6. Gwen
CHAPTER 6
GWEN
I ’m in the middle of loading the dishwasher when I receive a text. I pull my phone from my pocket.
Demi: Are we still on for milkshakes?
Hell yeah.
Do you want a ride?
I haven’t driven since I left North Carolina, and it might feel good to get out on my own for a bit.
No. I’ll meet you there at seven.
See you then!
I don’t even need to mention the name of the ice cream shop. There’s only one as far as we’re concerned. And it’s been one of our favorite places since we were kids.
I tuck my phone back in my pocket and place the last cup and spoon from the sink on the rack before closing the dishwasher.
“Thank you for helping me,” Maeve says while she scoops mashed potatoes into a container.
“No problem. It’s the least I can do. You feed me well enough.”
She smiles. “You barely eat enough to put a dent in what I cook.”
“I haven’t eaten this well since last summer. When I’m at school I exist on sandwiches and protein bars.”
“Which is why I like feeding you well when you’re home.”
I shake my head. “What did I ever do before my dad met you?”
“You ate a lot of spaghetti,” she says.”
I snicker, and it hurts my ribs. My hand goes to my left side.
Maeve notices. “Are you in a lot of pain?”
“It’s nothing I can’t deal with.”
“I didn’t ask you if you could deal with it. I asked if you were in a lot of pain.”
“Yeah, I am, but I don’t want to take any meds. I’m meeting Demi for a milkshake in a bit.”
“Do you need a ride?”
“No, I’m all set.”
“Should you be driving?”
I roll my eyes. “Maeve, stop worrying. I need to get back to doing things on my own.”
“I know, but your ribs are still sore.”
“And they might be for some time. I can’t lie in bed any longer, or I’m going to lose my mind.”
“That’s understandable. You better hurry up and leave while your dad is putting T.J. to bed,” she suggests with a smile.
“Right. I can do without a lecture or list of instructions.”
“Try to keep in mind that he’s still shaken from what happened to you. He’s going to be overprotective for a bit.”
“He’s always overprotective. I don’t have to tell you that.”
She laughs. “Definitely not.”
I wrap my arms around her in a quick hug and kiss her cheek. “I love you, Maeve.” A wave of unexpected emotion tightens my chest.
“And I love you too.” She’s barely returned my hug when I step back. I don’t know why I suddenly feel like crying. “I won’t be late.” I hurry from the kitchen and up the stairs to my room. I change into my favorite pair of cutoffs and a light blue t-shirt. I slip my feet into my Birkenstocks and head into my bathroom.
Once I glimpse my face in the brightly lit mirror, I’m tempted to text Demi and tell her I can’t make it. How did I forget about my scar? I just got my sutures out yesterday. It should be fresh in my mind.
“Fuck.” I stare at my reflection, my eyes tracing over every inch of skin on the left side of my face. How is this me?
My index finger trails down my cheek, avoiding touching my fresh scar. Less than a week ago, my face was unblemished, and now it’s… I don’t even know what to call it.
Ruined?
Disfigured?
Mangled?
Any of those words seem appropriate for what I’m seeing. I’ve never been overly concerned with my looks, but that was before I had a reason to feel so insecure about them. The thought of going out in public has my stomach tied in knots. And even though Demi is my best friend, I’m still not keen on showing her. However, I can’t stay at home, holed up in my room forever.
Taking the first step is always the hardest during difficult times, then each one after becomes easier, or so they say. Making a leap of faith involves believing the outcome will be worth the risk. But my natural propensity for trusting other people has been irrevocably damaged—much like my face.
In addition to worrying about others seeing my scar, I’m also fearful about being around strangers, which is another reason I have to make myself do this. The more time I spend avoiding “the world,” the harder it will be to put myself out there.
Grabbing one of my favorite lip glosses from the basket on the vanity, I slick the shiny, dark-pink color over my mouth and then take a long look in the mirror.
That’s a little better.
Maybe my bright lips will be the focus. I gingerly reach up to remove the clip holding my hair up on top of my head. The brown strands wave over the front of my shoulders, covering my breasts and ending just below my rib cage. I run a brush through the thickness and make sure the left side of my hair covers my cheek from view as much as possible.
Now, if I can hold my head still so my hair stays in place, I’ll be all set.
I slip my phone into a pocket on my cutoffs and grab my purse on the way out of my room.
I walk as quietly as I can to avoid drawing my dad’s attention. Hopefully, T.J. has him occupied. When I make it down the stairs and out the door without interruption, I smile.
This is the first time I’ve been alone while outside of my bedroom in days. I draw in a few deep breaths as I make my way to my car. It might be hot as the depths of hell and humid enough to cut with a knife, but it’s still fresh air. And very much welcomed by my lungs.
When I went to the plastic surgeon’s earlier today with my mom, I was nervous on the way there, and my mind was locked in such a spiral of negativity on the way home that I couldn’t appreciate the outing.
I carefully slip behind the wheel and put my seat belt on without my ribs bothering me too much. Twisting my torso to look over my shoulder as I back down the driveway is too painful, so I have to rely on the rear-facing camera. Thank God for my hardworking dad who bought me this SUV when I graduated from high school. I have a lot to be thankful for when it comes to him. I’m convinced he’s the best dad in the world, and I’m blessed beyond measure to have him as mine.
As I drive away, I turn on my radio and raise the volume like I can only do when I’m alone. It feels like ages since I’ve driven, and I’ve missed it so much. I sing along with the songs playing all the way until I reach downtown Charleston.
I pull into a parking lot next to a painting studio my dad and I have frequented many times. The first time I met Maeve, he brought us there and we had a great time.
I park next to Demi’s car and she waves through her window at me. We simultaneously climb from our vehicles and meet at the back for a gentle hug.
“I can’t wait until I can squeeze the fuck out of you,” she says, and I laugh, but it doesn’t hurt so badly this time.
“I’m getting better each day. I’ll let you know when you can hit me with the full force of your affection.”
This time she laughs. “I’ll be counting down the minutes.”
“Here.” I sweep my hair to the side allowing her to see my scar. “You might as well look now.”
Her expression remains neutral as she studies my cheek. “I’m not going to tell you it’s not that bad and take away from what you’ve gone through. But I really do think it will heal nicely with time, and with a little makeup, you won’t even be able to see it anymore.”
I move forward, wrapping my arms around her.
“What’s this for?” she asks.
I release my hold on her and smile. “Thank you for being honest with me. I’m so fucking sick of everyone telling me it’s not so bad or it’s better than they expected.”
“I’m assuming you’re talking about your parents.”
“Yep. My mom physically reacted when she saw it and then told me it wasn’t as big as she expected.”
Demi wrinkles her nose. “Oh jeez.”
“And my dad was cool, but he gave me the typical ‘you still look perfect to me’ spiel.”
“That’s sweet, though,” Demi defends.
“You only think so because you love my dad.”
“Hey, who doesn’t?” she asks.
I’m the one wrinkling my nose now. “Keep your crush to yourself, please.”
“You’re the one who brought it up,” she points out.
Pulling my hair forward, I cover my cheek. “Let’s get those milkshakes,” I say, and we start toward the ice cream parlor. We cross the street and enter the brightly painted shop. The cool air pumping from the air conditioner has me sighing with relief as we get in line. I study the menu but I always get the same thing: a coffee oreo shake. Unlike me, Demi likes to change it up each time.
One of the teenage girls behind the counter takes our order, and I hand over the cash to pay for both shakes before Demi can.
“What the hell, Gwennie? Let me treat you for a change,” she says.
“No can do. You’re paying your way through school and I’m not.”
“So?” she challenges.
“So, your money needs to go toward your education and not toward buying me a milkshake I’m going to suck down in a matter of minutes.”
She makes a grumbling noise before she nods in agreement.
We take our cups and poke our straws through the lids. “Where do you want to sit?” she asks.
I glance around the packed shop, at all the customers, at every table, and I’m suddenly not sure I want to be around all these people.
“Would you mind if we went for a walk, instead of staying here?” Demi asks.
It’s obvious she noticed my hesitance and made the suggestion to make me more comfortable, and I love her for it.
“Yes, please,” I agree.
We head back outside to slowly meander down the sidewalk and sip our frosty beverages through our straws. This area has had quite a bit of new development over the past few years. Some of the shops have opened since I was here for winter break.
“Wow, that smells fantastic,” I say as we pass by a pizza place I don’t recognize.
Demi nods. “I haven’t gone there yet but I’ve heard great things about it.”
“With all the craziness in my life, we haven’t even talked about what’s happening with you. What’s the situation with you and the ex?” I ask. Last I heard, he was trying to weasel his way back in and she was trying not to let him.
“He’s still my ex,” she says.
I smile like a proud mother. “Good for you. I’m glad you didn’t fall into that shitshow again. No matter how hot you think he is, he’s not worth the aggravation.”
“I know, but I sure do miss his tongue.” She waggles her eyebrows.
I snort. “You know he’s not the only guy with a tongue, right?”
“Yeah, but he sure knows how to use his, and that’s not always the case with guys. Speaking from my own experiences anyway. Not that you’d know, my little babe in the woods.” She pats me on the head.
I’m about to reply when a young man coming in the other direction pulls a knife and brandishes it toward us. “Give me your purses.”
It’s so unexpected, and happens so fast, I don’t have a chance to react. Demi grabs my arm, applying a tugging pressure, as if she wants us to make a break for it. But between my injured ribs and sheer panic, I’m in no condition to outrun this guy.
“Hurry the fuck up!” he shouts, waving his hand toward us. I feel the wind from the motion but my muscles won’t comply. It’s like I’m frozen in place. Just like I was with Jerry.
Next to me, Demi jumps into action, slipping her purse strap from her shoulder. She’s in the process of handing it over when the knife is knocked from his hand to the sidewalk. Before my brain can register what’s happening, the assailant is lying face down on the sidewalk.
A tall, muscular guy presses a knee into his back and restrains his hands.
Demi and I look at each other wide-eyed. “What the fuck?” She mouths the words, but I’m too shaken to reply.
I’m safe. I’m safe. I’m safe.
Maybe if I tell myself enough times, I’ll believe it.
With a trembling hand, I press the milkshake cup to my unblemished cheek, hoping the ice-cold surface will somehow calm my panic-stricken system.
“Are you ladies, okay?” our rescuer asks in a deep voice without looking away from his still struggling captive.
“Yes, thank you,” Demi answers.
A police cruiser with flashing lights rolls up alongside the curb and parks. Two officers step out and walk over to our rescuer. “Silas, what’s going on?” the taller of the two asks.
Silas? I guess they’re on a first name basis.
“This guy pulled a knife on these ladies and demanded their purses.”
“How did he end up on the ground?” the shorter officer asks.
“He must have tripped.” He shrugs at the officers. “So I just held him for you.”
“He attacked me,” the crook yells.
“No, he didn’t,” Demi jumps in, defending Silas. “He did fall. And this guy saved us.”
The officers put handcuffs on him, and as they pull him to his feet, I retreat a couple of steps back, placing more distance between us, as I watch them close him inside the rear of the cruiser. Cuffed or not, I’m not taking any chances.
My hand slips under the hair covering my left cheek. If I’ve learned anything from my assault, it’s that people’s behavior can be unpredictable.