HAVING 13 - Johnny Kavanagh

19. Mammy K

MISSY
February 6th 2005

I showered in Johnny's bathroom after the promise and he gave me some clothes. They were big, but the pants didn't fall off, so it was fine. He gave me an ice-pack to cool off my near burn mark.

He didn't ask how it suddenly appeared within the twenty minutes between me going inside my house and coming back out. I was grateful for his silence.

Johnny and I were sitting on a living room couch and watching Dead Poets Society. It was my favourite movie. He said he liked it.

We talked throughout the whole movie, pausing it every few minutes to talk about something that had happened. I felt safe.

This was my favourite way to watch movies, and he didn't call me annoying. He didn't make fun of me for being excited about something.

There was a dim light shining from above and I sat a good foot and a half away from Johnny. I didn't want to intrude.

It was warm in there, so I slid Johnny's sweater over my head and put it next to me. I was wearing his Guns N' Roses t-shirt under it. Johnny said he loved this band, so I listened to them more often these days.

I had sensed him looking over at me every few minutes for the past hour the film had been on, but he was staring for a while too long this time.

After two more minutes, I finally looked at him, turning confused when I saw tears fighting to stay in his eyes.

"Johnny?" I asked.

"Mel, what the fuck are those?" He grabbed my lower arm softly.

Oh.

He saw my scars.

He saw the ugliest part of me.

The most recent scars were from a week ago, so they were partially healed, but still very much visible. Along with healed proof of the past, it didn't paint a very pretty picture to look at.

Yet, he didn't take his eyes off, even when a tear fell and I caught it with my thumb. "Don't cry, please," I whispered. "Shite."

I didn't know what to do in this situation. I hated that he was crying and I caused it.

"Baby, there's-" He said hoarsely. "You did this?"

Shite, he was going to see me differently. I tried to ignore his question. I stood up and threw my sweater back on. Sitting back down, I stared at my hands for a second. "No, I didn't." I picked at the skin around my nails, habit of mine. I reached for Johnny's sweater I'd lent and slid it back on.

"Jaysus, why would you do this to yourself?" More tears were falling. I shuffled closer to him now and wiped them away. He finally looked into my eyes.

"It's okay," I comforted him.

"No, it's not, you-" He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and held me close. "I'm here, you know? I'm your boyfriend, Mel, I'm always going to be here from now on."

"Boyfriend?" I asked, recognising that funny feeling in my chest.

Not like the usual butterflies. Not like when I kissed him, or when we said something at the same time and laughed about it for half an hour during my shift.

It was like when I cried on the bike or felt myself sinking lower each second while sitting in school.

It was too good to be true, right? It would end badly either way, right? If he got too involved, he would realise that I'm too fucked up to fix.