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“Promise me anyway,” he said, fixing his eyes on mine.
“I promise,” I said, my voice dropping low.
“When you hurt you, you hurt me.”
I smiled.
“It’s true,” he said, pushing my natty hair to the side.
“Thanks for being so understanding.”
“Thanks for getting a grip.”
“You’re welcome,” I said. “Not that I did it for you.”
“I know, but you might as well have.”
I pursed my lips.
“Can I see?” he asked, nodding towards my arm.
I felt a lump in my throat.
“Only if it’s okay with-”
“It’s okay,” I said, slipping my hands away from his and pushing my robe off my shoulder.
The quietness in the room as I slipped my arm out of the sleeve was almost more than I could bear. And without looking at him, I extended my arm in front of me and laid it down in my lap.
Aiden put his hand on my wrist and turned my arm gently, as if it was made of glass, until the inside of it faced the ceiling and the scars were out of the shadows.
“Not my best side,” I joked.
He turned towards me, holding my fingers in his lap. “That must’ve hurt.”
“That was sort of the point,” I said.
He shook his head, studying the shiny raised marks like he was reading something.
It was strangely freeing to have my arm out in the open, to know that I didn’t have to hide it from him anymore. And I was relieved that he hadn’t freaked out or acted frightened or made a face like he didn’t believe me when I said I hadn’t meant to hurt myself so bad.
Like the doctors did at the time.
“It’s like a tattoo that gives away how stubborn you are.”
I laughed. “As if I could hide that if I tried.”
He smiled. “What else are you hiding from me Lucy Ryan?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I swear.”
“How can I be so sure?”
“You have to trust me.”
“Well that’s out of the question.”
“Why?” I asked.
