Page 3 of The Shape of my Scar (The Unbroken #1)

F aolan

Faolan woke with a start, the concrete hard against her cheek, her fingers curled around the edge of the ratty blanket.

The noise had woken her.

Not the usual footsteps outside the door, and not the dripping of water from the shower pipe.

Someone was shouting.

“Fuck you! Hold still, you little twat!” growled a man’s voice.

A crash. A grunt.

“Fuck you,” another boy snarled, rougher, angrier. Then there was a scuffle and a muffled shout of pain. The sound of something being dragged, thumping across the floor. A stifled sigh, then silence.

Faolan sat upright, her heart hammering, breath sawing in and out of her throat.

She edged toward the hole in the wall.

The crack was still there, like a lightning bolt drawn on the wall, but someone had gouged the hole wider.

A faint beam of light, coming from the hole in the wall, spilled across the floor, catching the dust in its path.

It disappeared for a second before showing itself again like a lightsabre. Callum used to love Star Wars.

Someone must’ve moved on the other side.

She crept closer, breath shallow.

She crouched, pressing her face near the opening, just as the light disappeared again. She found herself looking into an eye on the other side.

She yelped and fell back, landing hard.

The eye had been bright. A strange mix of green, brown, and gold, like sunshine trapped in a drop of water.

Then a boy’s voice whispered, as if trying to talk to a shy puppy. “Hello?”

She swallowed and crept forward again. The light hadn’t come back; he was still there.

Now she could see more clearly. A bit of brown hair, the shadow of a face. He had moved back a little.

Neither of them spoke for a second.

They just…looked.

Seconds passed, heavy and quiet, as if they were both waiting to see who would speak first.

Finally, the boy said, “Who are you?”

She hesitated.

Who was she?

She didn’t feel like Faolan anymore—that girl was gone, like the dolls she used to play with. She didn’t trust anyone. Her eyes fell on the open book on the mattress with the picture of a girl and her little dog.

“Dorothy.”

A pause.

“Dorothy?”

She nodded and whispered, “Yes.”

Another beat of silence.

Then she asked, voice tentative and slightly hoarse from the long periods of not speaking, “What’s your name?”

There was a long pause. His eye disappeared for a second, then came back. This time, it was a different colour—bright, intense blue like a precious gem in the sunlight.

“Thane,” he said.

She blinked before she asked, “Why are your eyes different?”

She imagined him shrugging. “It’s a condition, my pa said. Heterochromia, it is called. Like my pa.”

“They’re like shiny marbles,” she said, and then looked down, shy.

He didn’t answer right away. He let out a soft sound before shifting into a more comfortable position. “How long have you been here?”

“Thirty-eight days.”

She heard it escape her lips like it wasn’t even her voice anymore. Every day felt one too long.

He was quiet for a moment. “I can’t see you clearly. Your room’s dark.”

“I don’t want you to see me,” she muttered after a moment.

He didn’t ask why, but he seemed to understand.

“I look weird,” she whispered. “I don’t want anyone to see.”

Silence.

“How long have I been here?” he echoed thoughtfully. “I am not sure. I think…four months.”

Her breath wheezed through her teeth. “That long?”

“Zel’s been here six months,” he added. “Maro…maybe eight.”

Another boy grumbled, “Eight months and seven days.”

“Lirian… They just took him out. He’d been here almost a year.”

Neither of them said anything else for a while.

The silence was heavy with things they didn’t say.

Then, carefully, he asked, “How old are you?”

“Nine,” she said.

“I’m eleven.” He sounded like he hated admitting it.

A pause.

“Do they come for you?” he asked.

She looked away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” he said. “I don’t, either.”

She shifted again, still close but not touching the wall. “I have a book.”

He seemed to perk up. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “ Five Go Down to the Sea. Famous Five .”

“Is it good?”

She nodded again before remembering he couldn’t see her. “I don’t know. I’ve just started reading it.”

Her eyes flickered to the dog-eared copy of The Wizard of Oz on the mattress before reaching for the book on the floor.

They didn’t say much else after that, but she didn’t move away from the wall.

She stayed close, like maybe the cracks between them would widen and let her crawl through like a centipede in the garden. A finger scratched the edges of the hole , slowly, absently making it bigger.

“Can you…read to me? Please?”

She startled at his voice. She had gone back into that place where she was alone again.

“We don’t have many books,” he continued.

Her little fingers curled tighter around the tattered cover in her lap. She didn’t know why her chest felt warm at the thought of sharing something.

She wanted to say no. Because she was a meanie?

She wanted to keep the words to herself. The words were like her friends, like they were hers alone, and she wanted to hold on to something that hadn’t yet been touched by hands that hurt.

But instead, she said, “Okay.”

Her voice wasn’t sure at first, but it was still a yes.

She slowly turned the page, the way she always did, tracing the faded words with her thumb. She cleared her throat and began to read:

‘Blow! I’ve got a puncture!’ said Dick. ‘My tyre’s going flat. Worst time it could possibly happen!’Julian glanced down at Dick’s back tyre. Then he looked at his watch. ‘You’ve just got time to pump it up and hope for the best,’ he said. ‘We’ve got seven minutes before the train goes.’

Dick jumped off and took his…

The boy on the other side of the wall went quiet. She imagined him lying down, chin propped on his arm, listening the way Callum and Cormac used to when she’d made up stories when Dad was drinking and Mom was off somewhere.

Her voice was a bit wobbly at first, but she kept going.

‘—going off to Cornwall, I see?’ said the porter. ‘And to Tremannon, too. You want to be careful of bathing there. That’s a fierce coast and a hungry sea—’

She didn’t read too fast, and he listened without interrupting. She hated it when they asked questions in between.

Her room didn’t feel quite as dark anymore as they lost themselves in the adventure. The blanket didn’t feel as thin beneath her. The quiet between them wasn’t as scary.

She hated to admit it, but when she turned the page and kept going, it wasn’t just for him.

It was for her as well.