Page 51 of Undertow

I roll off to catch my breath and ease the ache behind my ribs. I can’t look at her as she props up on her elbow beside me. She traces intricate patterns over my chest, outlining my tattoos, wondering about each one. Questions I’ll never answer because, like my words, my art is restricted access. I began the visual transformation when I turned seventeen, telling the real story I was never allowed to express.

My words are all the things I can’t say. My tattoos are all the things I can’t be. That’s why my real soul is clawing its way out of my hand, begging to be seen.

“Isee you, son.Iknow you.”

Gramps tried. He thought he could rescue me. Maybe he did in a way. Preserved the part of me no one knows, not even him. The part no one caneverknow.

“Shaw?”

I direct my stare back to her face, watching concern displace her contentment.

“I…” She stops and looks away, her face flushing. “Crap, I don’t know how to say this. Um…”

Her focus lands on the purpling bruise on my side, and I see the guilt there. She blames herself for causing my pain. If this were a different life and I were a different person, I’d correct her and put her mind at ease. Tell her I was born this way. That these aren’t bruises, just fresh birthmarks.

“What is it?” I ask, mostly to fill the dangerous silence. I can’t be alone with my thoughts right now.

She pulls in a deep breath and brushes the damage on the side of my face. “This is all my fault,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.” She leans in and skims my wounds with a kiss.

“It’s not,” I say. “I agreed to it. I took the money.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not what I mean. All of… this.” She waves between us. “I only pretended to be into you in the beginning. I was manipulating you so we could use you. But…”

Her teeth sink into her lip as she studies my face.

“But?”

“I didn’t know.”

“That I’d get hurt?” Of course she did.

“That it might become real.”

I absorb the sting of her confession without a flinch, even projecting a good amount of sympathy and surprise.

“I hope it’s real,” I say with a smile. “I mean…” I lift the sheet to expose our naked bodies.

She laughs softly, then sinks to my chest with a groan. With her cheek tucked against my chin and her other arm draped over my stomach, she settles into me like this moment is also real. My arms loop around her, tightening her to me as I press a kiss to her hair. What if it was? What if for one fraction of a second I wasn’t so fucking alone?

But it’s not. Her truth has no bearing on mine.

“I swear, I don’t do stuff like this,” she says absently. “I haven’t even seriously dated a guy in eight months.” Her fingers skim along my side in a gentle caress. “I still don’t understand what’s happening right now.”

“You don’t have to justify anything. I get it.”

“Do you?” She angles up to see my face, and I lift my head enough to meet her gaze. “Is this weird for you too?”

“So weird,” I say with a grin.

She smiles back and relaxes again. “I just didn’t want you to think… I don’t know. I never would have let it get this far if it wasn’t real. I’m not that much of a monster.”

I hold steady through the blow. My lips don’t even budge from their convincing arc. She’ll never know the chokehold on my conscience right now, the razor to my soul.

“I don’t think you should go back,” she continues. “It’s a miracle they let you go in the first place.”

Her fingers graze my side in gentle strokes. I focus on a small crack in the bright yellow ceiling to center myself.

“I have to go back,” I whisper.