Page 15 of Scar Tissue

“Claire, sweetheart, you?—”

Before Dyer can finish his train of thought, she cuts him off. “Don’t. Don’t act like you know what’s best for me. I managed to get out; I managed to escape all on my own and get help. Nobody elsedid that. Nobody else bothered to look for me when I went missing, so I looked out for myself. Besides, I can help.”

Carr, Dyer, and I exchange looks. She has a point, but that’s all the more reason to keep her out of this. She should be able to start healing without the threat of furthering her trauma. But she also reminds me of Thea…of Dylan. They foughtdespitetheir trauma. Thea is still fighting. And although it isn’t the same thing, it counts for something. The last thing I want to do is spook her. Something tells me if she doesn’t get her way, she’ll find a way to make it happen. Whatever happened to her has hardened her in a way I’m not sure I’ve seen any teenage girl. In fact, this might be a good thing. Backtracking on my previous objection, I take a slow step toward her. “We know you did. You’ve obviously got a strength we don’t see every day. But you need to understand that this is bigger than just getting away from him. We need to be diligent in how we take him down, to make sure nobody else ends up like you. There’s a good chance that if we fail, and he gets his hands on you again, you won’t survive. I’m not saying I’m making the decision for you, but you need to be aware of the risks. And if you do decide to come and stay with me, we’re gonna have to lay down some ground rules. If we’re going to stop him, we all need to be on the same side, which means you don’t pull any vigilante shit.”

She flinches before she hardens her gaze, and Carr and Dyer start to protest, but they don’t get to have it both ways. They can’t ask me to take her in, simultaneously putting her in harm’s way, and then not agree with her helping. “She’s right, she can help. If she’s provided us with this information, she has to be reliable in other ways. She has more firsthand knowledge than any of us, even with how long we’ve been doing this. There is no sheltering her from this fight. Something tells me she will find a way to get involved regardless of what we say or do…”

“You’re damn right about that. I don’t expect you to coddle me. You know I can contribute.”

I take a moment to assess her again. “Alright,” I say finally. “Youwant in, you’ve got to follow the plan. You listen to my rules and respect them. If you have an idea, I’m willing to hear it and make it happenonlyif it’s reasonable. I’m not always going to be around, so you’re going to stay in the house, or with my…” What is Thea to me? She’s not my girlfriend, as much as I want her to be—and even that’s too light of a term for what I feel for her. “Roommate. When we get back, I’ll have her take you shopping to get you set up with a new wardrobe and cell phone.”

“I don’t need a babysitter.” She clenches her jaw. “And I sure as shit don’t need to be treated like a charity case.”

She’s got her walls built high; I imagine she had no choice in order to survive. I can appreciate the fire and I don’t care if she talks to me that way. If she needs me to be her punching bag, fine. She’s likely not comfortable being around males, even if she covers her fear well. But I won’t tolerate disrespect to Thea. “How old are you?”

“Fifteen.” Fuck, she’s too young to be this jaded already, but I can’t even blame her. “My roommate is twenty-six, not much older than you. She won’t treat you like a kid,

unless you act like one. She’s also recovering from some of her own shit, not the same as you, so maybe you two can help each other. And if you need someone to talk to about what you’ve been through, her best friend is a good source. They can both teach you how to live as close to normal as possible.” I pause, watching her closely. “I’m not asking you to be grateful, because you clearly have your own feelings on this arrangement. I’m just asking that you don’t make me regret extending this offer and going to bat for you. You don’t have to like me, but you will respect her, otherwise you’re out and back here, got it?” It’s harsh after what she’s dealt with…but Thea is my world, and her emotional capacity doesn’t need to be depleted any more.

I’m going out on a limb by making this decision without her. We may not be a couple and it may be my house, but she has just as much of a right to agree or disagree with this as I do. The only reason I’m not giving her the choice…is because I think it might help her heal. I’m hoping it gives her the space to work through things in her own way. If having someone else around—someone who can relate to trauma in one way or the other, but isn’t going to ask her to fix everything—helps, then it’s worth taking the risk. Claire is a stranger. She isn’t me. She isn’t Dylan. She isn’t Fletcher. There’s a stigma that there is an obligation to care and help and say what someone wants to hear when you’re close with them. Claire is the perfect solution for that.

She nods. “I understand.”

Chapter

Eleven

THEA

The air outside is refreshing, although there is still a hint of coolness biting at my skin and I’m not sure if that’s due to the weather, or my inner turmoil. The Uber has just dropped me off in front of a quiet little café fifteen minutes from Nathan’s house. I need space—room to breathe, to think, and to exist after the vortex I’ve been caught in for the past several weeks. I push open the glass door, the bell chiming softly as the rich scent of espresso wraps around me. The café is small, yet cozy, and it has an eclectic mix of furniture that’s scattered about with people having quiet conversations, their noses in books, or hunched over laptops. I can tell that many of them are college students.

I step up to the counter and order a chai before stepping off to the side, my hands fidgeting with the strap of my bag as I seek to calm the nerves that weaseled their way to the surface of my skin. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not the outgoing individual everyone thinks I am, I just happen to have the art of perfection. It’s all but become second nature to me—until moments like this when my mask feels like it’s not only slipping, but I let it. I can never pinpoint an exact moment that made me the way I am. Was it the product ofbeing the eldest daughter despite not being the oldest sibling? Or was it something that just crept in slowly as I got older because I had to adapt to the environment I had no choice but to be a part of?

I learned early on that I had certain shoes to fill, even if they never fit just right. It became something that was a subtle competition between Miles and I even though nobody ever put a voice to it. He was…the golden child. On top of being first born and the boy, he was also exceptional at sports and in school and of course, wasincrediblykind. He wasn’t your typical jock; there wasn’t a damn thing unlikeable about him. Therefore, I had to be something else. I never resented him for it, because it wasn’t his job to be the parent. Mine just forgot that they were mine, too. So I wasn’t the golden child, but the reliable one. Of course, I was never assigned the role and yet somewhere along the way it was assigned anyway. I had to become what was needed—smiling through exhaustion, being the comedic relief instead of finding something to complain about, to carry my own problems because I learned that mine didn’t warrant the same attention. And after Miles died…I became the emotional backbone.

We grieved together as a family of course, but within the first few weeks after we buried him it became clear that my grief had to take a backseat. Mom couldn’t get out of bed most days, and when she did, it was like she was moving through water. Dad did what he’s always done when life got challenging and threw himself back into work. Even though I was technically an adult by then, I had been playing the role for so long that I made sure the house was clean, the fridge was stocked, and that my mom got something in her stomach at least once a day. I fielded phone calls and helped handle the logistics that come after someone dies…No one told me to do it, but nobody stopped me either to make sure I was taking care of myself.

I think that maybe that’s why I’ve always had issues letting people in, letting people see the gray matter. I went so long without anyone asking if I was okay, because I got so damn good at pretending to be. But standing here, with my hands gripping thestrap of my bag like a lifeline, I don’t feel like that force of nature anymore. I feel…small. I find myself wanting someone to care, to reach out to me, to choose me. And keep choosing me even when I make it difficult.

“Thea?” The barista calls out my name, jolting me back to the present, and I loosen my grip on my bag as I step forward and plaster the smile I’ve perfected over the years. Because no matter how much I might question it, one thing remains true…I don’t know who I am without this carefully crafted facade. I scan the café once more, looking for an open seat and find one in the corner near the entrance. The chair scrapes across the floor as I pull it out, taking a seat and clutching my cup as I watch as the world passes by outside. Time is a fickle bitch and it doesn’t stop for anyone, even when it feels like everything in my life has ground to a halt. I wish I would’ve brought headphones—this would’ve been the perfect spot to tune everything out and justbe.

I miss Dylan. I miss our conversations. I miss the way we used to be before both of our lives blew up in our faces. We’re forever scarred by different forces and it’s left a gap in our friendship…one that’s totally understandable, but does nothing to relieve the ache in my chest. She has Fletcher now too, and he tends to be overbearing on a good day, never wanting her out of his sight. It’s not that I don’t like the guy, they’re actually perfect for each other despite being complete opposites, but his nature of love is what most would consider unconventional. All I care about is that she’s happy. One of us deserves to be.

My phone buzzes and I unlock the screen to see a text from Nathan.

On my way back.

Okay?

From…where exactly?

He didn’t even tell me where he was going to begin with, so he could be home in five minutes or five hours.

It was a job thing. We left about an hour ago so should be another hour or so. Just wanted you to be aware.

Another text follows right after.

I’d like you to be there when we get back, if you’re not already.