Page 34 of Fragile hearts

“Scars. How many scars do you have?”

“Uhm, I don’t know? I never counted them.” Carson closes his eyes in despair, his breathing erratic. “And people did that to you? They gave you those scars?”

Is that why he’s mad? Because other people caused them?

“Uh yeah, most of them.”

He curses under his breath, then parks the car in the parking lot, a short walk from the beach. He palms my bare thigh, lowering his head so we’re eye to eye.

“I am going to ask you something, and I need you to be completely honest, okay?”

His voice is soft, but frantic, searching my eyes for a hint of distress. “Okay,” I whisper, confused about what he’s about to ask.

“Did they—Fuck. Did they touch you?”

My brows furrow. Touch me? I told him about my scars. He knows they touched me. I open my mouth when the realization hits. “No, no, nothing like that. They didn’t touch me sexually.”

“Really? Don’t lie to me, okay? Please don’t lie to me right now.”

“I’m not, I swear I’m telling the truth, I know someone who was, but not me.”

His body deflates. “Thank fuck.”

“Would it have changed things if I was?” My voice trembles. I was one of the lucky ones in the system, but I know someone who wasn’t so lucky, and if I want Carson to meet him, I’ll need to know how he thinks about it.

“About how I feel for you?”

I nod hesitantly.

“Fuck no, but it would have been hard to keep in contact.”

“Why?”

“Because I would be in prison for murder.”

The sand is burning hot underneath my feet, which makes me regret I took my slippers off. I sprint to Carson’s parents, who are sitting on a towel a few feet away. “Hi,” I say.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Cathy responds. Carson nears us, gazing down at my feet in concern.

“You okay, Sunshine?”

“Yeah, my feet are just on fire. No big deal.”

“Why didn’t you put your slippers back on?”

“I don’t like walking in them with sandy feet.”

I’m not peculiar about a lot of things, but I hate wearing slippers if my feet are sandy.

Carson hands me my bag. I pull out my brand new pink beach towel and lay it down on the sand next to Carson’s and sit down, rubbing my sore feet. “Here.” Carson hands me a familiar object: my favorite lollipop. He rubs the back of his neck. “I didn’t know if you had some with you, and I know how much you love them.”

I open it, my chest flooded with gratitude. “Thank you. Do you always have a lollipop on you?” I ask jokingly, but to my surprise he nods.

What?

I open my mouth to ask him what he meant when I’m attacked by a two-year-old, who jumps up and down on me enthusiastically. “Ms. Sunshine, I missed you!” Colton squeals.

“Hi buddy, I missed you too.” I cradle him to my chest. “Hold on, I got you a gift.”