light.

scars

•lia•

luke and i were sitting on the couch facing each other. we were each holding a mug filled with tea because luke thought it would be good if we made some tea. apparently tea would calm him down and make him feel a little better. and he was kind of right. the tea did help a little.

"it was my dad," i started. "he was the one who hit me, not my mom. but it wasn't like she did anything to stop it. all she did was work longer hours so she didn't have to see it. she lived under the mentality that if my dad was doing it that he probably had a good reason for it."

luke was looking at me listening intently. i was glad that he didn't look at me with pity. but then again, he had his own story to tell and anyone who had a story to tell didn't want people's pity.

"my dad started just by slapping me in the face when i was a freshman in high school, but quickly realized that people would notice, so he switched to other methods," i continued.

i took a shaky breath and a big gulp of tea.

"what do you mean by other methods?" luke asked when he realized i wasn't continuing.

"well i guess that part i can show you," i told him with a small, sad smile.

he looked confused as i put my tea down on the table. i turned around so my back was facing him and pulled my shirt up so he could see my back. i heard him gasp and i knew he saw the scars.

turning my head, i saw luke put down his tea and inch forawrd to look at my back. i saw him slowly reach his hand up but it stopped before it touched my back. he looked at me as if asking for permission and i nodded.

luke's touch was delicate on my back. his rough fingers traced the lines that scarred my back. i was surprised that i even showed them to him. i hardly ever actually told people about my parents and if i did, i would never actually show them the scars i got.

luke was the only one who had ever seen them.

"you know, i think you're the only person i've ever shown this too," i confessed.

i felt his hand reach up to pull my shirt back down. when i turned around to look at him i saw him lifting up his shirt. on his side there were three scars on his side. they were all small circles and they were in a staight line.

just like luke had done just a couple minutes ago, i reached my hand up to feel it but stopped to look at hime for permission first. the skin was healed but the scars were permenent. his skin was warm and smooth aside from the three circles.

"and now you're the only one who i've shown these to," he told me. "and i'm guessing you want some sort of explanation for them."

i just nodded and grabbed my tea again. we were still sitting facing each other but we were closer than we were before.

"when i first got into high school i was hanging out with the wrong crowd. and they got me into drugs. all sorts of drugs. but they started out small at first. they would give me cigarettes and over a little while i became addicted to them. but by the time i realized it, they had moved on to showing me other drugs," he started.

he reached forward and grabbed his mug. he didn't drink from it but he held it tightly as if doing so would make things easier.

"i got into all sorts of things and i liked them. by the time i realized what was going on i was a complete druggie. i had done almost everything high schoolers could get their hands on. then i found a new group of friends at the end of my sophomore year that tried to help me. they all tried to help me recover but it was hard having to live without it."

i could tell it was hard for him to talk about it and laid my hand on top of his. he gave me a smile before continuing.

"surprisingly enough, most of the other drugs were easier to give up because i hadn't used them more than a handful of times but staying off of them had some weird effects on me. i couldn't sleep or eat properly. that was how i recognized your sleeping pills. but when i tried giving up the cigs, i lost it a little. at first i wouldn't be able to make a week without one but eventually i got up to going months without one," he explained.

"every scar on my side was from a day i slipped. i would be feeling horrible and craving a smoke and i would give in. i would smoke three or four cigarettes and by the time it was the middle of the night would get so disappointed in myself for breaking that i would press the nub of the cig i was smoking to my skin to remind myself of how weak i was," he finished.

"well you're not the only one with drug problems," i said jokingly trying to lighten the mood. "when i was in high school all of my friends would get mad at me because every once in a while i would get completely fucked up on random drugs just to take away from the pain, to make me forget."

we sat in silence for a minute trying to soak up everything we had just told each other.

"why did your dad hit you?" he asked after a couple minutes.

"because i wasn't good enough for him."