Scar Tissue

I don’t know what I hated more: myself, or the fact that my crying woke him up. It couldn’t be later than two in the morning, I had woken up from another nightmare and I found myself huddled in the same spot I always went to in times like these: the bathtub.

It was a bad habit I got myself into since childhood, but the coldness of the tub gave me a comfort most things couldn’t. I had been good about keeping my pain hidden from the rest of the world, but by night it came crawling back to me in the form of dreams and flashes of guilt.

The tears would come before I could stop them and I always found myself in this tub. He never knew, and I never told him. What was the point? I’m a girl stuck in reverse who can’t seem to let go of yesterday and take in the joys of tomorrow. My whole life was like a damaged tape, repeating itself when it shouldn’t and having a hard time moving forward. I always could repress my sobs, and I wondered if I was louder than I had thought or if maybe, just maybe...he knew this whole time.

His footsteps creaked against the wood and I didn’t have to look up to know he was at the door frame. The air buzzed with silence, and a moment crept by before he took a few more steps and was at my side. He stepped into the tub opposite of me, causing my smaller frame and his larger one to press together, our legs entwining.

He didn’t say anything, but his green eyes never left my face. I finally looked over and rubbed at my face, hoping he couldn’t see the tear stains on my cheeks or how red my eyes were in the dark. “Hey,” I whispered.

“Hey,” he whispered back. His voice was gentle, and it made me choke on a potential sob that I swallowed. We stared at each other for so long, I couldn’t tell if it were just the longest minutes of my life or if time really had ticked by.

“I’m sorry,” I choked out.

“For what?”

“If I woke you.”

In the darkness, I could see him frown. “Even if you had, it’s nothing to be sorry over.”

I looked away. “No, but I should be sorry for other things.”

“Like?”

“Nothing and everything. The way I am.” I shrug, feeling myself lightly shake. “Not telling you anything.”

He didn’t say anything, he just took my hands in his and brushed his thumbs over my knuckles. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want.”

“I know...but this is something you deserved to know...” I looked up at him and a jolt of realization hit me. “You knew all along, haven’t you?”
He paused and he searched my face and eyes for nothing and everything at once. “...yes, I’ve been waiting for the right time to approach you.”

“But why?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to come to me. Whatever drives you in here is something I knew I couldn’t pry. I knew I could ask at any point, but I knew it wasn’t the right time. Hell, maybe even now isn’t. But I don’t like the idea of just leaving you in here any longer. I hope you don’t hate me for that.”

“I could never hate you. You know that.” Silence filled the air once more, though louder now that it buzzed with some odd anticipation. “I...really don’t know what to say other than there are a lot of things in my life that I’m not proud of. I had a sister, and I never got to say goodbye. We had a fight, and I was too stubborn to have talked to her myself. She passed away before I could say I was sorry, and I’ve never forgiven myself for that.”

“That’s not your fault, though.”

“Yes it is. Maybe not her death, but I could have turned around and done something. But I didn’t. There’s not a moment where I don’t see her face in my dreams, where I don’t feel a pain of guilt, where I don’t miss her. Even after all these years it’s like the pain never went away. And to make it worse, no one gets it. Everyone always pats me on the head and tells me it’ll be okay, and then tell me to be happy that I knew her like that would suddenly make all the pain go away. It got to the point where I couldn’t talk about it without people changing the subject in hopes it would make me feel better, but it only fueled the pain and guilt. People say time heals all wounds...but I’m still waiting.”

“And that’s okay.” His voice came out strong and jolted me out of my thoughts.

“What?”

“It's okay to feel that way.”

I stared at him and he smiled his crooked grin, a smile I fell in love with when we first met. I waited for him to continue, but he didn’t.

“What do you mean?”

“That’s one thing I hate about society, no one wants to deal with sadness. It’s taboo, like no one is allowed to feel anything other than happiness. It’s okay to feel sad, and it’s okay to feel this way. To be honest, I doubt you’ll ever fully heal, and that’s okay, too. When a plate breaks, saying sorry to it doesn’t make it go back to normal just like when a snake sheds its skin, it doesn’t go completely back to the way it was before. That’s why we have scars, it tells stories of a painful time for all of us where when we look at it, we cringe but in the end there’s nothing we can do about it. It happened. It’s not like you can erase it as much as everyone would like that, but it is okay to feel this way. I know it’s hard to not let it consume you, but the key isn’t to get better or happy by ignoring the problem, the key is understanding that you are not and never will be alone.”

He squeezed my hands and gently brushed his fingers against my cheeks. I didn’t realize I had started crying. When I did, I began to cry harder. He gathered me in his arms and held me, not caring if I got his shirt wet or if I was loud or not. He felt warm and real and for the first time, I really didn’t feel alone with this.

He rubbed my back and brushed my hair with his fingers. When I calmed down, he helped me up and led me back to our room where he tucked me in our bed and kissed my forehead.

“Thank you,” I heard myself whisper. He looked at me with surprise and confusion written on his face.

“For what?”

“For nothing and everything.” I smiled up at him and he smiled back.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

For the first time in years, I felt lighter. He crawled into bed with me and I immediately snuggled into his arms and closed my eyes. I felt tired, and I never felt as tired as I did right then. I was able to drift into pleasant dreams for the first time in a long while, where I didn’t see my sister’s face on everyone’s face I met nor did I feel the strong sense of missing her like I had. And for the first time in my entire life, I knew I could learn to love and forgive myself. If he could, then I knew I could as well.