Remember This Part

21. Some Things Are Hard to Forget

** Trigger Warning - This chapter contains scenes depicting and discussing domestic violence. (Note: If necessary, you can skip this entire chapter.)

Thea.

I can't say anything at first. My throat is dry, my lips are shaking, my heart is thumping too loud for me to hear much else. But as the moments pass in Alex's arms, I realize that I don't even have any words to say.

The memory that had sprung before my eyes not so long ago feels suddenly very far away, as far as the distance between New Jersey and Colorado. It seems foggy to me now, when mere minutes ago, it felt as real as if it were happening in front of me. Something about my dad pushing me into the couch and hitting me. But that happened more than once. I should be desensitized to it. It shouldn't still hurt me like it does.

And yet, it hurts. It burns. It stings like alcohol on an open wound, like when your mom is cleaning your shredded back, picking out pieces of a smashed beer bottle, muttering tear-soaked apologies because she came home late and your father took it out on you.

I still have those damn scars. I still have them all, across my ribs, on the back of my thighs, on my stomach, my right shoulder, my left knee. To this day, my mom doesn't know about most of them. She usually wasn't there when I got them, because if she had been, my father would have hurt her instead of me.

Alex has his hand on one of them now, though I doubt he can feel it beneath my thick sweater. He's making soft circles with his thumb, drawing soothing patterns while his lips touch my hairline. He's being so tender, so gentle, so patient. I should be grateful, but those feelings are dominated by guilt and fear. Guilt, because I panicked on him again. Fear, because he could walk away, now, and I couldn't even blame him.

He did all of this for me—the flowers, the show, the dinner—and I've rewarded him with shit.

I try to convince myself it'll be okay. If he decides he doesn't want this anymore, I'll recover. I'll go home and cry to Nika. She'll set up a girl's night for us. We'll watch shows and eat ice cream. In a couple weeks, it'll be like the breakup never happened.

But, of course, that's a lie. I already know that if Alex ends things now...it'll take more than that to get over him. Much, much more.

Because I'm stupidly attached to him.

How could I let this happen?

And I'm not talking about the panic attacks. I've always known those are a part of me, along with the scars and everything else. I mean...how could I let myself grow so dependent on him so quickly? After all these years, I should have the strongest defenses, the most protected heart, the hardest resolve. I handed it all over to Alex like it was nothing. Like it was easy.

And that's why this next part could be so incredibly hard.

His hand moves from my back to my arm, holding it gently while his other one comes up to touch the side of my face. I'm scared to look into his eyes, but I'm also scared to avoid them. I have to know what they say.

This is one of the rare moments in which his expression is actually somewhat readable. I see it in his face. Not anger, not annoyance. Concern, tinted by sympathy.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his soft tone matching the look in his eyes.

I manage a nod and let my stare fall from his.

"I..." I begin, but my voice wavers off. I was going to say, I'm sorry. But I know he's not expecting nor desiring an apology. So I settle for saying, "I'm fine. Thank you."

He leans lower and kisses me gently on the temple. I can tell there's something else he wants to say, but he seems more hesitant this time.

Finally, he asks, "Will you tell me about it?"