39. A losing battle
Chapter 39
A losing battle
Ariana
A s much as I dislike shopping centers in general, I actually had fun yesterday. I bought new lingerie I might never find the nerve to wear, and heels so high I’ll possibly break an ankle in them, for a guy I don’t think I deserve. What we did on the couch after his fight made me feel sexy and wanted. Beautiful. Powerful.
The way he looks at me makes me feel all those things, too.
I was on cloud nine when we stepped outside with our hands full of bags but came crashing down when we were walking out to the car. That icy tingle spread across the back of my neck again.
Once? I can write that off as nothing.
Twice is pushing it.
Three times means something. And it’s why I had the nightmare last night.
I’ve never dealt with it well. I cried and screamed a lot the first year after the attack. I couldn’t sleep without reliving it over and over. Lil and I had tutors that year instead of going to school. Between the shitty sleep we all got and the fear we all felt over me leaving the house, it was the best choice. After seven years, a lot of therapy, and trial and error, things are a lot better. I have the nightmare so rarely I almost forget I do at all.
I fight a good fight for most of the day. Lil and I keep busy by harassing Ford via texts, moving Parker’s dead Tamagotchis around while he’s making ramen, and hiding a hundred tiny plastic ducks in Sully’s car. I even think maybe I’m winning against the heavy darkness that’s creeping in, especially when Luca kisses me softly on the lips and forehead when we run into each other in an empty hallway after lunch.
But when I take a bathroom break during movie night, I catch a glimpse of my scars in the mirror. I see them every day, but I avoid looking at them in mirrors. Seeing them reflected back at me can be worse than looking directly at them.
This time, it breaks me. My breathing hitches, the memories of pain and hate ghosting through me. I can’t stop my fingertips as they move to trace over the long, thin lines on my hips. The short, thicker marks on my stomach.
They’re ugly. They’re so ugly. I’m never going to wear that lingerie I bought. I can’t show my scars to Luca. What was I even thinking? This thing with him, it can’t be a thing!
I try to force the thoughts away. They aren’t true. I know they’re not true. But right now, they feel true.
Moving like a zombie, I finish straightening my clothes and wash my hands.
Laughter drifts down the hall from the theater room as I make my way upstairs in a fog. I take Luca’s hoodie from the back of the couch and pull it over my head, letting it swallow me whole. Then I crawl into Lil’s bed and curl up on my side facing away from the door.
I don’t know how long I lie there, lost in my own head, before the mattress dips behind me. His scent, that mixture of his body wash and shampoo and just simply him, fills my lungs. His body presses against my back. His arms wrap around me .
“I’m here, baby,” he whispers. “I’ve got you.” I melt into him. He comforts me, calms me, in a way I didn’t know existed. My arms settle on top of his. I can breathe better now that he’s here.
I fall asleep in minutes but wake when Lil slips into her side of the bed. Her face is pinched in concern, but there’s something else, something like hope, in her eyes.
“Not quite what I thought I’d find when I realized you both disappeared,” she teases, giving me a weak, sad smile.
Blinking back tears, I lift one of my hands to her. She wraps her pinky around mine, and I drift back to sleep surrounded by the two people who share different parts of my heart and soul.