SCARS

  It isn’t like Christine to go off like that. I have never seen her so full of hate and terror at the same time. I should be mad about the way she spoke to me, but a part of me rationalizes that it wasn’t her talking. It certainly wasn’t the Christine I am best friends with—that’s for sure. Something had to have happened to set her off, but I don’t know what. She said that man touched her, but in what way? I need to find out, but first of all, I need to get home and cool down a little. I will give Christine until tonight, and then I will contact her. Despite what she said, I need to make sure she’s okay. The look on her face worries me. In fact, it damn well scares me to death.

  I sigh, looking out onto the streets to hail a cab. One comes a few seconds later, and it actually stops for me. I give him my home address and slouch down into the seat. In my mind, I replay everything that’s happened today. First my dad, then the stranger, and now Christine. It’s like I’ve suddenly entered The Twilight Zone.

  The whole way home, my mind is reeling from everything. I glance at my watch and see that it’s only a little after one. My stomach growls in protest. I haven’t eaten yet, and I know that’s not a good thing. I will have to fix that as soon as I get home.

  My phone pings just as the cab driver pulls up to my driveway. I hand him ten dollars and get out of the car. As I’m walking to my front door, I open the message.

  Unknown Number: Make sure you answer your messages next time.

  I frown at it.

  Is he admonishing me? Was that the reason why he suddenly left after working me up so hard? He’s getting back at me for not responding to his message earlier?

  I decide not to respond. Instead, I get my key out and let myself in. No one is here, but I didn’t expect anyone to be. Normally, at this time on a Saturday, my parents are out having lunch with each other or with some big-wigs.

  I place the bags down, wondering when I will have the opportunity to give Christine her dress. I’m still worried about her, and I’m wondering how I can broach the topic.

  I make myself a chicken sandwich on rye and pour myself some apple juice. As I sit at the dining room table, I wonder how to reply to my Seven Minutes in Heaven guy. A smile creeps up on my face as I change the unknown number to SMIHG. At least now, I’ll know who it is.

  I type a response.

  Me: Are you mad at me?

  My phone immediately pings.

  SMIHG: What makes you say that?

  Me: The tone of your message.

  SMIHG: How can you detect my tone in a message?

  Me: You know what I mean. Was that the reason why you tried to seduce me in the changing room?

  SMIHG: I did not “try to seduce you” as you put it. I was simply reminding you.

  Me: Reminding me of what?

  SMIHG: That I am here. I am always here, Lily. There’s no escaping me.

  A slight shiver runs up my spine leaving goose bumps in its wake. I keep thinking I should be scared of this guy, but every time I think of him, my body reacts in a way that makes no sense to me. It wouldn’t make any sense to anybody.

  I don’t respond. Instead, I go back to eating my sandwich. Despite my body’s reaction, my head is the one in control and being sensible this time. I should not—in any way—encourage this guy. I have already encouraged him enough.

  Once I’ve finished eating, I wash the dishes and sit back down and stare at my phone. I should at least text Christine to make sure she’s okay. I do just that, and then I sit there, wondering how to respond to Max. I’m not as angry as I was last night, but he still shouldn’t have come onto me the way that he did.

  I sigh. No matter what, we’re friends. We’ve been friends for eleven years now, and I don’t want that to change. I know I will forgive him anyway, so I may as well put him out of his misery now. I open up his message from last night and hit REPLY.

  Me: All is forgiven. I’ll see you on Monday.

  I hit SEND and sit back in my chair. I wait for another five to ten minutes to see if either Christine or Max will respond to my messages. Nothing comes. I guess I will just have to wait and see.

  As I think about today’s events, my mind wanders back to the stranger in the changing room. I can still feel his soft, but firm hands on my skin. Heat rises up my neck and travels to my face as I recount the moment he stepped into my room and made me lose all of my senses again. I let him blindfold me for goodness sake!

  It is then I remember the tattoo. I light up my phone and type “Vindicta” into Google. As I click on Wikipedia two results come up.

  vindicta f ‎(genitive vindictae); first declension

  ceremonial staff used in manumission

  punishment, vengeance

  I frown as I click on manumission. It tells me it is a release from slavery or other legally sanctioned servitude.

  So, does it represent that or the vengeance part? What could it all mean?

  The fact that he said he was here to right the wrongs makes me think that it’s the latter. Whatever it is makes me wonder even more about this mystery guy.

  Who is he?

  Why is he following me?

  But the most pressing question I need the answer to above all else is:

  What does he want?

  Introducing Jarrod Walker

  “Jarrod! Jarrod, help me. Help me, please. Please get them off me! Please don’t let them do this to me. Jarrod!”

  The ear-piercing scream from my dream awakens me. I sit bolt upright, panting. I’m sweating. My heart is pumping a million miles an hour—so much so that it’s ringing in my ears. It’s all I can hear. It’s all I ever fucking hear.

  That scream! I will never forget it. Most nights, I wake up from that same dream, and it’s the only sound I can hear. It’s like an echo on replay. It fucks with my head, and it makes my blood boil and my hands shake. That memory. It will haunt me for a lifetime to come. I cannot shake it. Not now. Not ever. I am a psychiatrist’s fucking dream come true when it comes to me and my demons—and I have lots of them.

  I check the clock on the bedside table. It’s eight-thirty in the morning. I don’t normally sleep in so late, but that fucking girl kept me awake half the night. I can’t stop thinking about the way she trustingly leaned into me so perfectly. I have never felt that from a girl before. I have never felt the urge to ruin and protect someone all at the same fucked up time. I knew what I was getting myself into once I started this whole venture. I knew I would be playing with fire, so I have to be more careful. If she sees me, she might start asking questions. I need to keep my distance from this as much as possible until I can figure out what it is I need to do next. This was all for her. It is all for her. I will never forget what she went through and neither will she. I can’t lose focus. I can’t let her down. One day, we will get the final retribution we’ve been waiting for this whole time. Then, and only then, can we move on.

  This is the reason why I accepted help from family and friends once I got out from behind bars a couple of years ago. I was lucky. I had a roof over my head, clothes on my back, and food in the fridge to tide me over until justice was done. I even paid some random girl at the party twenty bucks to go and speak to Max for seven minutes. It makes me smile whenever I think back to that night.

  As I remember this, I decide to send her a text message.

  Me: Are you okay?

  Charlotte: I’ve been better.

  Me: Hang in there, sweetheart. You know I have your back.

  Charlotte: I know. I just don’t know how long I can take this. I trust you, though. And I love you.

  Me: I love you too.

  I feel a little better after our messages, but it doesn’t stop the worry. It kills me that I left her like I did. It also kills me that I still have to keep away from her. She knows why and understands. It’s all part of our plan.

  I sigh, heading to the bathroom for a quick shower. My left hand was a little sore yesterday, but it’s not throbbing as much now. I shake my head, thinking about what I
had done. I’d acted on impulse and the desire to protect. I also acted on the twin desires to take action against those who push boundaries and to act on the memory that forever haunts me at the same time.

  I lean my hand back against the shower tiles, dip my head, and let the water cascade down my back. Flashes of her enter my head, and no matter how hard I try to push the thoughts of her out, the images still come. Like a bullet, the memories of her shoot through me, penetrating my blackened heart. I don’t want to keep thinking of her soft, luscious hair, full, pouty lips, and the way her body trembles when I graze my hand against her soft, delicate skin. I don’t want to keep thinking about the way she seems to trust me implicitly or the way she lets me touch her where apparently no one has ever touched her before.

  I punch the wall with the side of my fist and cry out as agony rips through it. “Son of a …” I clutch at it, cursing myself for forgetting, but a part of me welcomes the pain. I am used to pain. It’s all I’ve ever known.

  This is why you’re doing it, you silly fuck!

  I get out of the shower and dry myself off with a towel. Once I throw it in the laundry basket, I glance at myself in the mirror. So much ink is displayed on my skin now. I caught the tattoo bug a while back, and I haven’t stopped since. I got my first tattoo of Charlotte on my shoulder, and once I got that I couldn’t stop. For some reason, every time I get one it’s like therapy. I can’t seem to stop myself now that I’ve started.

  I smile as I trace a line of my latest tattoo of a lily on my torso. Charlotte doesn’t know I’ve had that done yet. If she did, she would flip her fucking lid—something I don’t want to witness.

  My phone pings, startling me for a moment. I walk towards it with an idea of who it might be. No doubt Lily is in school by now, so she will know what happened on Friday night. I smile when I read her message.

  Lily: What did you do?

  I hold the phone in my hands for a while, not knowing if I should respond right away. In the end—as usual—logical thought seems to escape me when it comes to her.

  I hit REPLY.

  It’s Monday morning, and I groan at the thought once my alarm goes off. No doubt everyone will be up, showered, and dressed already. I’m always the last one up.

  I groan again, throw the covers off me, and head for the shower. I’m a little apprehensive today as neither Max nor Christine has gotten back to me after the messages I sent yesterday. That realization makes me shower and dress faster than normal so that I can get to school a little earlier than usual.

  As I put my hair up in a bun, I grab my bag and head downstairs to find everyone eating breakfast. “Do you want some toast, honey?” my mom asks.

  “Yes. Just one slice if you don’t mind.” My mom smiles and gets everything ready for me.

  “Do you want to ride to school with your old man?”

  I smile at Dad as he’s crunching on a bit of toast. “Yeah, that’ll be great.” Normally, Max or Christine would have given me a ride, but I doubt either will this morning. I honestly cannot wait until I get a car. I only recently passed my test, but my parents haven’t mentioned getting me a car just yet. I have a feeling my eighteenth will be the special day. At least then I won’t have to rely on other people for a ride to school.

  Once in the car, my dad and I make small talk. He seems upbeat today like he has a spring in his step. “Thanks for the ride, Dad,” I say as I step out of the car.

  “No problem, pumpkin. I’ll see you when I get home.”

  I wave goodbye and watch briefly as he drives away. Once I turn, I look at the school entrance with a sigh. Lots of students are milling around—including the ever-annoying Jerry.

  “Hey, shit-for-brains, how are you this morning?”

  I roll my eyes at Jerry. He’s such a douche. “You may look like Stifler, but that doesn’t mean you are Stifler.”

  Jerry shrugs with a smug smile on his face. “What? Everybody loves my pet names for them.”

  “Oh yeah, I’m sure people love being called fuck-face, shitbag, and ass-licker.”

  Jerry starts laughing. “Ass-licker. I like that one. I’ll have to use it on Max.” He elbows me. “Speaking of Max, what did you do to him on Friday night?”

  My guilt surfaces, making me go on the defensive. “What are you talking about?”

  He sees the frown on my face and matches it. “You mean you don’t know?”

  I sigh. “What’s going on, Jerry?”

  He looks behind me and smiles warily. “Wow, someone really did beat your fucking ass.”

  “Shut up, Jerry.”

  I turn and find Max walking towards us. I gasp. “Oh my God! What happened to you?” I run towards him and grab his arm for comfort. His left eye is swollen. It looks purple and angry.

  He looks sheepishly towards me. “When I got home from dropping you off after the party, someone jumped me. I didn’t get to see who it was because he was too quick. He grabbed me, spun me around, and all I could see was a fist flying towards me. By the time I got back up, the person was gone.”

  “Shit, Max. Was he after money? Did he take anything?”

  He frowns. “That’s the weirdest fucking part of it all. I had my Rolex on, my rings, and a hundred dollars in my wallet. None of it was taken.”

  “Man, who have you pissed off?” Jerry grumbles. “You must have pissed someone off. Nobody just jumps someone like that without a reason—unless it was for jewelry or money. Obviously, none of that was his motive.” He frowns for a moment, deep in thought. “You don’t think it was that Larry kid from the drag race a couple of weeks back? He was pissed you beat his ass.”

  Max shakes his head. “I can’t imagine it would be him. Besides, Larry doesn’t have tattoos.”

  My head snaps to Max. “What did you say?”

  “I didn’t get to see who hit me, but I did get to see some patterns on his hand and arm before his fist landed on my face.”

  My heart rate kicks up a notch. “Did you get to see what any of them looked like?”

  He shakes his head. “No. It all happened too fast. It may have even been my imagination, but I could swear he had tats.”

  I stare into space at first, rooted to the spot.

  It can’t be, can it? Why would he want to hurt Max?

  I feel Max nudge me, and it makes me jump. “Hey, I’m okay. Apart from a headache and a bruised ego, I’m fine.”

  I bite my lip. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

  He looks up to Jerry and back at me. “Hey, can I speak with you a second?”

  I nod. “Sure.”

  Jerry looks at both of us. “I know when I’m not wanted. Catch you later, fuckers.”

  Jerry walks off. I close my eyes and shake my head. “I don’t think he’ll ever grow up.”

  Max laughs. “I’ve known that guy since I was five, and believe me: He acts the same now as he did back then.” We both chuckle, but then the atmosphere turns a little uncomfortable once the laughter stops. “I’m sorry about Friday night. I don’t know what came over me.”

  I tug on my backpack for something to do. I hate awkward situations like these. “It’s okay. I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all. You’re my friend, and I don’t want anything to change that.”

  Max nods his head in resignation. “I understand. It won’t happen again. Scout’s honor. Besides,” he places his arm around me and ushers me towards school, “I think I got my comeuppance once I got home. Are you sure it wasn’t you?” He lifts my hand up. “Do you have tattoos?” he asks jokingly. I start laughing, but in no way do I think this is funny.

  Could it really have been him?

  “Yeah, as if I could give you a shiner like that. Isn’t it sore?”

  He shrugs. “I’ll live. What class do you have first?”

  I groan. “Calculus.”

  Max kisses the top of my head. “I’ll see you in physics, okay?”

  I nod my head and watch as he walks towards his class. As I’m walking to m
ine, I pull my phone out and start texting.

  Me: What did you do?

  I place my phone back inside my bag and enter my class. Jerry, as usual, is the center of attention as he stands on the desk in the middle of the classroom and starts gyrating his hips at all the girls. Everyone is encouraging his behavior by cheering—the girls even more so by giggling and watching his every move. I don’t know how he gets away with it.

  “Lily vanilly, how about you come up here and join me?”

  Everyone looks to me, and my cheeks flush instantly. He knows I don’t like attention. That’s why he’s doing it. “How about no?” I answer indignantly.

  Everyone ooh’s and ahh’s, but Jerry carries on smiling. “She secretly loves me. That’s why she likes pushing me away in front of everyone; it’s a typical textbook crush.”

  I roll my eyes, but he’s not done with me yet. He starts singing “Pictures of Lily” by The Who. I’m mortified. I rush to my seat and crouch down, trying to pretend he’s not there.

  “Jerry Morgan, get off that table this instant. We’re not at the zoo, so stop behaving like a monkey.”

  I smirk as I watch Jerry retreat from the table with a somber look on his face. What did he expect? Class is about to start in two minutes, so of course Miss Mullens would be here soon.

  Miss Mullens scowls in Jerry’s direction one last time before addressing the class. “Last week, we studied circular motion …”

  “I know a lot about that,” Jerry whispers, making the class snicker.

  Miss Mullens turns to Jerry. “Mr. Morgan, are you going to continually disrupt my class this morning? Because if you are, I will save everyone the trouble now, and you can spend the next hour with Mr. Wright.”

  Jerry vehemently shakes his head. He hates our head teacher, and Miss Mullens knows it. In fact, Mr. Wright doesn’t have many fans at this school at all really. “It’s okay. I’ll behave. Sorry, Miss Mullens.”

  She curtly nods her head and turns her attention back to the book. “Now, everyone turn to page ninety-six for linear approximations.” Everyone groans slightly, but does as instructed. “First of all, who can tell me what they are?”