belly.
“You don’t have to be afraid of what will hurt you, anymore. You are safe now.”
“It’s not easy to get used to,” I say.
“I know, but neither is believing that you are still in danger.” Spencer kisses my uninjured wrist.
“You’re so forgiving,” I say.
“Forgiveness sets the soul free - a grudge restricts it.”
•••
Spencer picks me up and sits me on the jewelry counter. I’m scared the glass will break but he appears so relaxed about it that his mood rubs off on me too. He takes his shirt off and gives it to me. Then, he shimmies around the counter and pulls out a pearl necklace. I lift my hair and he secures the string of pearls around my neck. I let my hair down and he steps back like he’s scrutinizing a masterpiece of his own design. He smiles and then frowns.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Aha!”
Going around the counter again, he returns with two vintage hair pieces, inlaid with pearls and emerald flowers. He pins my hair back with them and grins. “So beautiful,” he says, clasping his hands together. “Why would someone this beautiful want to cut herself? Here, have a look.” He hands me a mirror.
He’s right; my beauty still flourishes outside, even though I feel so rotten inside. “I guess I just wanted the external me to look like the internal me.” I hand the mirror back.
“Clad saved you because he loved you. Even if you never see him again, that initial love it took for him to save you will always be there.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“As much as I believe that you’re the most beautiful girl in the world,” he puts a finger to his chest, “ with all of my heart .”
“Thank you, Owl,” I say, blushing.
“It’s time for lunch. Let’s go to my house, my mom can fix this for you,” he says tapping my wrist.
“What will she say?”
“Nothing. She doesn’t judge.”
He gives me his hand and I hop off the counter. I gather my Ace bandage and hoodie. Catching my reflection in the glass doors, my hair barrettes sparkling in the sunlight, I secretly smile to myself.
•••
Sarah aggressively kicks a soccer ball around in the front yard, her hair pulled back in a ponytail so tight that her eyebrows are forced into a surprised raise.
We pull into the driveway. She glares at me, her eyes burning two cigarette holes in my back as Spencer and I go into the house.
“Mom, I’m home!” Spencer hollers.
B.B. pops out of the laundry room, a basket on her hip. “Oh, hi, Bailey, how are you?” she says, an opulent warmth to her voice.
“Not so well.” I display my wrist to her.
“Can you put a Band-Aid on it or something?” Spencer says.
B.B. puts the laundry basket down and gingerly holds my wrist in her hands, turning it to get a better look at the damage. “This is going to need more than a Band-Aid,” she says.
Spencer squeezes my shoulder. “It’s okay,” he says, “Mom will take good care of you.”
“That I will,” B.B. says, smiling.
“I’m going to take this and try to get the blood out,” Spencer says. Taking my hoodie from me, he leaves B.B. and I alone together.
“Come into my bathroom, honey,” B.B. says.
I follow her into the bedroom, painted in a coral and mint palette, the interior design having little sign of a man’s touch.
A white wood dresser the length of one wall is sprinkled with shells, petrified starfish, and sand dollars. A vase of sand is at one end of the dresser. At the opposite end, unlit candles of various heights are arranged on a hemp cloth, hanging over the ends of the dresser.
“I have gauze and some medical tape left over from when Sarah split her knee open,” B.B. says. She’s in the bathroom already.
“Coming,” I say, dragging myself away from the dresser that looks like it popped right out of a Better Homes and Garden’s magazine.
“Can I?” B.B. asks reaching for my arm.
“Please,” I say, giving my wrist to her.
She washes the cut with soap and water, dabs
“You don’t have to be afraid of what will hurt you, anymore. You are safe now.”
“It’s not easy to get used to,” I say.
“I know, but neither is believing that you are still in danger.” Spencer kisses my uninjured wrist.
“You’re so forgiving,” I say.
“Forgiveness sets the soul free - a grudge restricts it.”
•••
Spencer picks me up and sits me on the jewelry counter. I’m scared the glass will break but he appears so relaxed about it that his mood rubs off on me too. He takes his shirt off and gives it to me. Then, he shimmies around the counter and pulls out a pearl necklace. I lift my hair and he secures the string of pearls around my neck. I let my hair down and he steps back like he’s scrutinizing a masterpiece of his own design. He smiles and then frowns.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Aha!”
Going around the counter again, he returns with two vintage hair pieces, inlaid with pearls and emerald flowers. He pins my hair back with them and grins. “So beautiful,” he says, clasping his hands together. “Why would someone this beautiful want to cut herself? Here, have a look.” He hands me a mirror.
He’s right; my beauty still flourishes outside, even though I feel so rotten inside. “I guess I just wanted the external me to look like the internal me.” I hand the mirror back.
“Clad saved you because he loved you. Even if you never see him again, that initial love it took for him to save you will always be there.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“As much as I believe that you’re the most beautiful girl in the world,” he puts a finger to his chest, “ with all of my heart .”
“Thank you, Owl,” I say, blushing.
“It’s time for lunch. Let’s go to my house, my mom can fix this for you,” he says tapping my wrist.
“What will she say?”
“Nothing. She doesn’t judge.”
He gives me his hand and I hop off the counter. I gather my Ace bandage and hoodie. Catching my reflection in the glass doors, my hair barrettes sparkling in the sunlight, I secretly smile to myself.
•••
Sarah aggressively kicks a soccer ball around in the front yard, her hair pulled back in a ponytail so tight that her eyebrows are forced into a surprised raise.
We pull into the driveway. She glares at me, her eyes burning two cigarette holes in my back as Spencer and I go into the house.
“Mom, I’m home!” Spencer hollers.
B.B. pops out of the laundry room, a basket on her hip. “Oh, hi, Bailey, how are you?” she says, an opulent warmth to her voice.
“Not so well.” I display my wrist to her.
“Can you put a Band-Aid on it or something?” Spencer says.
B.B. puts the laundry basket down and gingerly holds my wrist in her hands, turning it to get a better look at the damage. “This is going to need more than a Band-Aid,” she says.
Spencer squeezes my shoulder. “It’s okay,” he says, “Mom will take good care of you.”
“That I will,” B.B. says, smiling.
“I’m going to take this and try to get the blood out,” Spencer says. Taking my hoodie from me, he leaves B.B. and I alone together.
“Come into my bathroom, honey,” B.B. says.
I follow her into the bedroom, painted in a coral and mint palette, the interior design having little sign of a man’s touch.
A white wood dresser the length of one wall is sprinkled with shells, petrified starfish, and sand dollars. A vase of sand is at one end of the dresser. At the opposite end, unlit candles of various heights are arranged on a hemp cloth, hanging over the ends of the dresser.
“I have gauze and some medical tape left over from when Sarah split her knee open,” B.B. says. She’s in the bathroom already.
“Coming,” I say, dragging myself away from the dresser that looks like it popped right out of a Better Homes and Garden’s magazine.
“Can I?” B.B. asks reaching for my arm.
“Please,” I say, giving my wrist to her.
She washes the cut with soap and water, dabs
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