Scars by Kathryn Thomas

the bottle back. “Thank you,” he said, his voice slightly raspy. He cleared his throat.
     
    “Are you okay?”
     
    “I’m fine.”
     
    Holly studied him carefully. He didn’t look fine in the least. “Whatever you say,” she said, deciding that it was probably best not to pry any further.
     
    Matt flashed her a grateful smile, having probably caught her intentions. “I’m okay, really,” he said. “I’m used to nightmares. I’m just not a fan of them happening when I’m in a public place.”
     
    “Nobody noticed anything,” Holly said, casting one more look around to make sure no inquiring gazes were on them. Just like a few moments ago, all the other passengers seemed to be either asleep or minding their own business, and they were far back enough that the driver couldn’t possibly have caught any signs of Matt’s discomfort. “Just me, and I don’t mind.” She smiled reassuringly.
     
    “I hope I didn’t scare you.”
     
    “You didn’t. You just tossed around a little, that’s all.”
     
    Matt nodded. “Good.”
     
    “Were you dreaming of war?” Holly’s eyes widened. She could not believe she had just asked him out loud. “Oh God,” she groaned. “I’m hopeless. I’m sorry, that was very insensitive of me.”
     
    “It’s all right,” Matt said, waving her apology away with a dismissive gesture of his hand. “No, I wasn’t dreaming of war. I was dreaming of finding my older brother dead from an overdose in the bathroom when I was twelve.”
     
    Holly cringed. Matt wasn’t trying to make her feel bad; he was just honest, an abrasive kind of honesty.
     
    “I’m sorry,” she said again, and she didn’t know whether she was apologizing for being nosy or expressing her sorrow at Matt’s tough childhood.
     
    Matt shrugged. “It was a long time ago,” he said. “For the most part, I deal…sort of. But sometimes I still dream about it.”
     
    “It’s understandable,” Holly said. “I think I’d have nightmares, too.”
     
    He noticed the sketchbook then, which was still in her lap. “You were drawing?”
     
    Holly felt herself blush furiously. “Earlier,” she said. “Nothing major, just a few doodles to keep myself occupied.”
     
    “Mind if I take a look?”
     
    Holly hesitated. She really didn’t want him to see the portrait of himself asleep in the bus seat, but she also couldn’t think of a reason to refuse to show him. “I guess not,” she said, handing over the sketchbook hesitantly.
     
    Matt took it carefully and opened it, scanning the drawings that he found in there. His portrait wasn’t the only drawing that occupied the book’s pages, of course. There were others before that one. There were landscapes and animals—mostly horses—and people.
     
    “These are truly remarkable, Holly,” he said, impressed, without lifting his gaze off the page.
     
    Holly flushed, pleased. “Thank you.” She waited with trepidation for him to reach the end of the drawn-on pages.
     
    When he did, Matt looked up so sharply that for a heart-stopping moment Holly thought he might be angry. Instead, Matt’s green eyes were wide with wonder and surprise.
     
    “When did you draw this?”
     
    “Earlier, when you were sleeping,” Holly said, doing her best not to squirm in embarrassment.
     
    “It’s unbelievable.” Matt looked back down at the drawing, unable to tear his gaze off the paper.
     
    Holly smiled. She felt almost overwhelmed with emotions, and she blamed her particularly vulnerable state for the intensity of it all. She knew, however, that there was more to it than that. No one had ever acknowledged her dreams of becoming an artist, let alone her genuine passion for drawing and art. No one had ever noticed or nurtured her talent. There was always a voice in the back of her mind telling her that she was good enough and that she had what it took to pursue her dream seriously, but she never had any validation from other people. Until now.