a social engagement or something and I'm not sitting here trying to keep myself from falling apart.

At least that explains how he knew I was out here. I can see the surprise flash across his face when I don't take his hand or introduce myself. He looks like the kind of guy who doesn’t get brushed off very often. My indifference and anger seem to throw him off balance, leave him uncertain. Good. Maybe he'll go away.

He pulls his hand back, letting it fall into his lap. "That's okay. You don't have to tell me your name. I'll find out what it is eventually." His voice comes out strong, sure. Apparently, his ego’s big enough to give him a quick recovery.

"I've got time. For now though, I've got to call you something." He rubs his chin, where a thin layer of stubble is starting to show. "I think I'll call you Angel. You know, like the fish."

The words that just left his mouth absolutely crack him up. In seconds, he's laughing hysterically, eyes wet with tears. I, on the other hand, am not amused. In fact, I'm the exact opposite of amused.

"I. Am. Not. A. Fish." The words leave my lips slowly, separately, through gritted teeth. I ball my hands into fists and press them hard into the grass at my sides. Never in my life did I imagine those words would come out of my mouth.

"So, uh, thanks for stopping by, but I gotta get back to what I was doing—you know, that whole being ugly and not smiling thing. So, I think it's time for you to say goodbye, Levi ."

"You think ? Well now, that doesn't make it sound like you're so sure that's what you really want, Angel ." The emphasis on the last word causes a cocky smirk to turn up the corner of his mouth.

I want to smack the smile off his face. I've had enough of this bullshit. Slowly, painfully, I get to my feet and come to stand in front of him. There's not a spot on my body that doesn't throb or ache, but there’s no way I'm going to let him see it. I'm more than ready, more than capable of pulling this jerk to his feet and dragging him out of my yard if I have to, regardless of what condition I'm in.

Before I can even start to put together a plan, the screen door leading from the house out to the second story deck crashes open.