Scar
We don’t retire to separate rooms that night. Instead, she follows me into my room. We shower together, put on comfortable clothes. She steals shorts and a t-shirt from my drawer. I lie there looking at her in only boxer briefs, admiring her lean body, her beautiful tits, her firm ass. She looks over her shoulder at me, smiling, that dazed, pleasured look in her eye.
Beautiful. Absolutely stunning.
“Do you want to know why I always ask you to put on your seatbelt?” The words spill out of me. I don’t know why I’m bringing this up now, of all times.
But there’s something in this moment. We showered together. We’re getting into bed together. She’s wearing my clothes, and I fully plan on taking them off and feasting on her tonight.
It’s intimate. So far, our marriage has been fake. Every time we’ve moved things to the next level, we’ve tried to pull it back before it went too far.
This feels like we’re crossing a line.
I want to keep going.
I need to live in this moment-because I don’t know when I’ll get another one like it with her.
She crawls into bed, snuggling against my side. “I figured you were just an overprotective asshole.”
“There’s that,” I say, smiling. “But it’s more. There’s a story I haven’t told you from when I was a kid.”
“Really?” She looks up at me, nuzzling against my chest. It’s affectionate, warm, something a wife would do to her husband.
“I was seventeen. Been driving for a year.” I close my eyes, breathing in the smell of her hair. Trying to keep calm. I haven’t told this story in a long, long time, but it’s always with me in some shape. “We went to the movies.”
“Who?” she asks. Sitting still now, listening.
“Me and my girlfriend at the time. Her name was Tracy. We had math class together. Bonded over scary movies.”
“Girlfriend,” she says with some surprise in her tone. “You mean-?”
“We saw this new slasher movie. I don’t even remember which one anymore. It’s like everything right before and everything right after is a blur. But the moment is still sharp like it happened an hour ago.”
She’s breathing steadily now. I gather my strength and push on.
“I had this old beat-up truck. My dad gave it to me the day I got my license. That truck was everything, it was my entire world. But it was a total piece of crap. Falling apart, barely holding together. I remember that night we left the movie, Tracy was tired, half-asleep. She didn’t put on her seatbelt and I didn’t want to wake her up, so I didn’t say anything. I was driving along, not speeding, not breaking any rules. Thinking about the movie. Thinking about what I wanted to do the following day. I had no clue what was coming.” I squeeze my eyes shut. The smell of burning tires. The coppery smell of blood. “I had a green light. Didn’t matter though. The guy, he was wasted. Cops say he was black-out drunk and going like eighty-five in a thirty-five zone. I clearly remember seeing his headlights coming, not believing it was actually happening, and having maybe a half second to hit the brakes and try to swerve. Didn’t matter. He slammed into my truck, and everything just exploded.”
Breaking glass. Pain, so much fucking pain, everything dizzy and weird after that.
“I came to after a little while,” I say, whispering now. Rita’s not moving at all, barely breathing. “Tracy was gone. The windshield was shattered. I kept thinking she was okay, right? She got out before I did. That must’ve been good. But her door wasn’t open. I couldn’t understand why until I got out. I was bleeding. I had a broken arm. But she was there in the street, maybe fifty feet away. Just a shape in the darkness. I followed the trail of blood until I found her with gravel in her wound, her face a scraped-up wreck. I’ll never forget it. The cops say she probably died on impact. They don’t think she suffered. I figure they’re right. I’m not even sure she ever woke up.”
I stop talking. I have to focus on my breathing to keep myself calm. Four seconds in. Four seconds hold. Six seconds out. Repeat until my heart’s not beating so hard it feels like it’ll break.
“A drunk driver,” she says, looking up at me. “God, Scar. I’m so sorry.”
“She died because she didn’t have her seatbelt on. As simple as that. She was thrown through the windshield, and she died. I survived because I wore mine.”
“That’s why you do it. I can totally understand.”
“It’s worse than that. Tracy’s why I don’t get close. When she died… it fucked me up. I was a wreck my first year at Blackwoods. I barely even remember it. The other guys, my brothers from Atlas, they brought me out of my depression. Dragged me back to the world. But ever since Tracy, I haven’t trusted myself with anyone. I was too weak to wake her up, too worried about upsetting her to insist that she wear her seatbelt. I swore I’d never be like that again. No more weakness. But also, no more distraction. No more liabilities.”
She touches my cheek. I hold her hand there. Tears are in her eyes. Tears for a girl she never met. But she would’ve liked Tracy-my ex-girlfriend was an athlete. Strong and determined. I bet she would’ve gotten along with Rita. I could even see them being good friends.
“You were a kid,” she says. “It was so long ago. You really still carry it with you?”
“Every day. I don’t forget.”
“You don’t need to keep doing that to yourself.”
“I’ve done therapy. I meditate. I have breathing exercises that help. It’s not killing me, not anymore. But I also know I can’t bring myself to ever get close like that again.”
She bites her lip, turning away. “That’s why you keep pulling back.”
“That’s why I paid off your loans,” I whisper. “To give you a chance.”
“Scar-”
“I’m not ending things,” I say, pulling her chin back toward me. “You’re probably thinking that, but I’m not. I told you because I want you to know who I am. Tracy is a part of me. She’s part of my story, even if she’s gone.”
“Thank you,” she says. “I’m happy you could share with me.”
We lapse into silence. I’m back in the accident. Back in the worst moment of my life. But this time, I have Rita in my arms, and I hold her tight against my chest. I’m unsure what telling her will change-probably nothing.
Rita still has no future with me. I’ll only drag her down, like I’ve dragged everyone down. I’m too selfish, too damaged.
But if she can find something too out of all this, if I can do something small to help make her life better, then I’ll do it.
Pay her loans. Find her a dream job.
Make her time with me worth something.
That’s all I can do.