Scarred Souls: The First Collection Page 3

  Boyfriend.

  That was a relationship. With another human being.

  Was that what I wanted?

  It was too early to say, obviously, but I couldn’t help but think I might. I’d never had a reaction to anyone the way I reacted to Josh. In just a few hours, he’d turned my life completely up-side-down.

  ‘I’m going back to bed.’ I pushed myself up.

  ‘Let me know when you know.’ Silver was back to grinning widely.

  I smiled slightly as I headed over to the door.

  The smile died once I entered my bedroom and found Josh thrashing on the bed.

  I hurried over to him.

  ‘Josh?’

  I put my knees on the bed, wondering what to do. He was having a nightmare, that much was obvious, but what should I do about it? What would be the best thing to do?

  ‘Josh?’

  I didn’t want to grab him, as I knew from experience that that could make whatever nightmare he was having worse. But I also didn’t want him to do something that would hurt his already injured and bandaged arms any further. What if he started bleeding again?

  Josh’s eyes opened, and he gasped as he scrambled away from me. His eyes were wild with fear.

  ‘It’s me. Damian.’ I held my hands out, palms towards him, to show that I wasn’t going to hurt him.

  He blinked. The fear from the nightmare disappeared gradually as he finally recognised me. He didn’t move from his position against the wall though, but his left hand inched over to scratch at the gauze on his right.

  ‘Don’t do that.’ I scooted over to him and gently wrapped my hands around his arms, pulling them apart. ‘Don’t hurt yourself.’

  ‘It’s nothing compared to what hurts in here.’ He pulled one arm free and splayed his fingers over his chest, over his heart. ‘It hurts so much.’

  ‘I know.’ I did know how much pain he could feel on the inside, but I wasn’t going to stand by and watch him cause harm to his outside. Not when he was here with me.

  He bent his head and then gently prodded his other arm out of my grip too. He slowly lay back down on the bed, curling up on himself.

  I lay back down too, on my back. It would be better to stare at the ceiling for now instead of at him.

  ‘I hate dreaming about him,’ he whispered. ‘He hasn’t done anything to me in so long, but I still dream about all the horrible things he used to do.’

  My chest squeezed. I didn’t know who he was talking about, but it was obvious from the anguish in his voice, not to mention the nightmare itself and the reaction it had provoked, that it couldn’t be anything good.

  I reckoned it wasn’t possible to forget the bad things that happened. After all, didn’t people tend to remember the bad memories rather than the good ones? I was certainly fixated on the bad, no matter how many years ago it was now.

  I tilted my head to the side.

  Josh was lying with his back to me, and he was so tense he quivered.

  I didn’t think about my decision. I just rolled over and put my arm over his middle, squeezing him tight for a few moments before I settled down close to him.

  ‘Okay?’

  ‘More than okay,’ he whispered in a choked voice. ‘It’s perfect.’

  He gradually relaxed against me. I wasn’t sure if he was asleep or not, but his breathing had evened out and he seemed to be content.

  I was glad, because the nightmare he’d had, that had been terrible. Whoever it was he’d been dreaming about, it was bad.

  My body had reacted to him earlier, to his brief kiss. I hadn’t given in though, and I wasn’t about to. Both because I didn’t want to and because I was certain he needed to see that not everyone was interested in sex. His words proved that that was his train of thought. As far as I could tell, his whole life had been about sex—whilst mine had never been.

  I wasn’t sure if it ever would.

  But the kiss had been good.

  Josh

  I couldn’t sleep.

  Damian had fallen asleep a while ago and rolled over onto his other side.

  I sat up in bed and watched him for a moment in the darkened room.

  His tee stretched over his back. His arms were toned—not muscular, per se, but he was fit. The duvet covered him from the middle of the back and down, so I couldn’t see what he looked like further down. Not that I needed to know what hid beneath the duvet, not really. There was more than enough to look at already.

  He was handsome. Very handsome.

  I scooted down so I could get off the bed without having to crawl over him.

  He didn’t react as I pushed myself up on my feet and tip-toed out of the room.

  I didn’t know why I’d left the room at all, because it wasn’t like there was much else I could do in the flat. I couldn’t leave, not while wearing his clothes and with mine drying, but at least I wouldn’t be tossing and turning and risking waking him up.

  The flat was dark, so his flatmate must be asleep as well. If he was even at home. I hadn’t seen anything of him earlier, after all.

  I sat down on the sofa. It was soft, comfortable.

  My fingers itched. For a razor, for a pen, for something to do. I wasn’t good by myself. I always ended up with a razor, though sometimes pen and paper could help just as much as the razor.

  I did have the journal Damian had given me. It was lying there, on the table. But I didn’t have a pen. I didn’t have a razor either.

  My nightmare had left me on edge. I’d been able to relax when he’d been lying close to me, with his arm wrapped around me, but once he rolled away I was back to being my usual jumpy, nervous, uncomfortable self.

  I never felt at peace, and it was exhausting.

  I jumped in my seat when a door at my side opened. I didn’t know what I’d been expecting, considering the two options I had, but I somehow hadn’t expected Damian’s flatmate to emerge.

  He caught sight of me and stopped next to the sofa.

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘H-hey.’ I was still rattled. It was the middle of the night; I hadn’t seen it coming.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Can’t sleep.’ I wrapped my arms around my middle and bent over slightly. ‘You?’

  ‘Can’t sleep either.’ He watched me calmly. ‘D out cold?’ He motioned his head in the direction of Damian’s door.

  ‘Yeah.’ I nodded. ‘Why can’t you sleep?’

  ‘Bad dreams.’ He said it matter-of-factly, which told me it was a usual occurrence. ‘What about you?’

  I had to smile slightly at that.

  ‘Bad dreams.’

  He chuckled.

  ‘Those are the worst, aren’t they?’

  ‘Y-yeah.’ I’d be glad if I could have a normal nightmare, random and not all long-ago memories. But all I dreamt about was him. I hated dreaming about him.

  ‘I was just getting myself a glass of water.’ He pointed at the kitchen. ‘Can I get you anything?’

  I started shaking my head, then reconsidered.

  ‘Do you have a pen? And paper to write on?’

  He blinked, surprised.

  ‘Yeah, sure.’ He went back into his bedroom and came out with a notebook and pen, which he put down on the table in front of me. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘No, thanks. This is fine.’ I held the pen in my hand, clenching my fist around it.

  ‘I’ll get my water then.’ He disappeared into the kitchen. I heard a cupboard open and the sink running then he walked back past me. ‘Goodnight.’

  ‘Goodnight.’ I watched his broad back disappear into his room before I returned my focus to the notebook as the door closed.

  I didn’t know what to write.

  All I knew was that I wanted to write something, wanted to get my thoughts and my feelings down on this paper.

  Sometimes that was all I could do.

  I did much better in writing than speech.

  And I’d spoken so much lately. Relived everything in
court, again and again. Because he pleaded his innocence and appealed… and it’d been years.

  But it was finally over now.

  He couldn’t appeal anymore now. He had to accept the punishment he got… eight meagre years for running my entire life. It was less than the years he’d made my life hell. I couldn’t even remember how long he’d been coming into my room.

  Forever, most likely. Ever since I was a little child.

  But don’t think about him.

  I hated thinking about him. It always led me down dark, twisted, painful roads.

  Think about Damian. How kind he’s been.

  That was better. Much better.

  I scribbled on and crunched up three sheets of paper before I could gather my thoughts properly.

  When I first managed to get in the zone, I could write forever. It was hard to stop.

  This wasn’t my journal, though, but a letter, more like. To Damian. I couldn’t say everything I wanted to say to him, so writing it all down was better. I’d give it to him in the morning before I left, so he couldn’t read it while I was around.

  When I finished writing, I bent the pages double, stuck them in my new journal, and headed back to bed.

  My space was cold by now, but he radiated warmth and I smiled as I snuggled down next to him.

  How he’d need two duvets normally I had no idea, because he was warm.

  I put a hand tentatively on his back.

  He didn’t react, simply slept on, breath slow and steady.

  ‘Thank you for tonight,’ I whispered, barely audible even if he’d been awake. ‘You have no idea how much this means to me.’

  He was a little strange though. How he didn’t want to have sex. It could just be as simple as him not being attracted to me, but… In my experience, no one ever did anything nice without expecting something in return. For me, it was usually sex.

  It was true what I’d told him; sex was all I knew. I’d been having it for as long as I could remember. And though I’d been forced to do it for all these years with him, I’d had it willingly with lots of other guys. Guys I chose, not someone who snuck into my room when my mum was gone and had their way with me no matter what I said.

  But he was gone now. For good.

  Or for the next eight years, anyway.

  I didn’t have to think about him for eight years. Or, well, I’d likely think a lot about him and what he’s put me though, but at least I didn’t have to fear meeting him anytime soon.

  Damian moved a little and I pulled my arm back as if I’d been caught doing something I wasn’t allowed to.

  He slept on, however, so I hadn’t woken him.

  That’s good.

  I wondered what would happen when we woke up in the morning. Would I go home and never see him again?

  That… I didn’t want that.

  I’d give him the letter and leave it up to him what happened next. I didn’t want to bother him, not after he’d been so nice to me.

  I hoped he’d want to stay in contact though. I desperately hoped he would.

  Maybe he can be my first friend.

  That would be nice.

  I’d never had a friend. It was a strange concept to me. But I liked him. And I wouldn’t kiss him again. He’d drawn a line and I wouldn’t cross it. If he wanted to cross it… well, I wouldn’t be opposed to that either.

  To Damian

  I know I told you thank you for everything, but I want you to know just how thankful I am. That you talked to me, that you let me into your home—that means more to me than I can ever express in words. I’ve never been good with words, not vocal ones anyway. I do much better in writing.

  So thank you. So much.

  You were kind to me without expecting anything in return, which is completely unlike how I’ve always known people to be. You showed me otherwise, so thank you for that too.

  Tonight was special. It was nice and unlike any other night I’ve ever experienced. I don’t want to go back to not experiencing this again. I want to get to know you—and I hope you want to get to know me too. It felt like you did—when I wasn’t hitting on you, anyway.

  You seem like a good bloke. I wish we could be friends. I need some of those because I don’t actually have anyone.

  That sounded pathetic, didn’t it?

  Still, it’s true. I’m being honest. I’m trying my best to always be honest. They tell me it’s good for me and I have to agree. Keeping secrets was what led me to being the mess that I am today, after all.

  I’m sorry. This isn’t a very good inquiry for friendship.

  But then again, you saw my arms. You cleaned me up. You didn’t judge. You didn’t even ask or tell me I couldn’t keep doing this to myself.

  I know what I do to myself is wrong, that it’s not healthy, but having people constantly be on me about it is counter-productive.

  You weren’t though, and I’m so grateful.

  So I hope we can be friends. I would like that very much.

  I hope you do too.

  Josh

  3

  Second Encounter

  Josh

  ‘Joshua!’ Grandma descended on me the moment I stepped through the doors. Her hands, seemingly so frail and wrinkled, had a surprising strength to them as they gripped my face. She turned my head to each side, taking me in, checking for—I didn’t even know what she was checking for.

  ‘Morning.’

  Her eyes were a mix of worry and anger and relief.

  ‘We’ve been worried sick. You left yesterday without a word, and we haven’t been able to get a hold of you. Why would you leave your mobile phone? Why wouldn’t you let us know where you were? Joshua.’ My name came out on a relieved sigh, and then she hugged me.

  ‘I’m okay.’ I patted her back awkwardly. I wasn’t used to hugs.

  She hadn’t visited very often until two years ago, and it wasn’t like I’d been smothered by my mother before then either.

  In fact, the first hug I could remember ever getting from my mum was at the hospital that time.

  ‘Where have you been? Your mum said you don’t know anybody. Have you been outside all night?’ She pulled back, eyes taking me in again, now from head to toe and back up.

  ‘I met someone,’ I hurried to explain because I didn’t want her thinking I’d rather be out on the streets than here at home. Though it was the truth, so I wasn’t being entirely truthful now.

  Still, a white lie to keep her from worrying more couldn’t hurt, right?

  Her eyebrows drew together in a frown.

  ‘Joshua—’

  ‘It’s okay.’ I cut her off before she could continue.

  I knew what she was thinking: that I’d hooked up with someone. I used to do that.

  I wasn’t doing it anymore. I hadn’t been out for that purpose in months now, and after last night… I wasn’t sure I wanted to anymore.

  ‘It’s not like that.’

  It should worry me, or weird me out, that my grandma knew so much about my sex life, but they all knew the deep, dark secret I’d kept for years now. And after that, nothing was too private not to be shared.

  ‘I’m going to call your mum.’ Grandma stepped back, out of my personal space. ‘She didn’t want to go in to work this morning, but I told her I’d stay here and wait for you.’

  I nodded, not sure what else to say.

  Once she left me, I headed into my bedroom.

  My phone was on my desk and I picked it up. There was nothing new on it besides the missed calls from my entire family yesterday.

  No new texts or anything from an unknown number. But then it hadn’t been that long since I left, so maybe Damian hadn’t had time to read the letter I wrote. Or see the number I’d scribbled at the end of it.

  I wasn’t at all confident that he would be in contact. He didn’t seem like the kind of person to take the initiative.

  I had only asked for friendship though. Friendship was good, safe. He couldn’t reject friendship,
could he?

  Sex was all right. It had been a part of my life for so long. But he’d rejected me on that front—and I’d been grateful for a moment there. Grateful that I didn’t have to perform for him, no matter how much I’d actually wanted to when I’d kissed him.

  Now I wasn’t so sure what I felt.

  My mind was a right mess, and I didn’t know what to do about it.

  But that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

  I sunk down heavily in my usual chair in Vincent’s office.

  He sat opposite me, his dark eyes resting on me.

  I had my new journal clutched to my chest. I hadn’t written in it yet, but I wanted it with me. It felt safer, somehow.

  My mind was still in turmoil, and I rocked back and forth for a bit. I knew Vincent was watching me, taking me and my odd behaviour in, but I couldn’t help it.

  ‘I met someone last night,’ I started in a low voice. ‘He was… very handsome. I offered myself to him, and I think he wanted me, but then he just—He said no.’

  I still had difficulty wrapping my head around it.

  ‘I threw myself at him and he said no.’

  Vincent folded his hands in his lap.

  ‘How’d that make you feel?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ It felt like my brain was walking in circles. ‘I have no idea how that made me feel. Rejected, I guess. I mean, who says no to sex?’ I was shaking my head to myself. ‘I feel really weird. I can’t even explain it.’

  ‘What kind of weird?’ Vincent was as calm as ever.

  ‘I don’t know.’ I clutched my journal tighter. ‘All my life’s been about sex. It’s all I know. If I can’t do that, then what do I have?’

  ‘Who says you can’t have sex?’

  ‘N-no one.’ I blinked. ‘But he said no. In my experience, people don’t do that.’

  Vincent watched me in silence for a few moments.

  ‘You ended our last session two days ago by saying you finally felt free. Tell me about that.’

  I frowned in thought.