Page 77 of Not a Strong Enough Word

Silence falls over the shop. When I open my eyes, they’re all staring at me. But instead of telling me to leave and come back when I’m in my right mind, every one of them nods as if they completely understand.

“That’s nice, man. Where did it come from?” the burly guy asks.

“A book.” I clear my throat. “I’m an editor.”

“You got a design you like?”

I shake my head and huff a laugh. “No. Honestly, I didn’t even know I was doing this until I walked in.”

He narrows his eyes pensively, then motions for me to come back to his chair. “I got you,” he says.

And for the next several hours, he does have me. He takes such care to do the passage justice, and as he inks Scarlett’s words permanently onto my skin, I can’t help but feel this is also one of those moments with a clear before and after. I won’t walk out of here a new man, but giving my internal pain an external outlet is freeing in a way. I can see why people do this.

When I cry, he lets me. He must sense it’s not about the pain from the needle, because he doesn’t stop after the first time he asks me if I’m okay. When he’s done, he wipes away the blood and extra ink and assesses his work.

“She’ll always be with you,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder. “This is just a reminder.”

“Yeah,” I say, choking back more tears. “Thanks.”

After I pay the guy and leave, I expect to feel different, and I do in some ways. But in others, everything is exactly the same. Scarlett left. She’s not coming back. And now, somehow, I need to find a way to move on.

Chapter 35

Scarlett

“I feel like I should be wearing dark sunglasses and a giant scarf to hide my features,” Trina quips as she sits down in a chair next to me.

“What do you mean?” I don’t have the energy to play around or figure out what the hell she’s talking about. I’m amazed I even got myself to this coffee shop, but when she called and asked me to meet her, I also didn’t have the heart to say no. After that meeting and my encounter with Charles, I’m completely out of steam. If only someone could tell me what to do next. Maybe Trina has a plan.

“I don’t know.” She shrugs, clearly a little sad her joke didn’t land. “Are we going incognito or something? Should we be hiding from the paparazzi?”

Frowning at her, I take a sip of my latte because, in typical Trina fashion, even though she asked me to meet here, she was late. “I’ve never been famous enough to be followed by paparazzi.”

She sighs and droops her head so low that it almost hits the table. “I’m just trying to keep this lighthearted, Scarlett.”

“Why?”

“Ohmygod.” She groans it all as one word, her face now tipping upward. “I don’t know. This is kind of uncharted territory for me.”

“Because I stuck around this time?” I ask plainly. While I may have tried to hide how much Charles’s last insult hurt me, his words buried themselves deep and pulled me right back down to a dark place I haven’t inhabited in a while. Even in this coffee shop, nothing feels right or looks right. Everything is just a bit too loud, too bright, and I can’t quite make sense of what I’m seeing. It’s like I’m living in a movie of my own life when I want to hide in my apartment under a blanket and never come out.

Which I’m sure is exactly why Trina insisted we meet here instead of just coming over.

She covers my hand with hers and squeezes. “Honey, no. I got a little worried there when you went all statue on me in that meeting, and I’m glad you’re still here, but I know all the work you’ve done. I didn’t doubt for one second things would be different this time. I’m proud of you.”

A sudden ache blooms in my chest, and it pushes a knot of emotion up into my throat. I swallow hard and try to blink it all away, but the damn thing sticks there. I’m not used to experiencing this many feelings in such rapid succession. I wish they’d all just go away and leave me to wallow in peace.

But between Ryan’s unconditional forgiveness yesterday and Trina’s pride today, I’m starting to realize I’ve buried some things pretty far down. Suddenly, a lot of Dianne’s mantras are starting to make sense. Emotion needs motion. Name the beast. You can’t heal until you face your demons. So many clichés I had passed off as lines she had pulled from various therapist textbooks and regurgitated at me. But she has always been convinced that my depression has been triggered by a need to bury my true feelings and hide from them, that I wouldn’t find real healing until I faced my issues head-on.

I hate to admit it, but I think she might have been right. Because as much as these past few days have hurt, I’m starting to feel lighter. More capable. Like I could take the next problem and deal with it instead of running away, like Charles said. Even if I desperately don’t want to.

“I had a miscarriage,” I blurt out.

Fuck, I need to get better at doing that. For a person who deals with words for a living, I sure don’t know how to talk. Yet this time was somehow easier. I’m getting used to saying it aloud. Maybe that’s part of the healing, too.

Trina’s eyes go wide, and her hand clutches mine on the table. “What? When?”

I clear my throat, determined not to be an awkward mess about the rest of this conversation. “Five years ago. In New York.”