Playing (Inked Hearts 2)

Brendon: Spending the night at Walker's place. I'll be home late.

I can still see that look on his face. Like I stabbed him in the gut.

I need to fix this.

But how do I convince him I'm worth trusting again?

That I did it because I want all of him—especially those parts he won't show anyone. Especially the parts he thinks are ugly. Especially the secrets.

I need to prove I can be that person. The one who really sees him. That really lets him see me.

But the thought of confessing that sends shredded wheat back up my throat.

I can barely admit it to myself, much less to him. I have episodes. Where I think about hurting myself. About making everything stop.

I can't even use the word.

It's too ugly.

It scares me.

It will terrify him.

And then...

He might leave.

I want him to know the truth.

I want to be like Ariel, strong enough to sing my fucking heart out.

Strong enough to go after what I want.

To show off my scars.

My secrets.

I'm not ready yet. But I can get there.

I can let him in. Or at least try. Or start to try.

I rush to my bedroom. Pore over my journal for just the right thing. Not a poem. Not a story. An entry. One about him. One that shows off something ugly, something I can stand him knowing.

It takes half an hour, but I find it.

I tear the pages out. Grab a silver Sharpie. Sign my name with an I'm sorry and slide it under his bedroom door.

That's something.

I just hope it's enough.

* * *

I'm halfway through my almond butter and jelly sandwich when my cell starts buzzing. Dammit. I'm going to have to come up with a lie, a believable lie, if I want Emma to drop this.

But it's not a text from Emma.

It's my mom.