Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
I stop to take a breath since this is when it gets harder. When the memories threaten to slam into me at a terrifying speed. “We were almost there. I was making a left turn. Nothing out of the ordinary. But out of nowhere, a car slammed into her side.”
My heart seizes as the images flash fast, hard, relentlessly. Hitting me in the chest, in the mind—everywhere. But I have the tools to stay grounded in the present. In the smell of the fall flowers, in the feel of the wood of the table, in the bell-like jingle of the wind chimes, and…in Max’s bright eyes. “The next part I don’t remember clearly. I only remember snapshots. The airbags releasing at record speed. A horrifying sound of crunching and metal. The car rolled. I felt a…snap. The world turned upside down. I was trapped against the door, I think. The window shattered. There was glass and metal all over my side, and I could feel the heat from the fire somewhere, but all I was doing was trying—”
I stop. Cover my mouth with my free hand. Fight off the onslaught of tears. But I can’t smother them. What’s the point in even trying? Some stories just come with tears.
I lower my hand, and let them fall as he grips my other hand, like he’ll hold on for all time.
I try again. “I was frantically trying to unbuckle her—I don’t even know why. I think she was already gone. But I didn’t know that. I had to save her. Then I heard sirens and fire trucks and they were pulling us out…The next thing I remember was waking up from surgery. There were all these machines and noises, and my throat hurt and my mouth was dry. My head was aching. I was thirsty. Then I remembered—her. What happened to her? Where was she? Was she okay? The nurse kept saying, you’re okay, honey. They got you out just in time.”
Max rolls his lips together, clearly holding in his own emotions as I wade through the ocean of mine. I can’t stop the crying. The tears and me are one. “But there was no just in time for her.”
I stop because it’s too hard to talk past the noose tightening my throat. I need several seconds to breathe, and I take all of them fully. “My mom was there. She’s the one who told me that Marie was gone. And I felt like I’d died too, but I was still alive to feel all the hurt.”
“I’m so sorry for all of this. I’m so sorry she’s gone. I know you loved her,” Max says, with so much hurt in his voice too.
I never used that word with him—love—but I never had to. He knew. He could tell.
“She was like my family,” I say. “I’d known her since I was five. I’m not close to my parents. They’re complicated and critical. But Marie was the opposite. She was like my sister. And somehow, incomprehensibly, in the middle of all this, I was alive and in this very broken body.”
“You’re not broken,” he says with so much intensity but also with cracks in his own voice too. His eyes shine.
But I was. Parts of me still feel that way. “I had a lot of surgeries for broken bones and for burns, and I went to rehab for my injuries.” I look at him straight on and I might as well be naked as I say, “But I still have scars all over my back and my left side. I didn’t hate them at first. I don’t even know that I do hate them. But when I tried to date again, the first guy I went out with…”
I stop because I hate how weak this makes me feel. How insecure. How…vain.
Max hisses, “Who made you feel this way? Who made you think you’re less than?”
Less than.
That’s exactly how I’ve felt ever since I last took off my clothes for another person. “He was just some guy. We dated for a month. He seemed…decent. Like a nice man. But once he saw—” I gesture to my upper arm, my back, my hip. “He ghosted me.”
Max clenches his jaw. His eyes brim with fiery rage. “He’s the one who made you feel like you’re not good enough. He’s the one who hurt you.”
“Maybe,” I say, then shrug, because I need to take some responsibility too. “But I think I did as well. I didn’t want to show anybody my body anymore. I didn’t want anyone to see all these imperfect pieces.”
“He’s wrong,” he says, emphatic. “You’re beautiful everywhere.”
I love that Max says that, but he hasn’t seen the worst parts of me. Even so, I’m trying to feel that way on my own too. Trying to trust myself. Trying to trust him. “Thank you. That’s why I go to pole. To escape from these less than feelings. To find myself again. To say yes again. But it’s taking me a real long time,” I say, forcing out a laugh—at myself—even though it’s not really funny. But I don’t want to drown in tears anymore. I try to swim out. “The other night, I finally took my shirt off at pole with my teacher, and I did some tricks in a sports bra and shorts for the first time. I hadn’t done that before. I didn’t want anyone to see me. I don’t really show the scars to anyone. I honestly think my teacher is the only one who’s seen them. But I felt safe there.”