- - - Ian

She can laugh

She can dance

floating graceful and poised

she spins and lands, and spins again

she catches every eye

and yet she tries to hide

- - -

I’d been calm coming out of the school. Alone with Lena in my car, however, I couldn’t reign in my feelings, as useless as they were. I tried to focus on the road but the onslaught of images was nearly overpowering: the angry, desperate look in Lena’s eyes, the way her shoulders were tensed, unaware of my presence in the hallway, the acid in her voice as she let down every guard she had in self-righteous fury…

And the sickening, almost mesmerizing mosaic of scars that marred her torso…

I sped through a red light in my own irritation, an anger that was what the sun is to the stars compared to her indignant fury. I couldn’t contain the rage that was coursing through me, and my clenched teeth and locked limbs were doing little to prevent my imagination from escaping me. I was turning corners with unnecessary force, flooring it when the opportunity presented itself. It wasn’t enough.

There was a strange feeling in the car. We were both utterly silent, a silence that seemed to intrude upon our proximity. A strange, yes, but… oddly persuasive feeling, I mused, in a moment where I could form coherent thought. Rarely, of course.

I certainly wasn’t to be held wholly responsible for the way my hand twitched in her direction. And, as she stared forcefully into the bruised purple night sky of our average Californian city, she certainly didn’t want to glance at me as often as she did.

I glanced up at the sky briefly, too, convincing myself that a car accident would not be the greatest idea right now. Stars. When was the last time I’d been star-gazing? Years, of course. Six, seven, eight years?
Too long—long enough to have forgotten who I’d been star-gazing with. But none of that mattered in the face of what I now knew for sure.

I gripped the steering wheel with more force, trying to control my impulses. I didn’t run another red, but the stillness was disorienting. I wanted to be out, moving, running, taking her away from the reality of her situation, of our situation, in the hopes that scars faded. Distractedly, I missed the change of red to green, and a car honked behind me. I stomped down, shooting forward, the anger rushing back as fast as my acceleration. My mind tried to rationalize, to calm down, to talk and be human before this… animal of pure emotion could over come me. I was searching blindly for words, for any hint at self-control.

Impulsive, errant thoughts. My poor Corvette. “I’m sorry baby.” I muttered instinctively, desperately, glad to hear the control in my voice, and unaware of anything I was saying. In the moment of silence, my comprehension caught up to me, and I stiffened, feeling the blood rising in my cheeks. I couldn’t look at Lena, who I knew was staring at me, clearly questioning my sanity. I didn’t want to know what she thought of me right now.

Since when did I care what anyone thought?

And how could I care about anything as stupid as what the world thought when I was contemplating murder here?

Her mother was still in town. Her mother was the one to blame. Her mother would be the one to pay for her crimes. And yet all I could utter to her was how sorry I felt for my car? It was worse than I’d thought, the anger.

I was going mad.

As my car slowed to a smooth finish in my drive, the night became very clear to me. We could not go back after what I’d seen. We could not go back to ignoring each other as we had before. Whatever had passed, it was definitely never going to be the same between us.

This left me little choice but to face this head on. We couldn’t hide. And surely Lena knew this. Surely she knew that I, of course, would not stand and let it go by. And yet she had come, no matter what level of shock she was in, with me tonight. It wasn’t much, I know, but Lena was no fool; she must be willing to face this now. She had to be. It was the only logical choice for her.

We walked into my silent, empty house with little noise. The carpets muffled the excess force I put in my steps, and I wished there was some sort of physical relief to my torture right now. I led her somewhere comforting, somewhere that she would not feel obligated or pressured.
The basement was my domain, my own little place of sanity. I saw to it that she was seated and comfortable before I opened my mouth to speak. She curled her legs under her on one end of the small couch, her hands sitting listlessly in her lap, sometimes crossing over and sheltering her torso. I was touched by the urge to sit beside her, to shape my body to hers and feel her warmth. Her eyes searched lazily around the room, and I heard the slight clearing of her throat. I was back before she could ask, having brought her a crystal-clear glass of water. She looked at me briefly, unable to meet my eyes, and murmured quiet thanks. I took my seat, resisting my urges.

Her face, which had been emotionless up until now, suddenly broke its mask. She gave a slight smile, looking at me from where I sat on an armchair. I would give her space. But I refused to let her out of my sight. The television was untouched. There would be no distractions tonight.
She held her timid smile, though it did not touch her usually bright eyes. They were darkened now, near-black with the overheads.

“What? No seduction tonight?” she said softly, unaware of the instant effect her voice had on me. I fidgeted, shifting my weight. Finally, I stilled my ankles and leaned back. Appraising her, unsure of whether I could answer her teasing. I folded my arms and waited. I sharply flicked my hair out of my eyes, and watched her hands tremble around the glass. She was nervous. Of course. I would have to say something. There was no way she was going to do this by herself.

I gathered whatever self-restraint I had to keep the anger from coloring my tone. When I thought I had sufficient control, I allowed myself to speak.

“Why… why didn’t you tell anyone?” My voice, of course, came out angrier than I’d intended. If only she could know that the anger was not directed towards her. If only she could know that it was never her. I expected her to take some offence. I think I would have been able to deal with that.

The slight smile on her face was sharply bitter now, and I was unable to read all the emotions written there. Anger. Resentment. Hatred. Slightly mocking… she seemed almost… resigned? Her mouth twisted around the words, hating the images they conjured. Hating herself for her own abuse.

That would have to be remedied, of course.

“Who would have believed me? My sister knew. My father had to have known something. I don’t blame him. But it was impossible to know just how bad things were when you’re not really at home, I suppose.” Her voice was, surprisingly, gentle, and unbearably soft. It did not match her anger, her expression. I looked more carefully at her face, though I was loathe to look away from her eyes.

Angry, yes, but it was nearly gone. She was oddly calm now, calm… and hurting. I was making her hurt. She was in pain because of what I was making her recall.

I swallowed. It was necessary. I had to work to keep from telling her it was okay, and leaving her with nothing more than generic words of comfort, made to forget. I could never forget.

She continued on, seeing something in the distance that my eyes could not track.

“I think it started when my mother was alone and frustrated. Her marriage hadn’t been the one she’d thought she’d have. Her life wasn’t going as planned, I suppose. Her friends were living less extravagantly then her, none of them as beautiful as she had been. And still she was not nearly as happy. She hungered for more. She wanted so badly to be known, and remembered. She didn’t want to face all the bad decisions she’d made, the path that she should have taken.

“She married young. She wanted to have a career, but her skills didn’t quite match her dreams. Neither did her funds. She made do by pretending that she was happy that her looks could get her farther than her head ever could have.

“She shaped my sister into what she wanted. She saw it as an accomplishment, her beautiful, obedient daughter. But I was a mistake. She didn’t want to have me. And then I turned out to be completely opposite of what she wanted; I was awkward, I was different, and I didn’t seem to listen to her ideals. My very presence made her uncomfortable, and she hated herself for that, hated me. Because I saw life my own way, I suppose.

“That was when it started, I guess. When her looks began to fade, when she realized she wasn’t as rich as she’d hoped to be. When she saw me as the one thing standing in the way of her perfection, of her willful denial of her own unhappiness. She was losing control of her life. Her friends were happy mothers. She wondered why she couldn’t love me the way they loved their children. She wondered why she hated me.

“As I started to mature, she hated me more and more. She saw, in me, everything she’d never had— opportunity. She provided me for anything I needed; well, in the monetary sense of course. She nagged my father into becoming a workaholic, to satiate her own lust for wealth. And that just made her unhappy, as she widened the gap between them. It made her more desperate to cling on to the image of happiness she had been expecting out of life at this point.

“Then it started to go downhill. I was arguing with her over something inconsequential, and she couldn’t sway me; it had been occurring more and more often then. It was with no more options that she gave in to her nature, to the only action left that she could use. And she realized how much better she felt once she hit me. Once my submission was hers to take, hers to keep; at last, there was some control in her life. And a way to get what she wanted, to relieve the stress she’d created for herself.

“There was no way out, of course. No where for me to go, nowhere for me to turn. I was a pariah at school. I threw myself into athletics, academics—the only things I could control at that point. How I performed there, whether I won or lost, it was my fault and only mine. I welcomed the self-reliance in the face of the degradation and abuse—mental and otherwise— I received from her.

“And I formulated my own reasons for her abuse. I came up with the only logical conclusions I could in the face of my situation, the way I was treated at both school and home. My best friend had left me. There had to be a reason why. And I found it.

“I was repulsive to everyone. I was still the awkward child I’d always been, and nothing I did could ever change that. I didn’t belong in this world, and I was sorry that I had to inflict my presence on others; I was sorry that they had to see me when I clearly caused them so much distress, so much hatred. That hatred had to be justified.”

She looked down at her hands, blinking away the tears that were slowly, unwillingly trickling down her cheeks. I couldn’t look away, riveted by her words, held by her, captivated by this story of sadness and pain. More pain than I’d ever imagined in such a sweet and sincere human being. I couldn’t speak, and it took me a second to realize why; the pain was a physical thing, blocking my throat and leaving me soundless. I tilted me head and looked at her, unable to communicate. She spared me a glance, but wasn’t seeing again. Her hands trembled more than ever, and when she spoke, her voice matched the unsteady movement of her hands. She didn’t look up.

“You can’t imagine… how much I hated myself. How many ways, how many times… I tried… to kill myself.” Her eyes snapped up, pleading with me to understand. Then I watched the spark of emotion fade to nothing, to blankness, as she collected herself.

“Of course, it didn’t work. I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t even able to do that one simple thing.” Her tone was regretful in the slightest. And my throat remained blocked, while a new aching began in my chest.

“All that kept me going was the thought of escape. If I could just finish with my school and leave, I would be out of her reach forever. I would learn how to fit in. I would make sure I was never a burden to anyone ever again. No one deserved to have to listen to me. No one deserved to know the truth—I would never condemn them to that. I wouldn’t. I don’t wish that of anyone.” Her eyes met mine, soft and pleading once more. “And I’m sorry that you have to hear this.”

“When… when I met Seth… I thought I had forgotten how to hope. Years of suppression didn’t mean that my human instincts had faded, as I believed, but that they were yearning for release. I threw myself headlong, without a thought. I gave in to the desire for someone to talk to. And I think that I finally came to terms with myself. As his approval grew, so did my own sense of self-worth. And you,” She was still looking me in the eye, brushed with the slightest spark. “You did too. You two were the catalyst that unlocked all my own suppressed truths. I was forced to see the light. Your confidence and flattering attention fed my dignity. And I remembered how good life could be without an oppressor. I rebelled, and I won.” She tilted her head in my direction. “I’ll always be in your debt.”

I was silent, processing more than I was capable of understanding. Was this any more than what I’d already guessed? Was there any chance she was still in danger?

These were the questions I should have asked.

“Why did you call Seth? What about Ashley?” It was hard to keep the jealousy out of my voice, and I winced internally. I thought Seth and I would be fine after tonight’s game, but this… this changed it all over again. Back to the basics. I sighed. Lena smiled knowingly, teasingly, and I felt the blush on my cheeks before she returned to her thoughtful expression.

“I can’t… and you will never tell Ash… but I can’t let myself trust her, because I already know what she’s capable of. She lost her friendship that day, but she also lost most of the faith I had in her. Maybe… maybe after a few years… I’ll be able to tell her. When I called Seth, I didn’t really care whether he said yes or no to my announcement; that’s exactly what it was, an announcement. I just had to get out of that house, and I had to prove that I could rely on someone else. It was a shot in the dark, the only shot I had. I probably would have showed up at your doorstep if he’d refused, in all honesty.”

She smiled now, a tender smile of sincerest emotion. I was shocked to feel that her smile made my pulse race.
When had that happened? Surely I was still furious.

Lena’s expression propelled me out of my chair, and I was sitting beside her without a pause. I slung my arm around her, crushing her form to my side; the force was unnecessary; her warmth was made to fit in my arms.

She leaned into my embrace, and rested her head on my shoulder in a wordless motion. My own head leaned on hers, and we were quiet for an unequivocally comfortable amount of time. My eyes were half-lidded.

Lena took my free hand, clasping it tightly. I could sense her breathing turn calmer.

“Don’t cry.” She murmured. And it was then that I realized that along with the pain in my body, my eyes had been trying to relieve my stress.

My throat unstuck.

“I’m not.” I said back, equally quiet. Silence, once more, but it was unlike any silence I had ever encountered before. Why was this feeling so new to me? And the fluttering in my stomach—what was that supposed to mean?

And why was she comforting me? I hadn’t been the victim, I wasn’t the victim here: she was.

I abruptly let go of her hand; the action must have startled Lena, because she twisted out of my embrace immediately. Even as the need to protect her resurfaced, I couldn’t help but feel regret for her actions just now.

Her eyes were confused, every dark lash fanning out so far, with the slightest, forgotten hint of moisture trapped between each individual, striking line of black. I wanted to clear my head of these strange sensations before I lost track of what I had intended to ask.

But how was I supposed to ask? My own eyes were confused as I stared at her, lost in thought. I wasn’t about to ask any old question here, definitely not. There was no proper way to go about what I wanted to do.

“Lena,” my voice was hesitant. I could leave the issue as it was, leave it right now and never look back again. She’d told me the truth, hadn’t she? She’d told me everything I had asked for. And we were at peace right now—how could I bring us back to her nightmare? How could I refuse to let this go?

The answer was simple. It wasn’t finished yet. And if my dreaded thoughts were correct, then we’d barely even begun.

“Lena,” I started again, my voice barely above a whisper, but now completely in control for the first time that evening. What I was about to ask was beyond private; but I was through with pretences. “How many of those scars… of your scars… are your fault?” I cringed, internally, at how incredibly terrible my questions sounded. It wasn’t exactly what I’d meant, but I’d been unsure how to frame my thoughts.

Her head snapped up, and what I saw in her eyes, I never wanted to see again. They were cold, and blank, hard as stone, and yet… so utterly demoralized that it was torture to look at them. How many lifetimes had her eyes seen?

“What are you implying, Ian?” I was untouched by her tone. Surprising though it was, her defensive tone made what was left of my emotions drop rapidly. This was the answer I’d dreaded, expected, and was not prepared for. And yet… yet, there was some instinct in me that made me stare her straight on, and not falter in her steely gaze. And instinct that begged for me to keep going; an instinct that overrode all other blushes of emotion I was experiencing at the moment.

“I’m asking, Lena, how you could have hurt yourself when there were so many others already doing the job for you.” I refused to drop my gaze, and my voice was far above a whisper now.

She flinched, and shrank away from me, crossing her arms once again over the scars that I now knew were partially of her own making. Trying to hide several things, I noted, at once—her wrists, though I doubted there’d be anything to see there. Lena was better at hiding than that.

She couldn’t meet my unfaltering gaze, and the tears coursing down her cheeks now were shameful, self-righteous, ashamed, all at once. I lightly put my hands under her chin, and turned her face back towards mine. She closed her eyes, unable to look at me.

“Lena. I’m not going to hurt you, or judge you, or mislead you in any way. But I would like the truth. Convince me that I shouldn’t call the cops right now, Lena.” My voice was soft at the end, and I lowered my hand from her chin before she could notice the way it shook at our short contact.

She tried to look at me. She tried to put up walls again, but my eyes refused to let her. She swallowed, and looked away, but her gaze returned to mine as if she couldn’t help it. I waited patiently.

“I… I wasn’t good enough,” Her voice, finally, after all the strain, broke. “Everything I did, it was never enough for her. Never enough to make anyone stay with me. It wasn’t enough for Ashley, for anyone else, for you.” Her gaze was tortured as she looked me head on, her voice rising in volume. “I hated you so much. You epitomized every reason why I was all wrong for this world. You made me hate myself every time I looked in the mirror! Why couldn’t I be as perfect as you?”

Her breath came out in gasps as she tried to control her breathing. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t open my mouth to apologize for all the pain that I’d never known I could cause.

She couldn’t stay upright anymore, not as the weight of her words crashed down on us. I pulled her robotically into me embrace, my guilt a twin emotion to the strange, flickerings of feeling I was getting. The racking movement of her body was too much, however, so I leaned back into the arm of the couch to brace her small, but suddenly powerful frame, in my arms. This put me in a controversial position, with her trembling lips so close to mine. I was suddenly seized with the same irrational desire that had led me to nearly ruin our fragile friendship before; I could not be tempted. I had to do something.

As her sobs became more subdued, her body seemed to tire itself out; she allowed me to turn her around, ever so gently, to lean back against me, seeming not to notice it at all, curled up as she was. I secured my arms around her again, and was too pleased when her head leaned back onto my chest. Finally, her breathing became even, if still shallow.

“Do you still hate me?” I said, attempting to sound teasing, but not quite getting there. I felt her arms fall to her sides, and I toyed with the idea of taking her hands. My guilt was biting at me, but I swallowed it. I would never forgive myself for that.

It was silent for a long moment.

“How could I hate you anymore? I’ve seen what you’ve done, how you’ve changed. As much as I’m wary, as much as I don’t want to believe you, my mind has a way of its own.”

I didn’t know what to say. How was I supposed to respond to that? I couldn’t. My earlier incoherency had returned.

I felt her fingers stop in their path, and absently fell to rest on her stomach. I realized that I had probably hurt her when I tackled her earlier, and I was immediately sorry. My mouth was puckered in guilt that she couldn’t see.

“I’m sorry I tackled you. How much did it hurt?” I mumbled, aware that my lips were right by her ear.

She laughed then, a light-hearted breeze in comparison to the flurries that had shadowed us before.

“That was nothing. Try training twice a day, and you’ll know pain.”

I winced, and was horrified. She must have felt me stiffen, because she laughed again, to my utter confusion.

“I was joking, Ian.”

“It wasn’t very funny.”

“Seriously,” her voice grew quiet, “it doesn’t hurt at all.”

I didn’t believe her. Lena was perceptive, and knew I wasn’t fooled. So she took my hands and very deliberately allowed my fingers to run over her scars. It must have started out as a teasing motion, but in no time at all, the contact had become personal. I yearned to know how badly she was hurting, so that I could fix it. The fabric of her light shirt concealed the true damage, however.

She had to see the trembling now.

I couldn’t see her face and read her expression. I didn’t know what was running through her head. Everything that was happening was not according to plan, not at all…

I didn’t know what was running through mine.

- - - Lena

I’d lost all thought to the consequences. This was comfort. This was pain. This was joy, having no barriers to my soul.

I dropped one of Ian’s hands, twining my fingers through the other tightly. His hand was shaking. I wondered why.

His fingers on my stomach had the most curious effect; where they touched, I felt warmth, a tingling sensation, and a foreign urge for it to continue. It didn’t tickle; I’d lost those nerves long ago.

His hand was warm in mine.

I listened as the sound of his breathing became uneven. There was a moments pause as his free hand stopped, twinned exactly to the pause in his breath.

My eyes were drooping. This was too surreal.

My breathing was even as I let him place his hand on my stomach. It was so comforting to lean my head back, feeling his breath near my ear, that I forgot all the little details that had always mattered before. I had lost all caution, and my thoughts were wordless.

I was living in the moment, luxuriating in the emotions I felt rather than restraining them, analyzing them, countering them. My eyes closed as I felt my fingers slip through his, and the last thing I remembered was how strangely soft his chest seemed to be…

- - - Ian

I let her sleep. Then, as gently as I could, I lifted her, tucking her close into my arms. When I made it to my room, I laid her noiselessly on my bed, and tucked the blankets around her.

Then I grabbed a sleeping bag and settled myself on the floor.

My dreams shifted from warm smiles and nightmarish scars.