Page 3 of Beautiful Scars

The words come out slurred as Garrett stumbles out the door and onto the rickety wooden deck. The rotting wood sags under his weight. His face is red and flushed, twisted into a deep, angry grimace leveled directly at me.

My stomach drops, and my heart follows right after threatening to pound it’s way out of my chest. Even it wants to escape.

Suddenly, the problem of the guy stretching out on my lawn seems incredibly small and insignificant. All the anger I was feeling drains away. It's replaced by icy-cold, mind-numbing fear.

At his best, Garrett's a sadistic, perverted prick. But, on days like today, when he’s been drinking and has gotten a good taste of my pain, he’s so, so much worse.

I know because it’s not like anything that’s happened to me today is a one-off. I wish I could say it was, but it’s not. It didn’t come from some mistake my mom made this one time. Garrett is only one mark sitting on a timeline filled with errors in judgement that she can't ever seem to correct. He's not the first and probably won’t be the last to seemeas the icing on a very fucked up cake.

Garrett staggers forward, stopping at the top of the steep stairs leading down into the yard. “Aww, you didn’t think I was done with you did you darlin’? I just needed a little break. Now, why don’t you send yourlittle friendhome and get that sweet little ass of yours up here so we can finish what we started?”

“I...I... uh…” I stammer, unsure of what, if anything, I can say to make this better.

It was a desperate choice I’d made when I chose to come outside. There are strict rules to the games Garrett likes to play with me—the first being, no early outs. Everyone stays until he wins. I'd only broken that rule once before and paid the price dearly.

Apparently not dearly enough because here I am again.

I'd needed some fresh air though. I was desperate. I'd waited until he passed out on the couch before dragging myself to my feet and stumbling into the bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror, I forced myself to look—to inventory the damage.

Bright red stripes the width of his leather belt crisscrossed the pale skin of my chest and stomach. Deep purple and black bruises were starting to form in the shape of hands and fingers along my arms, ribs, over my hips and down the insides of each thigh. It occurred to me, as I stared at my reflection, that each time was getting worse.

As I stood there, staring at my reflection, something clicked. I could see everything, big picture and clear as a bell.

Eventually, there'd come a time when there would be no coming back from it, from him, because there'd be nothing left of me. Nothing left to hurt. Nothing left to take. And nothing left to try and piece back together.

One day, I won’t be able to get back up.

That thought—that moment of perfect clarity—was suffocating. It felt like I was being buried alive. I had to get outside and put some space between me and what I saw in the mirror. I’d been desperate enough to break his rules, to risk everything to breathe a few mouthfuls of air that didn't smell like him.

I'd hedged my bets and lost. It was that simple. Usually when Garrett passes out, he's down for hours. Sometimes less, but he'd been so wasted when he got home I was sure my mom would be back before he woke up.

Not that I had any grand illusions about her rushing in to save me. She's proven time and time again that she won't help anyone, including me—unless there's something in it for her. She’s selfish, but predictable. After her shift at the club, good night or bad, she always comes through the front door with ‘gifts’ for her and Garrett. A fresh bottle of liquor in one hand, a little plastic baggie of white powder or pills in the other.

I've never asked how much those 'gifts' cost her because I don't want to know.

They aren’t exactly conventional weapons, but they do the trick. As long as I stay quiet and out of the way, I'm invisible, forgotten.

Right now though, there are too many minutes taking up the space between now and when she gets home to do me any good.

My feet are heavy, planted in the grass. I'm trying urgently to will them to move, but, they’re frozen. With every second that ticks by, I can see Garrett becoming more tense, more angry. I shudder when he licks his lips, and steps down a few stairs. I can see all the ways he’s planning on showing me how badly I fucked up written all over his face. My heart is pounding so hard it hurts.

“Now!” The word is a sharp, whip crack sound that causes the muscles deep inside my belly to clench. My cheeks catch fire, and a lump settles firmly into my throat making it hard to breathe. I know that from where Levi is sitting, on the grass behind me, he's got a perfect front row seat for all of this.

I’m so focused on Garrett and trying to get my body to work, that I don’t even notice Levi get to his feet until he's standing next to me. Reaching out, he places a hand on my shoulder. It’s unexpected and I startle, jerking away from him with equal amounts of surprise and pain.

As I pull away, one of his fingers catches on the sleeve of the loose-fitting shirt I'm wearing. The fabric slides off my shoulder and down my arm a bit. I shrug it back up as fast as I can, but the look on Levi’s face tells me it’s too late. He’s seen the swollen, dark marks in perfect finger-shaped lines that cover my skin.

He yanks his hand back like he's been burned. When I turn to face him, his brows are furrowed and there are deep creases lining his forehead. His mouth is turned into a deep frown. When he finally raises his eyes to meet mine, I see all the questions people have had over the years but never, ever ask painted in his expression. His face colors as all the pieces start sliding into place for him.

After stealing another quick glance at Garrett, I drop my eyes to the ground and stare at my bare feet, wiggling them nervously into the grass. My shoulders slump and my face burns. I wish with all my heart the ground would just open up and swallow me whole.

I'd never be that lucky though. When I lift my eyes again, the look on Levi’s face has transformed from one of concern into one of pure venom. His eyes are narrow slits as he turns his head to zero in on Garrett with laser focus and intensity.

“Is that from him? Did he do that to you?” His voice is harsh and low and he leans in close, speaking through gritted teeth.

He doesn't wait for me to answer. “Don’t you dare take even one step towards him. Not until you answer me, Angel.”

“You need to get out of here. Please don’t do anything. It’ll only make things worse. Please. Just go. It’s not—I’mnot worth getting hurt over,” I plead.

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