Part 30 (1/2)

”Sure.” His hand goes to the small of my back to lead me out of the room, even though it's my house.

We sit close to each other on the loveseat in the family room. Ben on my right. It's as if he already knows that's how I like it. While I flick through the On-Demand movies on the television, Ben's hand finds its way to my thigh again. His fingers make little circular motions and I end up not even reading the t.i.tles of the movies as I'm flicking.

”Holly called me this morning,” he says quietly.

”Yeah?”

”She asked me to go to some college party Friday night.”

Figures she'd call him. ”Oh yeah?”

”At Griffin's.”

”Hmmm.” I do not want to encourage this conversation.

”She knows I don't do parties.”

My eyes are still on the television. I don't want him to see how nervous I'm getting.

”I believe she thinks if I go, she has a better chance of getting you to go.”

”Good. So you don't have to worry about going then. 'Cause I'm not.”

”You don't do parties either?”

After a second's pause, ”No.”

”So can I just ask you something, then?”

I put down the remote and s.h.i.+ft my eyes toward him, not looking completely at him.

”If it were last semester, would you be going?”

I pick up the remote and continue my movie search.

”You don't want to talk about it?”

I don't respond. He already knows the answer.

”It's fine,” he says. ”We don't have to talk about it. But one of these days, I'd like to find out more about you.”

”I'm not that interesting,” I say to the TV.

His fingers continue doing their thing on my good thigh. ”I beg to differ. I find you very interesting. That's why I have this overwhelming desire to know more.”

I barely shake my head. ”How 'bout this?” I ask, pointing the remote at the screen. Horrible Bosses is highlighted in yellow.

”Sure. That's fine.”

I look at him. ”You saw this already?”

He uses his hand on my thigh to turn me toward him.

”I'm not here for the movie, Rose. I'm here to be with you.”

I tuck my lips in at his admission.

”We can watch whatever you want or we can stare at a blank screen. I'm just so happy to be sitting here in the same room, on the same couch, in the same s.p.a.ce as you. Breathing in your scent. Being able to touch you. This is all I want. You're happy with Horrible Bosses then I'm happy with Horrible Bosses.”

His words make me want to cry. In fact, I'm finding it hard not to. It's crazy. Why do I want to cry so badly?

He takes his hand from my thigh, leaving a cold, surprisingly absent feeling on my leg. But then he wraps his arm around my shoulder and tugs me closer. I close my eyes at the closeness and then his lips are pressed to the top of my head.

We sit there like that for I'm not sure how long. My eyes remain closed, his lips keep their contact. Horrible Bosses stays highlighted on the television. My eyes are still closed when I feel his touch on my face. When I open them, it's his thumb tracing my scar, up and down, up and down.

”You really are beautiful, you know?”

I shake my head.

”You are,” he insists.

Again, I shake my head, but he stops me by spreading his fingers and cupping my face in his hand. Without thinking about it, I lean into it, taking a deep breath to appreciate the security of this moment. Even if it is only fleeting. My breathing picks up when his eyes pierce mine, and in the next second, he's leaning in closer. My eyes flutter when his lips touch mine. They're soft. Warm. And taste like bacon.

For several minutes, our lips are locked and our tongues are engaged. And my head and my heart are at conflict with one another.

This is nice. It feels right. But if we continue, where will it lead? Maybe not tonight. Maybe not next week. But if we take our friends.h.i.+p further, it's going to lead to s.e.x. In clothes, we can pretend I look normal. Undressed, even in the dark, he's sure to see my mutilations.

But when he breaks our kiss, his hands on either side of my jaw, he gazes into my eyes again and all my worries fade into the background. His thumb grazes my scar again when he says, ”I'm sorry you were hurt so badly.”

I was not expecting that. I take a swallow, then hold my breath while he touches my scar with his lips. They first kiss the top of my scar where it begins at my temple. His lips then follow the scar down my cheek, pressing soft, short pecks as he travels lower until he reaches the part of my scar just below my neck. His lips feel so good on my mangled skin that I am once again conflicted. So badly I want to lean back and give him access to the rest of it.

But I can't.

I'm afraid he'll take one look at the whole thing and decide he can't handle the ugliness. The scar only gets worse as it travels down my body. My lower torso and what's left of my leg look like someone took a machete to it. Then there's the part where my leg went missing. If I didn't have scar tissue, I wouldn't have any skin covering the wound at all. I still can't look at myself in a full-length mirror. How could I expect the guy I like to look at me and not get grossed out?

When he kisses the last spot above my collarbone, he looks up at me and takes my cheek in his hand again. ”I wish I could take your pain away.”

My eyes sting from holding back tears that I'm not sure are trying to escape because of sadness or happiness. Ben's acknowledgement of my accident scares me. I don't want to talk about it. Or remember it.

But at the same time, it feels good that he's concerned. Then again, that's going to be bad for me. It means I have to talk about it. My mouth may be speaking words again, but it's not like I'm okay with talking about what happened. It just makes me depressed all over again. I try to forget. Which is ironic, because it's all I think about. My ugly leg. My Skellington face. My thwarted dreams.

But Ben's thumb running along my cheek distracts me again. ”If you let me in, I might be able to do that.”