𝐌𝐈 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐈 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐀 | 𝙏𝙃𝙑

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟑 ◎ 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬.•°

'Edited'

The one who loves you, will make other people wish they had treated you better.

~petal

Her pov

"Don't be nervous, I will help you." His deep voice, laced with softness, immediately caused a strange sensation inside my body. I have never heard someone speak to me in such a soft voice in my life.

It all feels like a dream. I fear, it will break any second and the brutal reality of life will slap me hard. It is obviously unusual for a child who grew up in an abusive family listening to their parents bickering and cursing to hear soft words of love that bring comfort to their depressed heart.

I smiled and gave a nod. But there is still some hesitancy within me. I have faced many challenges in my life, but this one scares me the most. I tried hard to be strong in every aspect of my life, and while I may have succeeded, revealing signs of my weakness is my greatest fear. I was never ready for this, I'm still not.

He left me on the bed and went to the closet inside the room to grab one of his t-shirts. It looks more comfortable and oversized to me. With my right hand, I opened the first two buttons on my shirt but was unable to open the third. Placing the t-shirt on the side, he opened the buttons. His eyes were completely focused on my face not even taking a look of my upper body. His eyes were filled with a lot of emotions but lust was no where to be found.

"Let me know if it hurts." He muttered, while removing the cast off my arm after opening the buttons. I nodded my head. And then he successfully removed the cast from my arm.

It hurted a little, but I did not complain. He did it with the utmost care, trying his best not to make me uncomfortable. After removing the cast, he took the shirt off my body, leaving me in a single piece of cloth, my bra.

His gaze was drawn to my waist by the dark brown scars on my pale skin, so I turned my head to the other side. I was aware of this. My eyes began to tear up on their own. I tried hard to keep them under control, but I know I can not do it for long.

"Heaven..." He called my name. It was unusual for him to address me by my name. He never did it before, so why now? What changed? Why heaven not love?

I rested my eyes on my lap not daring to meet his gaze. The tears finally break free from the cages of my eyes and run down my pale cheeks.

I avoid touching those marks on my waist. They make me hate myself, not because they make me look bad, but because those scars represent my vulnerability, misery, and helplessness, and I despise it when I am weak. He touched those marks and my anxiety reached it's peak, I flinched from his touch, my hands trembling.

"When were you planning to tell me about them, love?" He inquired, and apparently I had no answer to this question.

'Never'

It was the only answer I have for his question. The words refused to escape my lips when the subject was my past, my vulnerability. I suddenly felt like I could not speak. I had nothing to say.

"I'm sorry." I whispered, my voice trembling just like my hands. There is an unidentified heaviness inside my heart. I closed my eyes as I spoke these words. Or, in other words, I do not want to see his reaction or hatred towards me. He will think of me as a 'weak little girl.'

"Who did this to you, love?" He inquired in pure rage. I could tell he was angry; so angry that he was clenching his fists tightly, his knuckles turned white, and his nails dug into his palms. Because of the pressure on his hand, his wrist crease had risen slightly.