Scars

6. We All Struggle

"Come on princess," she grunted as she helped him up a hill. She was pretty sure he had broken his ankle, it was completely non-weight bearing and going up a hill with him was nearly impossible.

"I need a break," he said as his good knee finally gave under him. He collapsed onto the ground with a thud. He lay there, face in the dirt, breathing heavily. She sat next to him, they were about halfway up the steep hill. She rolled him towards her so that his back was resting against her thigh and his face wasn't shoved into the dirt.

"What do you think is going to happen?" she asked him quietly.

"As far as?"

"What I did to her," she murmured. He shifted his body so he could look up at her face easily. His hand came up to her face and gently ran down the four gashes in her cheek.

"I think you both did some damage. And there'll be consequences for sure." She pushed her face into his hand, forcing him to cup her cheek.

"Am I going to be expelled?"

"Probably not. We're a small community, people fight all the time and then they get over it." He pulled his hand away and wiped the blood on his pants, "You might need stitches."

"Hopefully not. How bad was she?" Billie asked looking down at him. He was red from exertion, sweat covered him in a sheen.

"The nurse took a look at her, nothing broken, just a few cuts. None as deep as the ones you have, and she said bruising would be pretty nasty."

"No hospital?"

"Nuh-uh," Chris responded. Billie sighed in relief and smiled to herself, "What?" Chris asked.

"My self-control is getting better." His eyes widened slightly, but he kept his comments to himself. She looked down at him, his Pink Floyd band shirt was stuck to him like a shirt condom.

"Let's get this shirt off you, it'll help you cool down." He flinched away from her hands, "I've seen them Chris." He stared up at her, reluctance painted him.

"Okay," he finally agreed. He sat up and she stripped the shirt off of him from behind. She turned and stuck it through her belt loop, trying not to get sick at how wet it was. He remained sitting, back exposed to her as he stared out at the green mosaic of forest. Her hands hovered over his back as she visually picked apart his marred back. He sucked in a deep breath.

"You can touch them," he said to her.

"You're sure?" He nodded and she gently laid her hands on his shoulders, mostly free of scars she figured that would be the best place to start. He jumped hard as she touched bare skin, that she assumed, hadn't been touched since he first received those scars.

"Please," his voice was so small, "Please touch them." She gently moved the pads of her fingers down his muscled back. She traced the newest ones first, they were an angry red, only years old. They resembled the scars on her forearms.

"What are they from?" she asked softly. Her fingers still exploring every inch of his back. She took her hands away for a moment, just long enough to sit behind him, her legs spread on either side of his hips.

"My dad." He said it so softly she almost missed it.

"Joe did this?" Anger rocked her body like a car wreck. The heaviness of the emotion took her off guard.

"No!" he exclaimed, "No, my biological father. My mom divorced him two years ago. She had been friends with Joe for almost my whole life. He helped her get everything for the divorce together. He moved in after my Dad was gone to help make us feel safer. They started dating like a year ago." Billie cupped the points of his shoulder blades in her hands. He breathed deep and held it, the scar tissue was greatest there. She slid her hands off his shoulder blades, down his ribcage and around his waist. She hugged him tightly and rested her face between his shoulder blades.