Page 32 of Love Legacy

12

Naomi

Weed is one heck of a drug.

When I texted Sage and she told me she was going to smoke with some friends, I had no intention of smoking with her. In fact, my first instinct was to just take her offer to reschedule and go out with her tomorrow. But I wanted to see Sage so badly today. Since our kiss the other weekend, I’ve had the strongest urge to spend any time with her I can.

Dropping by her classes with coffee or her favorite matcha latte from Happy Sprout, spending a late-night studying at the sorority house with Sage, and bailing on Taco Night with myroommates. I think I’ve spent more waking hours with her in the last week and change than I have spent at home.

This led to me getting high with Sage in the woods. I don’t know what compelled me to try her weed. I planned on just being a sober companion, Sage’s designated driver. But the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to see what the fuss was about. Alex has been trying to get me to smoke with her for a few weeks now, so now that I knew that someone else close to me smoked, I figured,why not?

Nothing could have prepared me for the actual sensation of being high. It felt like an out-of-body experience in the best way possible. My body was lighter yet grounded. My inhibitions lowered, almost non-existent. My mind was completely clear, and I felt the most at ease I had in a while.

Which is why I’m currently draped across Sage, clinging to her like a koala. For once, my brain was incapable of second-guessing my actions, and I fully embraced this feeling. I propped up my head with my elbow, my free hand running up and down Sage’s heavily inked arm, tracing her tattoos. I was fascinated by the work; so intricate and yet edgy at the same time. They fit her perfectly, adding to her non-conformity and still looking so feminine.

“How many tattoos do you have?”

Sage laughs. “I stopped counting a while ago. I have eight large projects, but I think I sat through twenty or so sessions to get the work done. It’s roughly thirty or so hours of work. And then seven different piercing appointments for all the hardware.”

I examine her arms, face, and ears, trying to count all her tattoos and piercings but coming up short. “You have some that aren’t visible.”

She nods, sitting up to pull off her hoodie and rolling up the band of her sports bra ever so slightly.

“There’s this rose.” She points to the small, slightly faded rose tattooed under her left breast.

“And then my thigh tattoo.” Sage rolls the right leg of her bike shorts up, showing off the clock tattoo piece on her thigh.

“There’s also my anklet tattoo. And the ‘hidden piercing,’ besides my nipple piercings that you already know about, is my belly button ring.” She flips down the high waist of her shorts to show off the dangling bejeweled bar before fixing her shorts.

“Is there a story behind your tattoos?” I ask, sitting up as well, leaning in close to Sage. She gives me a sad smile.

“Some of them do. Most were just designs that I like. And some, the meaning is in the placement, not the design itself.”

“What do you mean by that?” I reach out to trace the intricate design on her thigh when she grabs my wrist, holding me in place.

“Like the one you were just about to touch, for example.” She guides my hand along her thigh, brushing over the slightly raised, horizontal bumps.

“You feel that?” I nod, assuming she’s talking about the ridges. “Those are scars. Old self-harm scars, to be exact.”

My heart breaks just a little, hearing the strain in her voice even now as she talks about them. “Oh, Sage, I’m so sorry for prying,” I say, trying to pull my hand away. But she holds it in place, keeping my hand firmly planted on the top of her upper thigh.

“No, it’s okay. It’s hard sometimes, but my therapist says that I need to talk about it more, mainly to her, in order to heal.

When I was a pre-teen, things were tough at home. And then, when I ended up in foster care, I struggled a lot. At least until I ended up with the Davises. I was depressed and extremely anxious, and I hadn’t yet been diagnosed with ADHD, so to most of my first foster families, I was just a problem child.

I didn’t get bullied for being in foster care, thankfully, but I was originally bullied when I started questioning my sexuality. Everything just compounded on each other and I started self-harming to escape the pain that I was facing on a daily basis.

It started with snapping a rubber band on my wrist, and then, when that wasn’t enough, I started pulling my hair out. That wasn’t enough either, and that’s when I began cutting. Mainly on the top and inside of my things, but I have some scars on the tops of my forearms too.”

I reach out with my free hand to wipe the tears that began to fall. “And that’s why you have large tattoos on your forearms too.”

She nods, reaching up to dry her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “Half sleeves, yes. When Theia’s family took me in, things changed so much. They got me the help I so desperately needed. They provided me with a loving home I hadn’t had in a long time.

Things got better. I got an ADHD diagnosis, I started on meds for my depression and anxiety, I was seeing a therapist on a regular basis, and I stopped self-harming. They were even able to have me transfer schools from my old public junior high school to a charter school in their area.

But the scars were still there, and they were an ugly reminder of the worst time of my life. I wanted them gone. I talked to my doctor about them. He said they would heal and fade over time, but it could take a while and they might not fade completely.

He mentioned all kinds of procedures and medications that they use for keloid patients or burn victims with scarring, but the healing process and medication side effects were terrifying.”

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