What He Never Said ✔️

chapter twenty-seven • scars

"I will be your lover, and I'll hold your hand. You should know I'll be there for you."
- Alec Benjamin

I roll my shoulders back and take a deep breath. "Gemma," I say with confidence and placidity, "there's something I need to tell you." I count to three in my head before I speak again. "Seven years ago... Benson stuck his dick inside Raelyn against her will."

I stare at my reflection in the mirror and shake my head. I can't fucking say that. I've gotta think of something better.

For days, I've been rehearsing what I'm going to tell Gemma when I finally see her. Last night, I even had Zayna play the part of my sister and act out possible reactions. Of course, none of the words that come out of my mouth sound right. It has to be perfect, you know? I need her to believe me.

Fuck, I can't get justice for Raelyn without her.

Suddenly, the apartment door bursts open. Zayna slams it shut behind her as she begins shedding her waitressing uniform. She adorns herself in a pair of gray sweatpants, black fuzzy socks, and a long-sleeved t-shirt before flopping down on the sofa and screaming into a pillow.

It looks like rehearsal is over for now. I quickly exit the bathroom and join Zayna on the couch.

"Babe." I remove the pillow from underneath her. "Talk to me."

"People suck. I hate everyone," she groans. She's trying to feign indifference, but I can see the tears forming in her eyes. One rogue droplet slides down her cheek, putting an end to her tough guy performance.

I scoop her into my arms and kiss the top of her head. I hate it when she's in pain. All I can think about is taking it away from her, about seeing her smile again.

"What happened?" I ask, feeling the warmth of her tears and she buries her face into the crook of my neck.

"It's stupid," she mutters. "I'm stupid."

"No, you're not stupid," I assure her. "If you're upset, you're upset."

She shakes her head. "But I overreacted."

"Zayna, what happened?" I ask again.

"Well, I was downstairs working," she begins. "I had this one table, a guy and a girl, and they were perfectly nice. When they left, they gave me a massive tip, but... ugh, this so dumb, but the girl was blatantly staring at my wrists." Her golden eyes meet mine as a fresh wave of tears rises to the surface. "At my scars."

"I mean, I can track her down if you want. I'll teach her that it's impolite to stare," I joke.

She responds with a half-smile. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'll be fine. I think I just needed to have my tantrum in order to get over it."

I recall the night of our first date. After dinner, we came back to her apartment, where things got... physical. However, being the colossal idiot that I am, I noticed the self-harm scars on her thighs and ruined the moment. She kicked me out, and we didn't speak for weeks.

Zayna will never admit it, but she's horribly self-conscious about her scars. She'd rather talk about her history with drug addiction than her former proclivity for slicing into her own skin.

"Zayna," I whisper, "you don't need to be ashamed of your scars. People are going to stare, and that fucking sucks, but you shouldn't feel like you have to hide them. These scars"—I gently graze the light pink lines on her wrist—"are proof that you survived something. They're a sign of strength, not weakness. You're a motherfucking badass, babe, and I don't think I tell you this enough, but I'm so, so proud of you."

Her honey-colored eyes light up as a megawatt smile stretches across her face. She pulls me in for a kiss, slamming her lips into mine with enough force to leave a bruise. She encircles her arms around my neck and kisses me harder, all the while moving her hips back and forth over my crotch.

I lift her up and place her back down on the sofa so that she's sprawled out beneath me. My fingers find the waistband of her pants and expertly slide them off, then stroke the silky material of her red thong. I move the soft material aside and begin to stroke her. She arches her back, letting out a satisfied moan.

She unbuttons my jeans and yanks them off, along with my boxers, in one graceful movement. She takes my c*ck in her hand and guides it to her entrance. She raises her hips, engulfing me inside of her.

"Fuck, baby," I whisper.

Her dazzling eyes meet mine. "I love you, Bowie."

"I love you, too." I thrust my hips forward, burying myself in her warmth. "I love you so much."

Our bodies move together in perfect synchronization. We've had sex dozens of times before, but this feels different. This feels like more than just a physical act. When I finish, I'm dizzy in the head, but in a good way, as if I'm high on psychedelics.

I roll off of her, pull up my pants, and rush to the bathroom to get her a towel. When I return, she's already sitting up. She smiles at me, but her grin quickly fades as a forlorn expression takes over her face. 

"Are you okay?" I question her, fearing the worst. Maybe the sex wasn't as mind-blowing for her as it was for me, or maybe I hurt her.

Maybe she felt pressured into doing something she didn't want to do. I haven't gone over my checklist in a while. With Zayna, my girlfriend, it seems uncalled for, but I'd rather be redundant and slightly over-cautious than anything like my older brother.

"I'm okay," she finally replies.

"Then why do you look like you're about to cry again?"

"Look, I don't want to be selfish, but I've liked having you here. It's been nice to fall asleep in your arms and wake up beside you," she tells me, wrapping her arms around her torso. "Like, I get that you're only staying here because your family is falling apart, but this week has been amazing."

"Baby, that doesn't make you selfish," I say.

"No, but it does," she protests, "because once you go back home, I know I'm gonna be angry. I'll resent you for leaving, even though you leaving means your family finally knows the truth about Benson and he's getting what he deserves. And that right there is so much bigger than me or our silly little relationship. I need to remember that, you know?"

"Stop," I whisper, placing my hands over hers. "Zayna, this thing we have, it isn't silly at all. I love you. It's because of you that I have the strength to finally come clean about my brother. You're one of the most important people in my life, and all I want is to be able to wake up next to you every morning and fall asleep holding you every night."

Wrapping my arm around her shoulders, I pull her closer to me and kiss her temple. Her face is unreadable, but she's smiling again, so that's a good sign.

"Please, baby, don't sell us short," I go on. "You and I, we're endgame, okay? Once I sort this shit out with my family, my sole focus is gonna be on us. On you."

"Good." Grinning from ear to ear, Zayna places a kiss on my cheek. "I look forward to a time when we can both go a whole week without crying."

I chuckle. "Same here, baby."

"And I really hope things go well with your sister. I want your fuckface brother gone from your life just as much as you do," she adds.

That's what I want, too. For a long time, it was all I wanted. To think that it could finally happen fills me with both trepidation and relief.