Page 21 of Scars of Anatomy

Explain

Friday, I sit at my old wooden desk in English, anxiously toying with the stupid little teddy bear holding a heart in its paws that reads I’M SORRY in my hands.

Last night I decided it was time to face the music and actually go to class today to see Olivia.

Somewhere in my dysfunctional brain, I thought it would be a good idea to show up bearing gifts along with my apology, which led to a midnight CVS run where I picked up the teddy bear to try to win her over.

Thinking about it now, it seems so stupid.

A teddy bear, Bronx, really? How lame can you be? I scold myself. You seriously think a stupid little bear is going to show her you’re sorry?

Feeling stupid and pathetic, I rise from my chair, ready to throw the cheesy stuffed animal in the trash, when suddenly a laugh floating in from the hallway stops me in my tracks.

I look up to see Olivia walking toward the classroom, animatedly talking with another girl.

She looks into the room and catches my gaze, her features smoothing over.

She stops at the door, saying goodbye to whoever she was talking to, and hesitates for a moment, eyes uncertainly locking with mine.

Teddy bear in hand, I slowly sink back into my seat, heart racing.

Olivia nervously tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, taking a deep breath before cautiously walking over to her seat.

It’s then I notice that she has the hoodie I let her have after homecoming draped over her forearm, her opposite hand anxiously clinging to some of the fabric, making my heart drop.

She’s going to give it back, making me think this is a means to an end.

“Hi,” she says softly, uncertainly, stopping at the edge of my desk. “Uh, I thought you might want this back.” She offers me the hoodie, refusing to meet my gaze.

Fuck, if this is anything compared to what a breakup feels like, thank god I don’t date.

I scramble to my feet. “No, keep it,” I insist, my voice sounding more desperate than I intended. “I still want you to keep it.”

She cautiously peeks up at me through her lashes, eyes questioning.

“Finch, I . . .” I fumble, trying to find the right words. “I’m sorry,” I reply lamely, shoulders sagging, but I mean it. I puff out a breath, running a hand through my dark hair. “I lost my cool the other day, and I didn’t mean to take it out on you. I just . . .”

I look around, noticing some of our classmates watching us. “Can we talk after class?” I plead.

Her features soften and she nods. Removing her backpack, she takes a seat before pulling out her class materials and neatly folding up my hoodie, packing it away in her backpack for safe keeping. That action puts me mildly at ease.

I take a seat, watching her, realizing just how much power she has over me. She isn’t like any other girl I’ve come across before. Most girls go out of their way to capture my attention and compete for it, but her? She attracts it without even trying.

“What’s that?” she asks, pointing to the bear still in my hands.

Shit.

“It’s, uh, nothing,” I lie, shaking my head, completely embarrassed. Ready to shove the thing in my backpack, I stop when I detect the flicker of disappointment in her eyes. Reluctantly, I hand it over to her. “Actually, it’s for you.”

She takes it, inspecting it with curiosity. Her thumbs graze back and forth over the soft fur as she reads the message stitched onto the plush heart. She gives me an apprehensive smile. “You got me a bear?”

I groan, slumping back in my seat. “Yes. I know, it’s lame.”

A real smile tugs at her lips. “It’s not that lame.”

I flash her a look. “It’s lame.”

“It’s cute,” she corrects me, just as Professor Hobb walks in and starts class.

After class, I’m surprised when Olivia agrees to hop on the back of my motorcycle, and we ride to a nearby park.

When I ease into a parking spot, I help her off and take her helmet as she shakes out her hair, raking her fingers through it.

My hoodie, which she tried to give back to me, adorns her tall, willowy frame, since I insisted that she needed another layer over her light sweater while on the bike.

Once she’s settled, I silently lead her to the pond and we take a few laps around it, trudging along slowly until we sit on one of the benches, a good three feet of distance between us.

We sit in silence for a while, watching the water ripple and the ducks splash around.

I steal a glance at Olivia, watching her nervously pull the cuffs of the hoodie over her hands.

The tension between us shifted on the way over here.

I could tell her guard flew back up after class, especially when she had to be physically close to me, her arms wrapped around my waist on the bike.

And I can tell she’s uncomfortable in my hoodie since things are still unresolved between us, but she doesn’t take it off.

Puffing out a breath, I lean forward and rest my elbows on my thighs, trying to figure out where to start without scaring her off. I know I have to tell her, explain myself, which isn’t going to be easy.

I’ve never told my story to anyone before, and now I’m about to spill my guts to her.

I’d rather not tell her and keep that part of myself locked away forever, but I know if I don’t tell her it’s always going to be a wedge between us.

I trust her. But I also wouldn’t blame her if she ran for the hills.

With every minute I keep stalling, I feel her retreating more, both physically and emotionally.

“Finch,” I breathe helplessly. “I’m sorry. I was a complete ass to you the other day. I didn’t mean to be, but I just blew up.”

“It’s okay,” she says softly, refusing to meet my gaze.

“No, it’s not,” I insist, turning my body toward her. “I just . . . fuck.” I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands, stomach knotting. “I don’t even know where to start,” I admit, looking up at the sky.

“When I was a kid,” I begin, swallowing thickly, “I didn’t have the best home life.

My mom’s a drug addict and I don’t even know who my dad is.

Throughout my life I’ve bounced back and forth between my mom and foster parents because she couldn’t take care of me.

And when I was with her, she ran through a bunch of boyfriends who weren’t great guys .

. .” I trail off, cringing and looking down at the cigarette burns on my arms.

I glance over to see Olivia’s worried expression. “Did they hurt you?”

“Some,” I admit, unable to look her in the eyes.

“Is that how you got those?” she asks quietly, almost scared to ask.

Instinctively and self-consciously, I cross my scarred arms over my chest. “Yeah. One boyfriend used to stub his cigarettes out on me if I was acting up.”

Olivia’s eyes widen, horrified. “Bronx.” Her voice drips with shock and sympathy, making me disgusted with myself.

“It’s nothing,” I say dismissively, wanting to skirt around the subject, not accepting her pity.

“What I want to explain to you is why I snapped the other day. In school, I was never the smartest kid in the room. I bounced back and forth between so many schools I could never keep up with the curriculum, and it’s not like I had help or support at home.

Half the time, I never really had a home.

My mom wasted all of her money on drugs so she couldn’t afford the basic necessities.

At times we had to squat in abandoned places for a while. ”

I steal a quick glance at Olivia, her full attention focused on me, patiently waiting for me to continue.

Suddenly, I feel nervous. No one knows this about me. No one knows about my mom, the abuse, the neglect, all the foster homes. I feel ashamed, because here she is, perfect and innocent in every way, and I feel like I’m tainting her with all my bullshit .

“Anyway, my grades suffered and kids—even the teachers—would always make fun of how far behind I was on the learning curve. They would purposefully belittle me and make me feel stupid. Everyone always said I would amount to nothing because I wasn’t smart enough, because I was rough around the edges.

So when I was wrong the other day in lab, all those memories came flooding back,” I admit, ashamed.

“Oh, Bronx.” Olivia delicately places her hand on my arm, eyes wide with realization and guilt. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

I shake my head. “How could you have?”

She frowns, shoulders slumping. “Still. I never intended to make you feel that way. I thought we were just poking fun at each other.”

“We were,” I assure her. “But then Quinton jumped in, and my phone starting going off with a call from my mom. It just felt like everything was hitting me at once and a wire tripped in my head, sending me spiraling down Bad Memory Lane.” I shake my head.

“I lost my cool, and I didn’t mean to take it out on you.

I know it’s not an excuse, but I’m sorry. ”

She nods in understanding. “Your mom called?”

I blow out a breath. “Yeah, she’s been calling me all week.”

“Why?”

“Dunno,” I admit. “I’ve been dodging her calls, because whenever she does call me it’s never a good thing.”

She presses her lips together, nodding. “Where is your mom?”

I shrug. “Off with another boyfriend.”

Her eyes grow sad, worried. “Is it the one who . . .” She trails off, looking at my arm.

I swallow, nausea swirling around in my stomach. Oh, Finch, if only you knew.

Many men have entered and exited my life. My mother was a full-blown cracked-out carousel who only cared if they had drugs and a roof to provide her. Unfortunately for me, she didn’t care about much else, and the guy who stubbed his cigarettes out on me wasn’t the worst one.

The lowest low was when she was with this guy named Benny. He lived in a shithole apartment building, but to my mother that was luxury. Only because it had a roof and he had drugs he was willing to share. For a price.