Beneath the Scars

My fingers closed around the journal in the bottom of my pocket, nervously clutching the smooth leather, remembering her words of love. I needed to make her feel them again. “Why? Because of how I felt when I was with you. How you made me feel about the world around me. That maybe, it wasn’t such a terrible place. That perhaps I had a place in it, as long as you were beside me.”

“You were so quick to throw it away.”

“I know. I was scared and caught off guard when my past hit me in the face. I reacted and I hurt you. I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

“Why did you come back? You came back before you knew the truth. You said yourself you don’t give second chances—ever.”

My brow furrowed. “You aren’t the one who needs the second chance. I am, Megan. I need you to give me a second chance. I’ve fought against it for months. I kept telling myself the only thing I felt for you was contempt, but I was lying to myself. I missed you so fucking much, I ached with it.” My hands clenched at my side, desperate to reach out, needing to touch her. “You want to know why I came back? Because somewhere, some part of me knew I had to try and find you. There was a small voice telling me it was real. You did love me and I’d fucked up the one good thing I ever found in my life.”

I paced up and down the sand, needing to move as the tension grew inside me. “I told myself I was coming back here to clear out the house and sell it, move on and forget this place and that you ever existed.” A humorless laugh escaped my lips as I stopped pacing and stood in front of her. “As if I could ever forget you—or get over you. The day I walked back into the house you were there—you were fucking everywhere. All I could see, all I could feel, were all the good things about you, about us. All I could think of was you. Your voice, your scent, the way you looked at me and cared for me. All I could feel in that house was your love.

“Then Karen came to see me. She gave me all the articles about that fucking bastard and what he’d done. It was then I realized how deeply I’d wronged you. Wronged us.”

“You believed him so easily. You walked away without even questioning it.”

“I did. It proved I was right all along. I wasn’t worthy of being loved. Only used.”

“I didn’t use you.”

“I know. Fuck, I know that now. I knew it months ago, but I was too afraid to admit it. Too afraid I had been wrong.” My fingers dug into the skin at the back of my neck. “Karen gave me your journals to read and I saw how you’d written our story.” I stepped forward, my voice wavering. “I read your words—I read your love for me, Megan. I saw your tears on those pages. I saw the truth. I knew how wrong I’d been, how much damage I’d done, and I knew I was probably too late.”

“Is that why you’re here now, Zachary? Because of the story, because of what you found out at the end?”

Found at the end?

I frowned at her. “I haven’t finished reading the last book yet, Megan.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I haven’t. I was too…afraid to read it.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t want to know you didn’t love me anymore. I didn’t want to read your goodbye.” I pulled the book out of my pocket, offering it to her. “I wanted to see if I could beg you to rewrite the end. If you thought you could forgive me, and let me try and show you how much I still love you.”

She looked between the book and my face. Up and down her gaze moved. “You need to read it the way it is right now.”

My arm dropped, the book now weighing too much to hold it. “Is there no chance?”

Megan moved closer. Close enough, I could see the gold in her eyes; smell the gentle floral scent of her hair. “You want to know if I can forgive you.”

I wanted to yank her into my arms and feel her warmth. I wanted to bury my face into her hair and breathe her in, but I couldn’t—not without her permission. Like I was in a trance, I lifted my hand and tucked one long strand of hair behind her ear. “Yes.”

“I forgave you the day you left me. You’d only known love for a few weeks, Zachary. You weren’t even sure of everything you were feeling yet. What you knew best was being hurt.” I froze as she rose up, the soft brush of her lips on my cheek surprising. “But you have to read the rest of our story, then decide if you want to move forward. We have so much to recover from, and it won’t be easy or happen overnight.” She stepped back, the glimmer of tears in her eyes. “I started again without you, and I’ll keep going because I have to. If you read that book and decide you have to leave, just do it. Don’t come see me. Don’t give me hope again. I’ll pack my things, go back to Boston, and carry on where I have some support. ” A tear rolled down her cheek. “I can’t take it and I won’t let you hurt us again. I won’t recover from that.”