Page 58 of Ugly Beautiful Scars

"Goodnight," I blurt out and shut the door.

I press the back of my hand against my forehead. I'm feverish.

Chapter 18

LONDYN

I JUST SLAMMED THE DOOR in Sean's face after book club, which wasn't the nicest thing to do, and now I'm standing here frozen. My body is humming and vibrating. I have no idea what to do, so I return to the couch and collapse on it, pulling my knees to my chest. My gaze drifts upward to the small black dome on the ceiling.

I need privacy to sort through everything. Real privacy.

After grabbing my phone, I flee to the bathroom. I immediately call Raven as I sit on the edge of the tub. The call connects but goes to voicemail after four rings. I don't leave a message and just hang up. Then I check the time: she's probably at work.Damn.

I'm about to get up to go journal when she sends a message.

Raven:Break in ten. Call soon, luv!

Ten minutes. Six hundred seconds of sitting with this tornado of confusion and desire and fear all spinning together in a body I don't think can hold it. I pace the small bathroom, counting the tiles and tracing grout lines with my eyes. Anything to anchor myself to something solid while my mind creates scenarios of what if, what if, what if.

Finally, my phone screen lights up with Raven's name. I answer before the first ring finishes.

"Hey!" Her face and freckled cheeks appear, surrounded by sunshine and the busy background of her restaurant's outdoor seating area. Her gray server's uniform is crisp and stark against the deep blue sky. "How are you?"

"Terrible."

I'm hit with that distinctly Aussie "Naur!" then her face strains like she's been punched and she says, "Tell me everything."

I feel guilty for making her so worried, so I clarify. "I mean, notterrible. Um, more like surprising. Everything is okay. I'm safe. I'm not hurt. I'm only emotional and confused. Not sure what to do with myself."

She relaxes a little. "Okay. So what happened?"

I lean against the wall, searching for words that won't sound childish. "I… I think Sean is a hottie."Okay, that sounds juvenile."Like, I'm suddenly very into him."

She laughs at first, thinking I'm teasing her, until she notices how completely freaked out my expression is. Then her eyes blow out cartoonishly wide and her jaw drops. "Lonny!" she squeals. "You moved from cutie to hottie?" She lowers her voice, glancing around to make sure her coworkers aren't eavesdropping. "Do you think you want to try… you know."

Her gentleness warms my heart. In all our conversations about my assault, she's never pushed or dismissed me. She's never treated my trauma as something to 'get over.' And she's careful when talking about it.

"I don't know." My fingers tug at a loose thread on my sleeve, unraveling it like my thoughts. "What I think I want and what I can handle are so different. I wanted to try dating, but could I handle that? No. I thought about Sean kissing me, but in reality? I could just have a meltdown on the poor guy."

Raven's expression softens, the bronze of her skin catching the light as she leans closer to her phone, creating an illusion of intimacy across thousands of miles. "Have you told him what happened to you?"

"Of course not. That's such a tough conversation."

"Well, I don't know, love. Try not to rush."

"That's the problem." I press my palm against my sternum, feeling my heartbeat against my hand. "My body is going nuts. I've never felt such a strong pull for someone. I feel out of control."

"You can handle this. I know you can. But what matters is what you think you're ready for. You don't need to do anything."

"I know."

Underneath everything, I'm just so damn tired. I'm tired of living in the shadow of what happened. Tired of The Director haunting me, continuing to steal pieces of me that are rightfully mine. My sense of safety. My confidence. My sexuality. My right to feel desire without having a panic attack.

I picture myself four years from now. Ten. Will I still be hiding in baggy clothes? Still flinching when an attractive man looks my way? Still letting The Director influence what I feel, who I can be?

I hate that thought.

I want more freedom than this half-life I've constructed. I might never again feel that carefree confidence of moving through the world without scanning for danger. But there must be a middle ground between constant hypervigilance and reclaiming the parts of myself that were taken.

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