Chapter 20
I haven't said anything since Curtis said he loves me. I don't think I can make my mouth work if I try. So I just snuggle closer to him, burying my face in his neck.
"Can I see them?" he asks a few minutes later.
"See what?"
"Your scars. From the surgery. From playing hockey," he pauses, and adds in a small voice, "From him."
I bite my lip, but his eyes are pleading with me, and I can't bring myself to say no. I point to my chin; there's a thin white line there from a high stick I took back in Portland. On my lower lip is a puckered scar from a fight I got into in the minors. A jagged line cuts through my left eyebrow from a game earlier in the season where my helmet broke the skin. As I point to them and tell him the stories behind the injuries, he kisses each one gently, bringing tears to my eyes.
"What's this from?" he asks, running a fingertip along a mark over my right eye.
"Johan," I murmur. "It was just starting to heal when I got here."
"I remember that. It looked painful," he says softly, then presses a kiss to the scar.
I roll over in bed and push the collar of my shirt down. A set of teeth marks mar the skin at the back of my neck. "One of the times when he...raped me...he bit too hard. It hurt so bad..."
"My poor Andrew," he breathes, kissing me where my neck meets the base of my skull, making me shiver.
I turn to face him again, holding my hands out. White lines slash through the palms of each. "I did that. Whenever he would hurt me, especially when he started to...force stuff...I would dig my nails in as hard as I could. Eventually, it broke the skin, and after a while, it scarred."
He raised each of my hands, letting his tongue slide gently over the now healed punctures, and I felt a tear slip onto my cheek, but he leaned in to kiss it away. "Don't cry, Andy," he whispered. "Actually, ignore that. Cry if you want to. As long as I'm here to kiss the tears away."
I don't know what to say anymore. Even in the beginning when we were winning and life was perfect, Johan was never like this. I smile at Curtis, and then reach for the hem of my shirt; there are a few scars left.
I push my pajama bottoms an inch lower so that my hipbones show. "After a game against New Jersey, he left these," I explain, referring to the angry little crescents where his nails had broken the skin. "They've faded some, and I think they'll go away eventually."
He kisses the tip of his finger, then touches it to each of the marks, and when I look at him, I notice the tears shining in the blue of his eyes. Just four more...
I pull my shirt up over my head, biting my lip nervously. For a month, I've showered and dressed with my back to him, hoping he wouldn't see these. They're what made Johan stop loving me.
Then again, I'm not so sure he ever really did love me in the first place.
"From the surgery," I say simply. "The ones that Johan hated."
He slides a hand over my stomach, then traces the four tiny incisions with his finger. He moves to kneel beside me, then lowers his head. Soft kisses flutter over each of the scars, with just a hint of wetness from the tip of his tongue. "You're beautiful," he murmurs, sliding back to lay next to me. He cradles me in his arms,
kissing away the tears that I've let spill over.
I watch him intently, terrified that I'll find disgust in his eyes. Instead, when he looks at me, his eyes are sad, sympathetic. "You're safe now, Andrew. I'm not letting anything happen to you."
I kiss him softly, and surprisingly, I don't even think to question his promise. Tears are still in his eyes, and I say something that I never expected to, something that I didn't believe to be true a month ago.
"It's okay to cry, Curtis..."
