Battle Scars

Chapter 14: Secrets and Promises

Leah

Jay's arms around me feel like a lifeline, but at the same time, like chains pulling me deeper into the weight of my memories. His hold is strong and steady, and part of me wants to push him away—needs to push him away. I'm not used to people holding on, and I sure as hell am not used to letting them. But the pain is too fresh, too raw, and for once, I'm too tired to keep fighting.

I close my eyes, trying to breathe through the panic threatening to break free. Ki is still standing at the door, his face as pale as I've ever seen it, and it makes me feel even worse for dropping this on them. They don't deserve this, none of it, and now it's too late to take it back.

The silence in the room feels heavy, suffocating. Jay is still holding the gauze against my shoulder, and his fingers brush my skin, careful and precise. I want to tell him it's fine, that he can leave, but the words don't come. My voice feels trapped, stuck beneath the lump in my throat.

I'm too aware of the blood staining my shirt, and the exhaustion tugging at every muscle in my body. I'm so used to hiding everything behind smiles and casual remarks, behind routines and laughter that feels forced. But now, with the truth out in the open, I don't have the strength to put up the walls I've built for so long.

"Leah," Jay says quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper. There's something in his tone—something raw and pained that I don't want to face. I know he's going to say something comforting, something that'll make me feel seen, and right now, that's the last thing I need.

"Don't," I manage to choke out. "Please, don't."

Jay tightens his hold just slightly, like he's afraid if he loosens his grip, I'll slip away. Ki, to his credit, hasn't said a word, but I can feel his stare burning into my back, and I know what he's seeing. I know what both of them are seeing, and it's killing me.

"It's over now," I say, trying to sound stronger than I feel. "It's done. I'm fine."

But I'm not fine. I haven't been fine for a long time, and I don't know when, or if, I ever will be.

Jay doesn't push back, but he doesn't let go either. It's like he knows I need the quiet, the stillness, more than anything else right now. For the first time in years, I feel like maybe I don't have to carry this alone. It's terrifying, letting them see the mess I am underneath, but at the same time, it feels like the first breath of air after drowning for too long.

Ki's voice finally breaks the silence, low and thick with emotion. "Why didn't you tell us?" he asks, and there's no judgment, just confusion and hurt.

I don't know how to answer that without making things worse. How do I explain that telling them would've made it all too real? That pretending everything was fine was the only way I could keep moving forward?

"Because..." I start, but my voice falters. I take a shaky breath, trying to gather my thoughts. "Because I didn't want anyone to look at me like this. Like you are now."

Jay's fingers flex against my shoulder, and Ki lets out a small, strangled noise that makes my heart twist painfully in my chest. They care about me, I know that. But it doesn't make it any easier to accept.

"It's not pity, Leah," Jay says, his voice rough. "It's not."

I want to believe him, but I don't know if I can. It's hard to trust that after everything I've been through, after everything I've seen. Trusting people has only led to disappointment and pain, and I'm not sure if I have it in me to try again.

"I'm not asking for pity," I say softly. "I just... I just need you to understand that I'm dealing with it. It's not your responsibility."

Jay lets out a shaky breath, his forehead resting against the back of my head for a moment. "You don't have to deal with it alone," he murmurs, and there's something so genuine in his voice that it makes my chest ache.
Jay's hands remain steady as he finishes placing the fresh gauze on my shoulder, but I can feel the tension radiating from him. He's holding back something—questions, maybe, or anger. I can sense it in the way his fingers flex, the way his jaw tenses.