Letters From the Lost

~Noah~

I had woken up pretty early, I stayed in bed for a while just staring at Max. It felt a little weird for a while, but she looked so vulnerable. But I hated that a small frown was shaping her lips, hopefully the dream she had leaves her memory when she wakes. Sleeping was always an escape for me, maybe it's the same for her. But at the same time, sleep leaves you defenseless; you wouldn't have anything to protect you. But now that she's here, I won't let anything happen to her. After a while of laying in bed, I slowly climbed out, careful not to wake Max. I poured myself a cup of coffee and made her some lemon water. Lemon was supposed to help with sore throats and lost voices, so I hoped it would help her. Last night, she could hardly speak at all; she had so many things to say, I could see it in her eyes, but he robbed her of her words. I stood in the kitchen with my mug in hand, the glass of lemon water sitting waiting for Max. It was still a little early so I didn't expect her to wake up anytime soon. I thought this would be a perfect time to organize the storm of thoughts going on in my mind.

I heard a quiet groan then rustling coming from my bedroom down the hallway. I glanced down the hall to see Max walking out of my room while rubbing her eye. She groaned again quietly, I barely heard that one. Her feet shuffled on the ground, "Good morning!" I said. She gave me a warm smile and didn't say anything in return. "I made you some lemon water to help with your voice. I wasn't sure if you wanted honey in it so I didn't add any, hopefully you get your voice bad soon. And, with those bruises, you might want to ice them, it helps get rid of the bruising. It should also help with the tenderness."

"Okay, thank you," She whispered. Her voice sounded a little better than last night, but still lost. "Is it okay if I take a shower?"

"Of course," I led her to the bathroom down the hall, "Be careful, it can get really hot. Use whatever you want. And, towels are in the cabinet." I gave her a soft smile and turned around and closed the door.

After I got dressed, I sat on my bed trying to figure something out on my guitar. I heard the bathroom door creaking open then quiet footsteps that led to my room. I looked up and saw Max standing in the doorway with a towel wrapped around her abdomen. Her arms were folded, pressing her clothes to her body. My heart sank when my eyes wandered to her arms and chest. Massive scars covered her arms, some fresh and others healed white or purple. Her biceps were covered in yellow and green bruises, mostly faded. A dark purple ring around her neck. But the worst part was her chest. It was covered in cigarette burns. Some healed over, some had red scabs. Most of them were green, which meant they were infected, definitely not healed properly. Some looked like they had been there for years. There were so many, like they covered most of her chest, but they were well hidden; none under her collarbone. She noticed the instant change in my reaction, seeing the sadness in my eyes, she lifted her arms to cover them, but it only exposed more scarring around her wrists. I knew exactly what those were, they were self-harm scars, I could tell they were caused by a suicide attempt as well. I set my guitar down and rushed out of my room so she could get ready. I tried to settle the storm in my mind, but there were too many thoughts. I had so many questions.

Max came into the living room, she had on a turtleneck shirt and jeans. She was covering the scars and bruises I already knew she had. "I know this isn't going to be an easy subject for you to talk about; I really needed answers, I needed to know that she knew the answers. What are those scars and bruises from?" I asked. I already knew the answer to that, it was too obvious. The bruises were from Jackson, and those scars, it hurt to see them. It hurt to see what kind of war she was battling in her mind. There were so many scars, some healed white and bubbled over. A lot were mostly fresh, still had color to them. Her left arm seemed to have the most scars, most likely because she's right handed.

She stared at me with tears in her eyes, "The bruises are from Jackson," Tears started to stream down her cheeks.

"Okay, and what about the scars on your chest?" I remembered what her chest looked like under her shirt. The deep holes in her chest, some green and others red. They hadn't been tended to properly. I smoke, I used to smoke at least a pack a day. So, I have my fair share of cigarette burns, they were all on my left forearm. The four, maybe five, were all healed, but they hurt like hell. I couldn't imagine the pain she must have felt, hers were deeper and most of them infected.

"Can we please not talk about this?" She croaked. She looked at me firmly, I stared at her pleadingly. I fully understood that she didn't want to have this conversation, but it was needed. Not only did I need to understand what I was helping her recover from, but she needed to understand it herself.

"I get that you don't want to talk about this, I get it. But we do need to have this conversation and it's better sooner than later. I saw the scars on your chest, I saw the bruises on your neck and biceps, and I saw the scars on your wrists. I saw how many there were. Now, can you at least tell me what the scars are from?"

"Cigarette burns," She whispered. Her head hung.

"Who did that to you?" My breath hitched as I let more emotion through than intended.

"Jackson...and, someone else. I don't want to talk about that right now," She whispered.

"Okay, now, can you tell me about the other scars?" I tried to keep the emotion out of my voice, it wasn't working very well. I stepped closer to her slowly, I grabbed her hands and held them gently. I rubbed my thumbs back and forth reassuringly, "Please?" I begged.

She just stared down at our hands, not saying anything. I watched a tear stream down her cheek and land on our hands. She finally looked up at me. "I can't, Noah. Please, don't make me talk about this," She begged.

"Max, I know you don't want to talk about this, I know. But this isn't just for me, but it's for you. Please just tell me." She didn't say anything again. I looked her in the eyes, staring deep. Her beautiful ocean eyes said so many things that no one even looked for. I could see the desperation, she wanted me to stop talking about it, but at the same time, she also wanted to tell me. "Can I see them?" I questioned.

She pulled her hands away from mine and pulled up her left sleeve revealing the scars, I felt tears fill my eyes but quickly pushed them back down. I grabbed her hand and ran my thumb up her forearm. Her breath hitched with embarrassment. I leaned down and planted a kiss in the middle of the scars, on the thickest one. I grabbed her other hand and lifted the sleeve of that one too, the arm with more scars. I ran my thumb up those ones. She pulled her arm away, hiding it behind her back. I stared at her, fighting back tears, I knew if I let them fall she would feel more guilt and embarrassment by them. "Why do you hide behind that mask?"

"I don't know." She pulled her sleeves down and walked past me to sit on the couch. I walked over and sat next to her. "I guess it was easier to act like everything was okay, to hide all the pain; rather than admitting to myself that I was just broken."

The vision of herself was so wrong, her words rendered me speechless. But I knew that I finally got to her. Even if it was just a fraction of it, I still got her to trust me.. I stood up and held my hand out in front of her. She looked up at me and placed her hand in mine. I pulled her up and into a hug. I always forget that she's over a foot shorter than me, so when she hugged me her arms were usually wrapped around my waist.

She pulled away from the hug and looked up at me. I stared into her gorgeous eyes, tears streamed down her rosy cheeks. "Noah, this is your chance to leave. I'm giving you a chance to run before you get hurt. I'm being serious. I'm a broken girl who can't do anything right. I screw up and I hurt everyone I love. You'll have no idea how much it hurts for me to beg you to leave. But I'm not okay, and I never will be. This is your chance to leave before it's too late. This is your chance to do what people do with broken toys, throw them out."

"Oh, sweetheart," I could feel my eyes fill with tears, "I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to stay. Baby, you aren't broken. You are not broken, you've just been treated horribly. Broken things don't work, but you do! Despite everything you have gone through, you wake up everyday and make it through the day. And that's why you're so strong. You wake up everyday, deal with all of life's obstacles, then make it home at the end of the day. You're not broken, you've just never been shown what it's like to be loved. You haven't been treated fairly, and you just have a lot of trauma that needs to be healed."

She closed her eyes as tears continuously streamed down her cheeks, "Please don't leave me, Noah," She begged. I pulled her into a tight hug. I wish I could put into words how much I love her.

"I'm not going anywhere, Baby," I whispered.