The Wish From Heaven | ✓

chapter 16 : the scars

14 July; Sunday

I didn't have a good sleep at night, so when I wake up in the morning, I feel like my body does not belong to me.

My eyelids as heavy as wet sandbags, I push myself up to a sitting position, using every ounce of willpower I have. I blink repeatedly, which only makes my eyes want to close more. The dazzlingly bright sunlight pouring in through the window adds to the list of Not Helping. I will have to tell July to stop pulling back the curtains every morning.

I need to splash some water on my eyes. With that aim in mind, I get off the bed and start walking to the bathroom, my eyes half-closed to feel a little comfort. For some unknown reason, an organ in the left part of my stomach hurts. Which organ lies there again? I can't even think properly.

I swing the door to the bathroom, my eyes snapping widely open at the loud sound of a scream.

Before he covers it with a towel, I see the scars on his back.

"Why did you come in?!" He cries, a frantic look on his face.

"I'm - I'm so sorry," I manage to say, my voice sounding terrified to my own ears. I scurry out and shut the door. Putting a hand over my thrumming heart, I try to hold in the tears already forming in my eyes.

I can't possibly be this sensitive.

It is my first time seeing July mad. His loud and angered voice replays in my ears like a broken record, and his enraged face hovers in front of my vision like a veil. My gut clenches, and I suddenly feel like vomiting.

I made July angry.

I don't know how angry I made him, but it doesn't seem to be less at all. I curse at myself for not paying attention to the clock. It is the time he takes a bath. He didn't lock the door, probably because he didn't expect me to be up so early on a Sunday morning.

I made him angry. Oh no, I really made him so angry.

As I walk back to the bed and sit on the edge, my upper teeth bites down hard on the lower one. Hands clenching into fists, fingers digging into my palm, throat aching with the effort of keeping my cheeks dry - just within a few seconds, I have become more miserable than someone waking up after only two hours of night's sleep.

Right now, I hate myself so much.

I tap my right leg restlessly. My head hurts, and so do my eyes. My entire body might as well be stuck under a heavy rock. That's how it feels. I remember what Edgar told me that day. "Don't you know how much it hurts when someone you love gets mad at you?"

"Cedar!" I am shaken out of my unforgiving thoughts. He is standing in front of me, bending his waist to meet my eye-level. "Cedar, why are you....were you crying? Oh my God." He uses both his thumbs to clean my wet eyelashes. His hands then land on my shoulders, his eyes restlessly searching for mine. "Cedar, look at me."

His face no longer holds anger, but that doesn't make me feel any better. I want to apologize sincerely and explain myself. I want to tell him that I will not ask a single question about the scars. I want to ask him to trust me at least a little bit more about matters personal to him. I want to say so much, but all I manage was a stammered, broken "I....d-didn't mean to."

"I know," he replies softly, and I feel more vulnerable to that in comparison to his harsh tone. I furrow my brows together and close my eyes, taking steady breaths to calm down the storm in the process of wrecking the remaining bits of love I have for myself.

"Cedaaar," he calls, shaking me again, "Please look at me. I'm so sorry for getting mad. It was- it was a totally involuntary reaction. Cedar? Hey, Cedar." I open my eyes and blink at him repeatedly. He looks worried.