Beneath the Scars

He shifted, his head tilting to the other side as he settled, still sleeping, back into the chair. I stepped back in shock.

His face.

The skin on the right side of his face was twisted and marred, stretched tight and rough over his cheekbones. I was certain he had been burned. Small patches of hair were missing from his scalp and jaw, the rough skin showing through in the dim light. One corner of his mouth was twisted, causing an uneven, permanent grimace on the one side of his full lips. There were more scars running down his neck, disappearing under the collar of his crewneck sweater.

A small gasp escaped my mouth as comprehension hit me. That was why he hid from the world.

Zachary’s eyes flew open, his startled gaze meeting my overwhelmed one. He blinked, a look of horror spread over his features, and he stood up. His sudden movement scared me, and I stepped back, losing my footing, falling backwards. He lurched forward, grabbing, his arms encircling and dragging me close to him.

For a moment there was no sound in the room other than our heavy breathing. I could feel his rapid heartbeat as he pressed me close, and I had no doubt he was feeling mine. My hands were clutching his thick sweater, my face buried into his chest while his arms held me, his stance rigid and unyielding, yet somehow protective and comforting. I inhaled deeply, his ocean-drenched scent calming and soothing as it enveloped me. Then, as quick as he had come close, he pushed me, stepping back and turning around. With his back now to me, he stood by the fireplace, head hung low, as the flames flickered over his shielded profile.

The tension in the air was palpable. In desperation, I searched my head for the appropriate thing to say. All other words failed me, and I offered the only ones I could find.

“I’m sorry.”

He barked out a laugh. “I bet you are.”

“No. That isn’t what I meant. I meant I’m sorry for disturbing your rest. It was rude of me to stare.”

His voice was dripping with sarcasm. “Yes, I’m sure you didn’t mean you’re sorry you got a full look at me and it scared the hell out of you.”

“I’m not scared of you.”

He turned; fury evident on his face. “You don’t lie well, Megan.”

“I’m not lying. I was startled, but I’m not scared.”

“You should be.”

“Why? Because you have some scars? That makes you scary?”

His eyes narrowed. “Ugliness outside often indicates there’s ugliness underneath.”

I scoffed at him. “More like you’re using the supposed ugliness to make people think that.”

He remained silent, his eyes piercing.

I stepped forward, trying to keep my voice soft, the need to reassure him, somehow vital. My heart hammered in my chest as I moved toward him. “Some of the most beautiful people in the world use their beauty to hide their ugliness, Zachary. I’ve seen that and experienced it myself. I don’t think you have any ugliness in you. No matter how hard you pretend or act, otherwise.”

“And you know this because?”

“Your paintings.”

“My paintings?”

“They show your emotions. They show you.”

“And what do you think you see?”

I hesitated to answer him.

“What do you think you see, Megan?” he demanded again, with a harsh voice.

“Besides the beauty you hide? Pain…confusion…need…loneliness. I see you turning your back on the world you think has turned its back on you.”

His indrawn breath was deep, his voice low and furious.

“Get out.”7ZacharyMegan stood gazing at me, her head shaking slowly back and forth, but she didn’t move. “You don’t mean that.”

Why wasn’t she listening to me? Why wasn’t she leaving?

“Get out of my house. Leave.” I pointed to the door, making sure she understood. “Now.”

“You wouldn’t send me out into a storm, Zachary. Your words are just empty threats to try and get me to hate you.” She came closer, her voice soothing and calm.

I barked out a harsh laugh as I stepped back. “You should hate me.”

“I don’t.” She edged forward again.

I frowned at her. Why was she coming closer? She should be backing away; even if she knew I wouldn’t throw her out of the house, she should want to move as far away from me—from my hideous face—as possible.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m not afraid of you.” She moved forward, closing any remaining distance between us to mere inches. I tried to step back, but I had nowhere to go, my back hitting the stone of the fireplace. I dragged in a shaking breath, only to have my already overloaded senses fill with her warm scent, shutting my eyes as it settled around me like a soothing blanket. When I opened them a moment later, it was to her wide, dark gaze. There was no revulsion or pity in their depths; only a simple calm, beseeching stare. She looked vulnerable as we gazed at each other, the room around us ceasing to exist.