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You had a scar that you were self-conscious about, a large crescent-moon that arched just beneath your right shoulder blade. You considered it a flaw, but Bellamy considered it to be a work of art. To him it was an integral brushstroke on the masterpiece that was you. You were a work of fine art, a perfectly sculpted treasure worthy of the grand artist Michelangelo. He treated every line of your unique design as special and just like the strokes in a painting, every line was essential in conveying the story that was your life. For you, the scar represented an unwanted memento from a childhood accident, a souvenir from your abusive and alcoholic mother. You had blotted out most of the memory except for small fragments that featured flashes of blood, broken glass, and the drunken slurs that came screeching from your mother's mouth. Twelve stitches later you had this beauty that not only left a blemish on your body but on your mind. And just like you kept the memory suppressed you kept the scar covered. It was midsummer and the weather was quite warm, much too warm for the black bomber jacket you were sporting. Wearing that much clothing when the temperature was pushing 80 degrees was absolutely absurd, but you were only comfortable enough to remove the veiling garment in the privacy of your own tent. The fleshy, discolored scar was quite noticeable against your skin tone and eyeballs immediately flocked to it whenever you wore a tank top. It was tiresome having to remember all of the stories you created just to cover up the truth. You would rather deal with the heat than the never ending questions and stares. Working for hours under the hot sun in heavy layers required frequent breaks and you were taking a short recess in the shade of your tent before returning to work. You had taken off every top layer and you wiped the sweat from your back with a wet cloth. You were fastening your bra when Bellamy came in. He eyed you with a mischievous grin while he set his pack and rifle down on the ground. "Don't look at me like that," You said slipping the racerback tank over your head. "Why?" Bellamy asked with a laugh. "Because I know exactly what you're thinking." Both of your eyes fell on the bomber jacket. You reached for it but Bellamy beat you to it by a millisecond. "Come on, Bell. Quit fooling around," You said crossing your arms. "I was just gonna offer to help you put it on," Bellamy said holding the jacket open. "You just want to poke at my scar." "That's only partly true." You held out your hand. "Give me the jacket." "After you give me a kiss," Bellamy said hiding the coat behind his back. You leaned in and gave him three quick smooches on the lips before retrieving your garment from his clutches. "That was two more than you asked for. Must be your lucky day." "I'm lucky because I have you." Bellamy always knew the right thing to say to make your heart turn into silly putty. "For the record, I think you're beautiful any way you want to be, but I don't think you need the jacket," he said sitting on the edge of the bed. He removed his dark blue t-shirt and tossed it on the bed next to him. "In fact, you don't need to wear anything around me." Bellamy grabbed you by the hips and buried his face in your stomach, which happened to be the most ticklish part of your body. "Okay, okay, no jacket," You giggled, placing the clothing item next to him. "But I should get back to sorting rations." You tried to walk away from him but he pulled you onto his lap by the hem of your shirt. He held you in place by wrapping his well-toned arms around your waist. Then he trailed kisses along the outline of each of your shoulder blades, saving your scar for last because it deserved special attention. Tiny goose bumps spiked all across your arms as his supple lips glided gracefully across your skin. "Well, I relieve you of your rations duty," Bellamy said rolling you onto the bed. "Besides, I'm tired of watching you roast like a wild boar out in that sun." "I'll never understand your obsession with this scar," You sighed, lifting your shirt over your head. "It's part of you," He said tracing the contour of your shoulder with his index finger. He unfastened your bra so that he could enjoy every square inch of this glorious monument. "You're beautiful because you survived." You couldn't help but marvel at Bellamy's ability to give something with such a negative connotation a positive meaning. From Bellamy's perspective that little imperfection said nothing about your mother but it spoke volumes about your character. That mark represented your strength, courage, and strong will in the face of adversity. Those were the traits that he truly admired about you. You turned over to face your beloved Bellamy, wondering how on earth you became so fortunate to have someone as incredible as him in your life. You skimmed your fingers delicately across his jawline before kissing him deeply. "I love you," You said brushing the messy dark tendrils away from his face. "I love you too." Bellamy was just as much a part of you now as that scar was. His love exemplified everything that was right and good about you. He was always able to dig through all the muck that you hid behind and point out what made you extraordinary. With him you didn't have to suffocate. You could air out all of your insecurities in maximum comfort. You didn't need the jacket anymore because Bellamy was your human security blanket.
