Scars. Part 17

I want to tell her so bad, it's a fight to keep the words in. But I just can't tell her about the cutting. His threat, yes. The memory-or parts of it. And Meghan; I can tell her about Meghan. But I can't go into that now. I can't let my parents see me like this. I wipe my cheeks. "I'll tell you Monday, when I see you."

"Are you going to be all right tonight and tomorrow? Until your appointment?"

"Yeah." I shut off the running water. I feel calmer, now. Safer. Even my arm doesn't hurt as much. It helps to know Carolyn cares. And it helps to know that I won't have to hold on to everything all by myself.

She'll help me sort it out-whatever I tell her.

29.

I'm dreaming of Meghan, and I feel so happy. Then her eyes widen, and I follow her gaze to see him watching us from the shadows.

His hand grips my shoulder. I'm screaming before I open my eyes, knocking his hand away, still half in the dream. My head is muddled.

"Kendra! It's only me. Wake up, honey," Dad is saying.

I shudder and sit up. It's Dad. Just Dad. I struggle to breathe.

"I'm sorry I scared you," Dad says, his voice strained.

"It's okay." I rub my face, trying to collect myself. My arm throbs with pain, and I look down to see rust-colored stains on the sleeve of my nights.h.i.+rt. I lean back on my arm to hide it, trying to look relaxed. "You wanted something?"

"I wondered if you wanted to go to Sunday school with me this morning. I've been telling the kids about you, about what a good artist you are, and they'd love to meet you."

This again. I grit my teeth. "Not today, Dad."Why can't I tell him "Not ever"?

Dad looks closer at me. "You okay, kitten? You look really washed out."

"I'm fine." My arm hurts really badly now, but I can't let him see it.

Dad hesitates. "You sure?"

"I'm sure!"Just go away.

Dad straightens up. "All right. Maybe next week."

I wait for a whole minute after he leaves, then I push my sleeve up, unwrap the bandage, and pull off the pads. My arm feels hot under my fingers; the skin around the new wounds is puffy and red. Some of the cuts are oozing yellow pus.

I swallow. I've never seen my arm like this before. I gingerly pull my sleeve back down and stumble to the bathroom.

"You up, Kendra?" Mom calls.

"In a minute!"

I rifle through the medicine cabinet. I don't even know what I'm looking for until I see it-a brown plastic bottle labeled "Hydrogen Peroxide". I have a vague memory of Mom pouring it on my skinned knees when I was little. I uncap the bottle and pour it liberally over my arm; it bubbles and foams up, then disappears down the drain.

"Kendra?" Mom's footsteps click down the hall.

"Coming!" I dash into my room and yank another s.h.i.+rt over the stained one.

Mom comes in. "Your dad thinks you're not feeling well."

"I'm fine."How many times do I have to say that before they'll leave me alone?

Mom's all dressed up in her best clothes, wearing her makeup, jewelry, and perfume, so she can go to church and pretend that everything's okay.

"Are you coming with us this morning?"

I clench my fists. "Why do you ask me every Sunday? You know I don't go any more."

"It hurts your dad. How do you think it looks, him being a Sunday school teacher and you not even showing up? It's not his fault some man hurt you."

"It's not like I'd go to his cla.s.s if I went. I'm not a kindergartner any more. Besides, where was G.o.d when I was being abused?"

Mom sighs. "I don't have an answer for that-except I'm sure it hurt Him to watch."

He, she, it-if G.o.d really exists. I don't want to be having this discussion. "You just want me there so you can look good. I'll bet you haven't told anyone about Dad's job."Or about the s.e.xual abuse.

"You're right, Kendra, I haven't. They're not those kinds of friends. And I don't believe in airing our dirty laundry in public."

And you wonder why I don't want to go? I've had too many secrets; I don't need any more. Besides, there's a lot of things I'd rather do. Like be with Meghan.

I clamp down on a smile. "I'm staying home," I say. "See you at lunch."

As soon as they're gone, I phone Meghan. "I've got the house until noon. You want to come over?"

"You kidding? See you in half an hour!"

I shower fast, the hot water stinging my arm. Meghan's coming! I find myself singing as I dress. I change my outfit three times before Meghan arrives, checking my armpits for sweat stains and brus.h.i.+ng my teeth. My breathing is fast, my head too light-but as soon as I see Meghan, I relax.

"You look so good," she says in a throaty whisper.

I laugh, then reach up to touch her soft hair. "You do, too."

I take her hand and lead her to my bedroom, but as soon as we sit on my bed, we both become awkward and shy.

"How you doin' today?" she asks. "You feeling okay?"

"G.o.d, I wish everyone would stop asking me that!"

Meghan pulls back, a hurt look on her face.

I reach for her hand. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean it like that. I'm glad you care. It's just that both my parents asked me the same thing this morning. It made me want to scream. And I feel all muddied inside, trying to see it all- how cutting's helped me and yet that he taught me to do it. They feel like two separate worlds that I can't piece together."

"Maybe you don't want to."

"You're right; I don't. I don't think I can bear it. It's like he's tainted everything important to me, everything I've ever needed-even this."

"He hasn't tainted me," Meghan says, leaning forward.

We kiss-softly at first and then hungrily, almost desperately. I pull back.

Meghan groans.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" I ask.

"Yes, I'm sure." Meghan presses her lips against mine before I can say anything else, and soon I'm lost in our kissing.

Afterward, I look into her flushed face. "I love being with you. But I don't want you to do anything you don't want to. I want there to be only good stuff between us. So any time you want to slow down, just tell me."

Meghan smiles tenderly. "You're so sweet."

I laugh.

"No, really. You are. No one's ever treated me this way before, Kendra. No one's ever asked me how I felt or what I wanted."

I think about the boys she's slept with, and I want to snarl. I glare at the wall.

"What? What just happened?" Meghan asks. Now she's leaning over me.

I'm jealous. That's what. "Nothing!"

"Kendra, one of the things I love about you is that you don't bulls.h.i.+t me. You tell me what's going on. So don't shut me out now."

"All right, all right! I was thinking about all those guys you've..."

"Screwed?"

"Slept with. How probably all they ever cared about was s.e.x. I want you to know that I'll never treat you like that. I'll never use you."

"I know."

"And-maybe I was feeling a little jealous."

"Ha! I knew it!" Meghan play-slaps me. "What kinda girlfriend would you be if you weren't? But Kendra-I'm not going to be with anyone else, not any more, okay? I don't think I could, not now. When we're together, I want to cry and laugh with how good I feel, how connected and happy and alive I am. But when I'm with guys, I'm all shut down. I act like I enjoy it, but I'm waiting to get it over with, waiting to feel something. But I never do. Not like with us."

She touches my hand, and the snarly feeling inside me vanishes.

Meghan glances at her watch. "I should get going, before your folks get home. But I'll see you at school tomorrow."

Meghan strokes my cheek. "We won't be anything like you and Sarah were. I promise."

"I know we won't," I say. And I do know. Meghan is strong, right to her core. Strong in a way that Sarah never was.

30.

Early morning traffic sounds drift through Carolyn's window. I pick up my mug and take a quick sip of the water she's poured for me. "I don't want to start with the message he sent."

"Okay." Carolyn uncrosses her legs. "What do you want to start with?"

The good news. Then decide how much to tell her. My legs shake. "I think I'm in love."

"Kendra, that's wonderful." Carolyn sets her mug down. "Have you told me about this person before?"

Person. She didn't say "guy." She didn't say "him." I look at her face. She's smiling, leaning forward, her gaze intent on mine.

"It's a girl," I say. "I love another girl."

"Love is love, Kendra. Gender doesn't change that."

"That's not how my parents see it."

"How do they see it?"

"They think that I'm making things harder for myself."

"And do you think that's what you're doing?"

"No! I love Meghan. I feel good with her." I grip my hands together. "Why aren't you surprised? I mean, that I'm lesbian?"

"You never talk about boys-or about feeling attracted to them," Carolyn says. "But you have talked a lot about other girls. I didn't know for sure; I just kept an open mind." She smiles. "I'm glad you've found someone you like."

"Yeah, me, too." The ferns on her bookshelves seem to nod with me. "I can't remember feeling this happy in a long time. In fact, I don't think I've ever felt this happy. At least, I'm happy when Meghan and I are together. When the memories aren't cras.h.i.+ng in."

There it is: The brief sadness in her eyes, the compa.s.sion-like she understands what I'm saying on a deep level.

"My mom said you're a survivor. Was she right?" Carolyn sits back. "Yes, I'm a s.e.xual abuse survivor."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Now I'm leaning forward.

"Because it's not my job to burden my clients with my history or my problems. As a therapist, it's my job to help you with yours."

"But it would've helped me to know! I've never met another survivor, never known that anyone could feel really happy again after something so horrible-and you were right here the whole time!"