Page 7 of Beautiful Scars

I'm fairly certain though that there are more real live human monsters out there in the world. Ones with sharper claws and much bigger appetites than Garrett. Not to mention better imaginations.

I meant what I'd said to Levi when I left him sitting on the front step. He didn’t save me from anything. Not really. He gave me a momentary break, a pause. I'm thankful for it—I mean I'll take it, but I know it won't last. It never does.

Mom had Garrett moved in before Dad's side of the bed was even cold. Before anyone could even ask if he was dead or just... gone. That's how Mom operates—she’s incapable of being alone. When Garrett takes off for one of his "business" trips, she always finds someone to fill the temporary space. That someone is usually worse, never better.

I know there’s no way she’d get away with the things she does if she weren't so beautiful. Years of addiction have done little to take away from her looks. It's a distraction—how she hides the absolute disaster she is underneath it all. No one sees it, until it's too late. She’s a force of nature–she destroys everything and everyone she touches. I'm just collateral damage. Nothing more, nothing less.

Yesterday, in the backyard, when I watched the calm resolve of decision-making move across Levi's face, I knew there was no way he'd be able to protect me. I'd truly believed he was on a suicide mission. He'd been so confident—so solid and unflinching as he stood his ground. What he did opened the door, a tiny crack, to something I hadn't felt for as long as I can remember.

For a brief moment, there was a barely noticeable wingbeat in the center of my chest. A tiny flutter that asked me to consider that maybe someone saw something in me worth protecting. Something worth saving.

It was a ridiculous thought, an impossible thought. I've learned that girls like me don’t get heroes. We don’t get noticed enough to be rescued. Our lives are too messy. Too dirty. Too painful. I’ll never be mistaken for anything other than what I am. What Garrett has made me. Not in this lifetime at least.

But, for a moment, I knew what itwouldfeel like if things were different. It felt good. It felt warm and safe and weird. And, I liked it.

Thatis the real reason I told Levi to leave and stay away. I’m not ready to let go of that feeling yet. I want to wear it a little longer. And, if he'd stayed...

Well, if he'd stayed, we'd have started talking. Which can be dangerous.

I know how it would go. Nothing big at first. Surface questions meant to hold the space between us and keep us dancing around what'd happened. Eventually though, he'd start asking questions I didn’t want to answer, couldn't answer. Of course, I'd end up unable to stop myself from asking some of my own. Then, after we both were a little more comfortable, I'd ask the big one. Why? Why did he do what he did for me?

As I was standing on the curb watching the ambulance pull away, I'd gone through every answer I could think of to that question. I decided that I'd rather send Levi away and keep guessing, than risk having that tiny, fluttering beat of hope crushed inside my chest.

If nothing else I've learned over the past few years that hope can be cruel. It makes you weak at times you can't afford it. It makes you want things you have no business asking for, and no right to think you could have. Worst of all, it makes you start to believe in impossible things. Things like maybe there is someone, with a perfect smile and beautiful green eyes, who isn't afraid to risk everything for you.

Iwakeup,chokingon the scream stuck in my throat. Inside my chest my heart is pounding so hard it hurts, and I'm covered in a thin sheen of sweat. A deep shiver runs the length of my body even though it has to be close to a hundred degrees in my room.

I sit up, trying to focus my eyes and gulp down a raw, gasping breath. I let out a low groan as the room starts to come into focus and my head clears. There isn't an inch of my body that doesn't ache and throb. I can't remember ever feeling this bad before—and that's saying something.

A loud,thud, thud, thudcoming from downstairs hammers its way into my skull turning the dull hammer strikes into icepicks. I lay back down, stare up at the ceiling, and try to ignore it. No one ever knocks on our door. Ever. Even the guys in suits carrying bibles seem to know to stay away.

If I ignore it, it'll go away.

A second series of hard knocks is followed by a third before I decide that whoever it is, isn't leaving. I roll out of bed, fighting back tears once my feet hit the floor. I would never have thought it would be possible forevery single part of meto hurt this bad.

I trip and almost kill myself trying to make it down the stairs. By the time I get to the door, I'm irritated, and positive my head is going to explode any second. The clock in the living room says it's almost 5:00. In the afternoon. Which means I've slept almost eighteen hours. No wonder I feel like shit.

I yawn and stumble to the door. My plan is to crack it open, get rid of whoever it is, and then get back to bed as soon as possible. But the loud crack and shooting pain that runs up my leg when I stub my toe on the door frame is the last straw for me. Now, I'm pissed. At the door. At my toe. At whoever can’t take the hint and leave like a normal person.

Instead of cracking it open to peek out, I yank it open, stand there with my hands on my hips and manage to croak out, "What the fuck do you want?"

I stand there in horror when I realize it's Levi. I watch the smile slide off his face as he takes me in.

I'd rolled out of bed in my pajamas—a pair of boy shorts and a tank top. Great for sleeping in, not so great for hiding in. My cheeks catch fire as he looks me up and down knowing full well what he's seeing.

My skin is a mosaic of bruises and welts and bite marks. I went over all of it last night in the mirror when I got out of the shower, but I know they always look and feel worse the next day. Judging from his shocked expression and the anger flaring in his eyes, it's bad. Maybe even a little worse than it feels.

"Hey, uh, Angel," he says sheepishly. His eyes stay fixed on my bare thighs where the damage is most concentrated.

His gaze is so intense, it's a struggle to keep from trying to cover myself with my hands. But, I don't. I refuse to hide. He's the one showing up where he's not wanted and doesn't belong. It would be pointless now anyway. He's already seen it all.

I don't give him a chance to say anything else. "Look. I appreciate what you did for me yesterday. I do. But I told you. You need to stay away from here. Away from me. I have nothing for you." I lean over slightly, wincing at the sharp pain from a spot near my ribs and tilt my head to catch his gaze. I lock on to his eyes and drag them up from my legs to my face as I stand straight again. "Nothing," I repeat.

"I needed to check... I wanted to be sure—"

Fuck. Of course. How could I be so stupid?

A cold rush of panic floods my chest. My breath catches and my fingers twitch against the doorframe, ready to slam it shut before he can voice whatever threat he came here to make. I should have known better. I should have known this was coming.

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