Page 119 of Ugly Beautiful Scars

"Yes. I just need some time."

"Okay. I'm right here, honey."

I wrap one towel around my hair, then another around my body. Then I sit on the closed toilet lid and cry it out some more.

Sean is here and I'm not alone and I'm done being so afraid.

I'm done running.

I'mpissed. And The Director will have a fight on his hands if he decides to come after me again.

When the tears finally stop, the meds have started to kick in, dulling the edges of my pain into something manageable andmaking my thoughts a bit fuzzy. Relaxation settles over me like a blanket and I stay on the toilet lid for another half hour, just letting everything inside me settle.

When I'm sure the hurricane of emotion is long gone, I finally leave the bathroom. Sean opened the curtains so now he's bathed in a warm glow on the bed. He's not doing anything, just sitting there keeping watch. Giving me time.

He turns to gaze at me. "Need anything?"

"No. Just… needed to vent."

"I get that." Seeing that I'm okay, he lets his cheeks soften. His blue hair is messy, and his smile—god, that smile—settles deep in my chest and makes a home. "I missed you," he says, and it's so achingly tender that I blush.

How does he do that? Make me feel normal and special, even after I've just had one of the worst days of my life and then a meltdown in the bathroom?

I bite my bottom lip before turning toward the dresser to grab the jeans and plain shirt I bought yesterday. My back is to Sean as I rummage through a bag. I'm so blissfully unaware of myself, but that changes the moment I hear Sean's sharp inhale that slices through the dead air.

I freeze, not even daring to breathe.

My scars. The ones on my back must be showing above the towel.

My hand clenches around the fabric, pulling it up, but it's too late. He's seen. He's seen the raised, angry slashes that The Director's whip left on my back.

I spin around, clutching the towel higher. I can't read Sean's expression. His eyes are locked on my body, wide and almost pained. What is he thinking? Is he disgusted? Pitying the broken woman who couldn't fight back?

This isn't how I wanted him to find out. Not after yesterday's violence. I wanted to show him everything on my terms, when I was ready, when I could be brave about it.

Now his eyes have taken all of me in, and there's no going back.

He moves closer, sliding off the bed like I'm a spooked animal that might flee.

I squeeze my eyes shut because I can't bear to watch his expression change as he processes what I am: damaged goods, The Victim, marked forever and carrying my trauma on my skin where it will always expose just how ruined I am.

I may be stronger, but I'm still ruined.

He's close now, his body heat pressing into me. "Can I see?" His voice is so soft it's almost just a breath.

Tears sting behind my closed lids. I can't pretend this away, can I? He already knows so I might as well show him everything.

Then he'll emotionally distance himself, becoming only my bodyguard again. Because how can he look past such ugly, marked skin? Every time we have sex, even if I wear clothes, he'll stillknow.

But since I'm stronger, I'm strong enough to handle the rejection.

I turn around and lower the towel just enough to fully expose my back and the two long, puckered diagonal slashes.

His fingers graze me, tracing the uneven lines with a feathery touch. Before he lingers too long, I let the towel pool around my feet and turn to show him my stomach.

Here I am. Here's every scar.

Here's the truth of how I've been forever changed.

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