The Spare To The Throne

Chapter 42: Love Scars

Wood sputters and pops in the library's fireplace. I swing my legs off the couch, realizing that my curled position is leaving my lower half in numbing tingles.

'The Broken King' lays in my lap and my fingers graze its side in perturbation. Why does this feel normal? Waking up every morning in a house that's not my own. I'm unwillingly adapting to a whole setting that I want so desperately to leave.

Will I ever see mom again? What about dad and Mason?

I don't want to grow numb to my past. I recall Adah's void and her hollow demeanor when she spoke yesterday. I don't want to be indifferent to my history. It's the only thing I have left.

Footsteps echo into the room and I realize I'm no longer alone. My train of thought is wrecked as my head snaps to a nearing Xavier.

He climbs onto the couch leisurely, filling up every gap of space between us. His hoodie shades his face but he takes it off. "What are you doing?" He murmurs roughly. He sounds tired.

I hold up the book and he hums, satisfied. Naturally, he leans his head down onto my lap, pivoting the rest of his body to lay sideways. I tense. Is this our new norm? Are we supposed to act like this with each other? I'm ignorant but decide not to question it.

The hairs on my arms stand and the mere brush with his skin feels more intensified. So I sit rigidly.

"I won't bite." He promises, confirming that my awkward stiffness is very much noticeable. His short hair sprawls out onto my lap. I hesitate but slowly quench the urge to touch it.

I've never done this before. Only dreamt of it. My fingers fall through his silky strands immediately on touch. I slide my hand through his hair again, this time twirling his feather strands between my fingers. He feels like satin.

On the crown of his head is a scar. A deep jagged line, hidden by the thickness of his mane.

"What happened here?" I'm quizzical and astounded by this newfound defacement.

Silence engulfs us. His eyes are closed but I know that he hears me. Suddenly he takes my hands off his head, pushing up my long sleeve to reveal my arm. His fingers trace the faded slits on my left sleeve.

My breath hitches.

"I'll tell you," he breathes. "Only if you tell me what happened here." His hands glide its way over my mended marks of self-hate.

My heart pounds loud in my ears. His awareness of this is not bizarre to me though. I know he knows. Since the night he took me to his cabin by the lake. It was an evening full of mistakes and regrets. Exposure to parts of my body I'd like to keep private. Sometimes I still replay that night in my head. I'd think to myself, what I could've done differently.

Be more vocal. That's for sure.

But Xavier stopped and that I'm thankful for. He awaits my reply, but I know he knows the truth.

"It's self-explanatory."

He rolls over so now he's laying on his back with his head still on my lap. "Then so is mine."

I scoff. "Not quite." I run my fingers over his scar again. I really want to know. What happened here? Why is it so deep? The healed skin is uneven, indented, and unexplainably profound.

I heave a sigh, giving in to his stupid agreement.

"I had a toxic habit," I pause trying to find the words to continue. "This used to be my way of dealing with things." I look to see if he's listening and unsurprisingly, he is. "My escape. My bandage- ironically," I chuckle despite nothing being humorous. "My blunt. It was medicinal." I say, trying to compare it to something he uses often.