Page 88 of Under Your Scars

My dad pulls back a few inches, his face broken and his eyes bright red. “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay. I’m here now.”

His comfort only serves to break me down further. I don’t know how long we stay hugging each other like that, but it’s long enough that my back starts to ache. My head is in the crook of my father’s neck, and it feels like when he used to hold me as a child when I would have a nightmare.

“Am I too old to have you chase away the monsters under my bed?” I whisper. I feel my dad shudder and shake his head.

“No, Ellie. You’re never too old for that,” he promises, and then pulls away again to get a good look at me, and that’s when his demeanor turns dangerous. I can tell he has a lot to say, probably starting with ‘tell me who did this so I can ram my shotgun up their asshole’.

As predictable as ever, the first thing my father does when he breaks out of my embrace is grab the chart hanging on the end of my hospital bed. That’s when I realize my mom’s not here.

“Your mother’s on her way. I was in New York for business and had a friend drive me here,” he tells me as he reads over my chart, sensing my confusion.

A younger doctor walks in, holding a small plastic cup with a single pill in it. “Ms. Young, Dr. Portman asked me to give this to you. It’s a Plan B.”

My gaze shifts awkwardly between Christian and my father before quickly snatching the cup and swallowing the pill dry. The doctor turns to leave, but my father stops him by whistling. “Son, bring me a suture kit with the smallest thread you have available, and some local anesthetic.”

“Excuse me?” The young man asks, raising an eyebrow like my father has lost his mind. “Sir, I’m sorry but—”

“My name is Elliot Thomas Young. I am recognized by the American Board of Cosmetic Surgery and have been practicing medicine for as long as you’ve been alive. Now, bring me the sutures.”

The doctor looks stunned, and then the realization hits him like lightning. His face lights up with excitement. “Dr. Young, what an honor! Wow, this is amazing,” he blabs out, rising up on his toes and then back down. “Look, I’d love to help you out, but I really don’t want to lose my job here.”

“If you get fired, let me know and I’ll get you a job at any hospital in the country with a single phone call. Deal?”

I scoff lightly at the way the doctor darts out of the room, and my dad turns back to me with a triumphant grin.

“What do you need sutures for?” I ask as he stands up to thoroughly wash his hands at the small sink in the room. He puts on a pair of gloves just as the doctor walks back in to hand him the suture kit.

“Your chart says you have a large laceration on your left thigh. I’m making sure these quack doctors aren’t condemning you to having a scar the size of the San Andreas fault for the rest of your life.”

I gulp, trying to think about anything else. He’s skinnier than the last time I saw him. His hair has thinned out a lot, but he’s still got that silver fox thing going on that my mother goes nuts for.

As my dad focuses on preparing the sutures, I clear my throat quietly. “Um…dad? This is Christian.”

My dad hardly looks up as he very slowly and very carefully unwraps the gauze around my leg, numbs the area, and removes my prior stitches. “Ah, the boyfriend.” My dad offers him a curt nod without meeting Christian’s eyes in lieu of a handshake.

Christian settles back into his seat like he’s uncomfortable. “It’s nice to meet you, sir. Elena talks about you all the time.”

My dad ignores him, and I shrug subtly at Christian, offering him an apologetic raise of my eyebrows. My father isn’t very friendly on a good day, and they’re meeting under less-than-ideal circumstances. I can’t really blame him for not being interested in my love life.

I watch my father carefully as he gives me a new set of stitches in a perfectly straight line and with such precision that I have to squint to even notice that I have a wound at all. This is why my father is the best in the country. His claim to fame is that he has a gift for completing complicated, intricate surgeries with almost no scarring. He offers pro bono surgeries to fellow veterans and active service members if they’ve been wounded in combat.

People flock from all over the world to his practice in Houston. He’s so in-demand that his waitlist is over three years long, and there’s essentially a black market for him. Celebrities and the wealthy will try and outbid each other for an open waitlist spot.

My dad acts like he doesn’t know this, and does his best to appear humble, but he’s good, and he knows it.

Even though my father would never even consider hurting me, every time his gloved fingers graze against my numbed thigh as he works, I want to rip off my own skin. My teeth ache from how hard I’m clenching my jaw trying to stay still. When he’s done and finishes wrapping clean gauze around it, I fall back against the pillow and sigh with relief.

“Who are the men standing outside your door, Ellie?” he asks as he washes his hands again. “One of them almost got a pocketknife in their eye for trying to keep me from coming in here.”

“That’s my fault,” Christian quickly admits. “Those are my security guards. They were told not to let anyone in but doctors. I apologize. They won’t stop you or your family from coming in again.”

My father narrows his eyes at Christian, as if to say, ‘who are you to hire security guards for my daughter’, but he stays quiet. There’s an uncomfortable tension between the two of them, and unfortunately,I’min between the two of them, so it feels like an elephant has decided to take a nap on my chest.

“Christian,” my father prompts. He says his name as if it tastes like dirt in his mouth. “you live here in Meridian City?”

“Yes sir, my whole life. Elena says you lived here once.”

My dad nods. “I did.” He narrows his eyes at Christian and furrows his brow. “Have we met before?”