Page 97 of The Lies That Shatter
He moves his finger to the scar Whitlock made over my right breast, which was one of the deepest and needed the most stitches. Out of all of them, it’s probably the ugliest.
“This scar right here is proof that you took on one of the most evil men in the world, and you survived. No matter what he did to you, it was never enough. He didn’t break you.
“So whilst you may carry this scar around with you, don’t let it be a reminder of what he did. If you do that, you give him power over you that he doesn’t deserve. Instead, see the scar as a war wound that you got because you survived.”
With each word, he lightly traces the scar, looking at it like it’s a trophy rather than a reminder of the horrors I endured. My eyes fill with tears, blurring my vision as I try not to let them fall. Instead, I focus on Finn.
He drags his finger up to my collarbone and then down my arm until he reaches a small scar on my elbow. It’s so faint you can barely see it, but he knows it’s still there.
“This scar was the first one I remember you getting. You fell off your bike in front of my house. You’d seen me and my brothers riding our bikes, trying to teach Freya, and you wanted to do it too. You said you could do anything I could do, and you jumped on my bike with no fear. You had no idea what you were doing, but you gave it a go, anyway. You made it just a couple offeet before you lost your balance and the bike toppled over. You cut your elbow open on the pavement, and I?—”
“You rushed to my side, cleaned the blood away with your T-shirt, and kissed it better,” I finish for him, smiling as the memory floods my brain like it happened just yesterday.
“You were fierce and brave, even back then.”
“And you’ve been looking after me since then,” I add, as the tears fall freely down my cheeks.
He continues the journey with his fingers until he reaches the small surgical scar across the right side of my abdomen.
“This is the scar you got from when you had surgery to remove your appendix. You were around thirteen years old, and you had been in pain for a couple of days. I remember following you around, asking what was wrong. Eventually you snapped and told me you thought it was a girl problem, and that I wouldn’t want to talk about it. You thought mentioning periods to a teenage boy would be the magic word to stop me hovering,” Finn says, the hint of humour in his voice.
“I should have known it wouldn’t be.”
“I told you that I’m used to it as I have sisters and a mum. I also said that I didn’t think it was period pain, but you were too stubborn to get help. It wasn’t until you threw up all over Harry Cowalsky’s shoes that you realised you might be really sick. So I took you to the nurse, who rushed you to the hospital, and that’s when they told you your appendix was rupturing and you needed to have surgery,” he recounts, as though it happened yesterday.
“I remember. You stayed with me in the hospital the whole time, and got told off by that scary nurse for sitting on the bed with me.” Finn shudders as he remembers the very stern look the head nurse gave him when she found him sleeping in the hospital bed with me.
I was in pain when I woke up for the surgery, and I didn’t want to be alone. He crawled into the bed with me, pulled meinto his arms, and told me he’d never leave me alone. I think that was the first time I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that I loved Finn.
Next he moves his finger to the ugly small circular scar on my left thigh, and he traces around the edges of it as his eyes darken.
“This is the scar you got when one of you foster father’s put his cigarette out on you the first night you moved in with them. You didn’t tell me about it until two days later, and I remember being so fucking mad.
“We were only around ten years old, but it was the first time I remember wanting to hurt someone so badly. You were worried then that the scar would make you ugly. I told you then the same thing that I will tell you now. Nothing could ever make you any less beautiful.
“This scar is a reminder of all the horrible people who came into your life, who tried to give you hell, but you survived. More than that, you have achieved so much, and you’re determined to bring the cycle of pain and violence to an end. This scar is a reminder of the type of parent you will never be.”
My breath hitches, and my eyes burn from the tears. I reach up to wipe them away, hating when more fall in their place. I feel raw and exposed as Finn recounts the horrors of my past. But, at the same time, I’ve never felt safer, and more loved.
He looks up at me, a bright smile on his face as he continues to trace over the remaining scars on my body. “There are so many more I could mention. Times when you’ve survived, when you’ve proved that you are stronger than whatever life may throw your way. But I also see the scars as a timeline for us.
“I was with you for nearly all of these scars, and they are memories that have led us here. If you didn’t have these scars, you wouldn’t be the person you are today. They aren’t a weakness, sweetheart, they are your strength. They are battle wounds that show all the wars you’ve fought and won.
“I wish I could promise that these will be the last scars ever to mar your beautiful skin, but I can’t, and I don’t think I’d want to either. Whatever scar comes your way, it will have a purpose. It will strengthen you, and it’ll prove to you that no matter what life throws at you, I will be right by your side through it all.” He says the words with such conviction, I don’t even need to look in his eyes to know he means them.
Even though I hear what he’s saying, I still find myself voicing my fears. “You don’t find me ugly or tainted?” Despite speaking so quietly it’s barely above a whisper, my insecurities echo loudly.
“Fuck, no!” he snaps, before adding, “You are just as beautiful to me now as you were the first day I met you. I love you, McKenna, and nothing will ever change that.”
Those three words hit me like a tonne of bricks, and my heart feels fuller than ever before. I think deep down I knew he loved me, but nothing beats hearing the words from his lips.
I don’t hesitate; I lean down and capture his lips with mine. It starts from just a need to show him how much I appreciate his words, but as soon as I taste him, I’m desperate for more.
I deepen the kiss, slamming our mouths together as I sweep my tongue across his lower lip, demanding access, which he willingly gives. He lets me take control, which I’m grateful for.
His hands remain fixed on my hips, as he returns my kiss, but he never takes things further. He returns as much as I give him, but not a bit more—and it’s fucking maddening. I want more.
I crawl onto his lap, and he has no choice but to shuffle backwards on the bed to accommodate me as I straddle his thighs. He holds tightly onto my hips as I grind myself down onto him.
