Page 11 of Beautiful Scars

I told him to stay away. Several times. And I meant it. Every. Single. Time. His answer? A white slip of paper slid under the front door this afternoon. An invitation. To the party at his house tonight along with a promise to keep his distance. If that’s what I wanted.

The whole thing is irritating, but impossibly sweet. Two words I seem to use to describe the things he does more than any others when I think about him.

He’s ridiculous. He has no idea what he's asking from me, or what he'd be setting himself up for. If he did, there's no way he’d have invited me.

That stupid slip of paper is still sitting on my dresser. I haven’t thrown it away—yet. It's the first time in forever that someone's actually thought about me and it feels wrong to just throw that away.

I keep thinking he has to know though. There's no way he doesn't understand by now how awful it would be if I showed up. I saw him with Ryan. If he's hanging out with someone on the football team, it means he'sonthe team. Those guys only hang out with each other. It’s like they’re in some sort of weird, exclusive cult. Which is a good thing, mostly, because it makes it easier to stay out of their way.

I can't imagine that no one's rushed to spill every single last one of the gory details of my life. There's nothing any of the people I know are on the other side of that fence love more than making sure I know my place. And stay there.

The whole thing could easily be a way for him to stroke his ego a bit and feel good about himself. Offer up a pity invite to the sad, loser girl with the shitty life and no friends. Like I’m some sort of charity case..

I haven’t gotten the impression he’s like that though. My gut tells me he means everything he’s said. But it’s not like I know him and I definitely know better than to read too much into anything.

But here I am, lying in bed like an idiot, unable to stop my mind from wandering over the fence and into his backyard. To him. I catch myself wondering what he's doing over there. If he meant what he said about keeping his distance unless I changed my mind. I wonder if he’s thinking about me, hoping I’ll show up.

Of course, thereisanother option. One I try to slam the door shut on before it can take hold. Maybe the reason he invited me was a trick. A joke. Maybe he heard the rumors and it changed his mind about me. Maybe he picked a side and I'm not it.

One more reason to not show up.

The idea of him surrounded by other people—normal people who aren't scared of their own shadow—creates a hollow ache in my stomach that feels like too much. I tell myself that I feel this way because he made me feel safe. That it was one time, and nothing more. I know I'm being stupid for letting someone—a stranger—take up this much space in my head.

But the ache doesn't go away, and I hate myself for caring about any of it.

Flipping over on my stomach, I press my face into the pillow and squeeze it over my ears. It doesn't help. Nothing helps.

Finally, with a groan, I kick the blankets off and sit up. No real point in lying here pretending anymore. Dragging myself out of bed, I throw on some shorts and a T-shirt and pad down the stairs. When I get to the back door, I open it quietly and step outside. The music and laughter are even louder. I close the door behind me with a soft click as I step out onto the deck. The last thing I want is to be seen. Talk about humiliating.

It's a beautiful summer night, with only a small sliver of moon and a sky full of stars. I take a deep inhale when the cool night air hits my face. It smells of fresh cut grass and cigarette smoke. I walk over to the stairs leading down to the lawn and take a seat on the first step.

From up here I have a good view into Levi's backyard. People are spilling out of the house into the yard where they cluster into small, tight, cliquey groups and sip drinks out of red plastic cups. Soft white lights are strung up between the trees casting a soft glow over the entire yard. The steady hum of conversation is punctuated with sharp laughter and soft giggles. The whole scene looks like something out of some cheesy teen movie. It's ridiculous. And beautiful.

I'd never admit it out loud, but I’d give anything to be a part of it.

It looks like anyone who’s anyone is there tonight.

Everyone but you.I grind my teeth.

My gaze drifts over the groups, scanning the faces until—there he is.

Levi.

He's standing at the edge of the porch, leaning against the railing with his arms crossed. He’s wearing a plain white T-shirt and jeans that fit him perfectly. A cluster of girls, obviously hanging on his every word, surround him. I get the feeling he’s used to being the center of attention. It explains a lot. He’s wearing a smirk and from here it looks like he’s holding court—effortlessly commanding the space around him like he was born to it.

But even from this distance, I catch a few little tells that maybe he’s not as comfortable as it would seem at first glance. His fingers drum restlessly against the wooden rail, and he keeps moving his head like he’s scanning the crowd. It seems like maybe he's going through the motions, playing a part that doesn't quite fit.

I should go back inside. I should turn around and go to bed. There's nothing for me out here. None of this is for me.

But I don’t.

I stay. I keep watching like some awkward masochistic peeping tom—telling myself I don’t care, when obviously I do. Even I’m not that good of a liar.

My breath catches in my throat when his eyes find mine through the darkness. Despite the dark, and the distance, his gaze zeroes in on me. I can feel it.

It was like he knew I’d been sitting here all along. He straightens a little, the smirk on his face fading just enough to make me feel like I've been caught doing something wrong. I freeze. For a second, I think about standing up and running back inside where I belong.

But again, I choose to stay.

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