Learning To Love

chapter 15

I held my wet shirt away from me, as the liquid stung and burned my skin.

"Here, take your shirt off and I'll give you one of mine." Lucas gestured me to follow him back into the apartment. We walked through the living room as I pulled the shirt over my shoulders, wiping the rest of the liquid off my face and stomach with the dry side.

Walking down a hall, we passed a bathroom and headed into the only bedroom, the other room looked like it had been changed into an office. His room was a deep and mysterious blue, making it much darker than the rest of the apartment. The furniture was all black, his bed, bedsheets, dresser, night stand, the curtains for the window. It was completely dark and ominous, and I loved it.

Lucas turned to his closest and pulled out another black shirt, exactly identical to his. Turning around to give it to me, he stopped and gasped.

Confusion was what I felt first, then the anxiety swept in. I was vulnerable, open and seen. My heart started pounding in my chest so hard I could barley breath. I didn't really think about him seeing my skin, or more of it than usual. The thought of judgement didn't even cross my mind. Not until his eyes fell down, wide and surprised.

I looked down at the few scars that stretched over my skin in bulging, rigid lines. He slowly stepped closer to me, his eyes going from one to the other.

"W-what happened?" His voice was a soft whisper, a complete contrast to his usual rough and deep voice that asserted anger and dominance when he spoke.

My mind raced, memories clouding all thoughts as I tried to come up with a lie, while the truth burned in my throat.

"I um, got into some fights. When I was, you know, down that path." I sulked, looking down at the mark that started below my collar bone and ended halfway down the left side of my chest. It was the biggest one, it was the deepest one.

The lie wasn't exactly a lie. I did get in a lot of fights, past dealers knocking the shit out of me for not paying. Though, that's not what these scars were from. I've had these scars for a long time before that.

Another one was shorter but fatter and placed on the right side of my stomach, above my belly button. One more stretched on the left side of my ribs and went all the way to the middle of my back in a long, thin, horizontal line. The last one was on my shoulder and curved down into my armpit.

Those were the scars of the knife, the knife that glided through my skin like butter. Red blood contrasting against young, pale, white skin. The knife that pierced through my flesh whenever mother wasn't home. The knife with an elephant tusks handle, framed above the fireplace, with the family name engraved on the blade.

I blinked and gasped for a big gulp of air, coming back to reality. Lucas was inches away from me, looking at the horrible scar across my chest. My heart was breaking ribs at this point, it felt as though I was about to have a heart attack.

His fingers traced from the top of the scar, down to the end of it. I flinched under his touch. Hot blood flushing to my face, making small beads of sweat drip from my hair line. I grabbed his wrist, pushing his hand fully flat against my skin.

His eyes met mine, dark green portals of a world unknown. I slowly guided his hand down my chest, his skin caressing every curve. His shoulders started to rise and fall in an increasing speed. His eyes darting from my eyes, to our hands.

Slowly, steadily, our hands glided down my stomach.

"S-stop!" His voice buckled and he quickly took his hand away.

For a second, I froze, terrified.

"I'm sorry!" I blurted, starting to feel the panic over take everything in my head.

"It's okay, I'm just. I'm n-not. I just. I'm not ready, like that." His lip was quivering, his eyes showing a deep fear as his hand shook.

"That's okay. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to push you. You don't have to do anything your not comfortable with." I rambled, feeling guilty and horrible.

His face was as red as embers, and I bet mine was too.

"Are you okay?" I asked, the sweat really starting to pour down my face now.

"Y-yes. Yeah, I'm fine. It's just. It's..." He played with the fabric of the spare shirt in his hands.

"I just-"

His eyes were wide, and to my dismay, his face blushed further.

"I don't know what I'm doing..." He choked the words out in embarrassment, and I couldn't help from the little smirk lifting on my face.

"Like I said, you never have to do anything your not comfortable with." I ensured and he nodded, taking in a deep breath.

"Are you sure your okay?" I asked, worried. Worried that it felt to him, as though I was pushing and using him. I would never do such a thing, never. The thought of hurting him, broke my heart in pieces.

"I'm fine! Here." he shoved the shirt at me and stormed out of the room. I sighed, putting the shirt on. It was loose and baggy on me, but on him it was tight and emphasized every muscle and groove.

I stood there for a moment, in disbelief. I clutched the shirt hanging over my body in my hand. It was soft and comfortable.

It was his.