Beneath the Scars

There was only one thing I could do to stop those memories.

I had to lose myself.

I walked forward and stopped in front of a blank canvas I had stretched earlier.

Picking up my favorite brush, I shut my eyes, allowing the images to take over. When I opened them again, all I saw was my canvas.

Everything else had disappeared.* * *I had no idea how much time passed when I finally set down the brush and stared at the painting. I stepped back, as I looked it over with a critical eye, and grunted a humorless chuckle.

Swirling, angry, black stormy skies circled and threatened over a calm, reflective ocean, its colors serene and in perfect contrast to the image above. The two images were so vastly contradictory; they didn’t even belong on the same canvas. Yet, they were, in fact, so starkly beautiful in their differences, that they complemented each other; dark versus light, anger versus calm; intense, hot black amid soft, cool blues and greens. It was good.

I also knew what it represented.

My shoulders slumped in exhaustion. I made my way to the door, opening it with care. Outside, Elliott was asleep, his huge head resting on his paws. He lifted his face to me, his tail thumping slowly on the floor as I leaned down to stroke his thick fur. I listened for a minute, but could hear nothing in the house, other than the wind outside. The storm had passed and judging from the dim light coming in the windows, it was almost dawn. I crossed over and looked outside. Far down the beach I could see the house where Megan was staying. There was a light in the window; therefore, I assumed she was now home safe and sound. I sighed in quiet relief, since I had no idea what I’d say to her if she was still in my house. I couldn’t explain any of my actions toward her: my harsh words, my unexpected passion, the horror I had felt when I realized she was touching my scars or the way I had flung her away.

I cringed, thinking about the distraught look on her face as she stared at me before I had stormed off. I’d needed to escape from her; from the intense, overwhelming feelings she elicited in me. Another sigh escaped my lips as I realized, after how I’d acted, she’d probably never come near me again.

I wouldn’t have to explain anything.

That was for the best—for both of us.* * *I gave a weary glance toward Elliott as he stood up, a low whine in the back of his throat. I heard his nails tapping as he ran to the door and a deep thump while he sat in front of it. I listened, tensing when I heard the sound of footsteps, followed by a quiet knock. I remained frozen, sitting at the table, my eyes glued to the mug of coffee I was holding. A few minutes passed, and the knock sounded again. My hands tightened on the mug in reaction, because I knew who it was standing on my doorstep. Somehow, after hours of tossing and turning, before giving up and accepting I would find no rest today, I had been expecting it.

Still, I didn’t move.

The sound of her quiet footsteps and fading voice calling Dixie’s name, finally allowed me to ease out of my chair. Filled with apprehension, I looked out the window, watching Megan’s retreating figure as she walked across the beach. I frowned when I saw how badly she was limping.

Was she looking after her foot? Why did she walk all this way when she was obviously still in pain? I clenched my hands in annoyance. Why had she come back here?

Beside me Elliott butted my leg, pawing at the door. Looking out, like the coward I was, I made sure Megan was far enough away she wouldn’t hear. I then eased open the door, surprised to see a large bag sitting on the doorstep. I picked it up and carried it to the kitchen, Elliott following at my heels. Inside were the blankets and pillow I had used in which to wrap Megan, all freshly laundered. I shook my head when I realized I hadn’t even noticed they were gone. Looking at the sofa, I noticed it was spotless; the leather gleaming dully in the light—it was obvious she had cleaned it, too. I wondered how long she had stayed after I stormed away. Had she been waiting for me to return?

I placed the blankets and pillow back on the sofa, then picked up the bag. Two more items fell out and Elliott was quick to grab at one of them. A large rawhide bone with a ribbon wrapped around it, made me smile; he loved those. The small tag read: For Elliott, our hero. Love, M&D. I grinned as I undid the ribbon and let Elliott run away with his treasure. He plunked himself down in his basket and immediately began gnawing away at the treat.