Ugly as sin.
But she comes to me, turns me around to take a better look and I let her. I can’t hide from her anymore. Let her have her fill.
I think I’m holding up pretty damn good, keeping it together, standing there and letting the memories buffet me as she stares at the proof of my failings, crisscrossed over my upper back and shoulders. I think I’m all right, keeping inside the roar of pain that wants to rip out of me.
But then she reaches up and touches my scars, her fingertips featherlight on scarred, half-numb tissue, and the maw finally opens and sucks me in.
“You should have told me,” I hear her say through the roaring in my ears. “These are old. You must’ve been so little. God, you should have told me.”
So much horror in her voice. It cracks something inside me.
She’s going to leave. I knew I couldn’t trust her kindness. It broke me, took away the last of my stubborn strength, plowed through all my walls and razed me to the ground. I don’t even think she knows what she’s done. I’m stripped bare, inside and out, laid wide open, flayed and bleeding.
Vaguely I register the fact I’m dropping, falling, my strings cut, the strings that held me up for so damn long, and find myself on my knees in the shallow water, my pulse in my throat, ready to drown in the mud.
I’m shivering so hard I think my teeth will break. I can’t fucking do this anymore. I’d hoped... that was my mistake. Hope can cut you to pieces.
I swear I feel every single lash falling on my back, every gouge left behind by the belt buckle. It’s not only the scars. They’re on the surface, but below... below it’s every fear I’ve ever had, every hurt.
I’m the reason my mother left. I’m the reason she died. I’m the cause of my father’s anger. The cause of his aggression. I’m a disappointment, a burden, a fucking dumb shit, an open wound on the face of the world.
And now I’ve gone and done the one thing Dad always beat into me—not to let my guard down, not to give an opening to anyone. Never even realized when it happened, when she took hold of my fucking heart.
Takes me more than a moment to realize she’s right there, in the water and mud, hugging me tight.
“You’re not all that,” she’s saying, her voice hoarse as if she’s been talking for a while. “You’re not all those things, Ross. You’re a good person. You’re not your dad. It’s all right, you’ll be all right. I’m not leaving. I won’t leave you. Are you listening?”
“I am,” I whisper, though her voice coming in echoes. “’S the truth.”
“Ross. Look at me.” She lifts a hand to my face, strokes my cheek. “You’re a good man, Ross Jones. You just have to believe it, let it happen. Let yourself be who you can become. The war you lived through in this house,” she glances back the way we came, “is over. You deserve to be happy.”
I’m shaking so hard my teeth are clacking together—then I realize she’s the one shaking me.
But she won’t let go. “Ross, repeat after me: I’m a good man. I’m a good person.”
I can’t say it. I shake my head.
“I believe in you,” she whispers, her eyes wide and dark with emotion. “You’ve shown me who you really are.”
“I’ve hurt you,” I manage to say.
“And you’ve made up for it. I wish I’d known why back then, but I do now, and let me tell you this: you’re the strongest person I know, to have survived this. Your childhood here. That man you grew up with. I had to see, Ross. Had to see the scars, to understand how bad things had been.”
“So fucking ugly. Inside and out.”
“You’re beautiful,” she says quietly, “inside and out. It took a while for me to open my eyes, but I see you now.”
I stare at her, but her eyes seem clear, honest. Warm.
She looks at me like I’m the one she wants, like I can be the guy she’d like to have beside her. Can’t I change, start again? Others do it. If she’s giving me the chance, hell... I’ll take it. Nobody else ever expected me to be better than I am, to become a better person.
Or maybe I never cared what anyone else thought of me—but I sure as fuck care now.
Chapter Thirty-One
Luna
“I’ve hurt you.”