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Only one life per customer. Try not to fuck it up. But that’s what I did.
I’m afraid I’ll always be alone, and it won’t be because I chose it. It will be because I don’t know how to be with anyone else anymore.
“Can I be in your space, Ally?” I shrug. “Why?” “Because I like being in your orbit. And I want to know where you go.”
We all come into the world as blank canvases. And we leave it carved in scars—some we show the world and others that remain invisible unless someone knows exactly where to look—but they make us who we are, whether we want them to or not.
It’s not like I want to be alone. It’s not my choice, it’s my circumstances. It’s not that I’m entirely uninterested, but that I don’t have the mental space or energy to think or feel things like that anymore.
We come into the world as blank canvases—all of us. Innocent, eager for love. Then the world gets ahold of us and leaves us with scars we don’t deserve, that we never asked for. But like I said before, it feels better to let it out, even if it’s only temporary.
There’s something about the way he looks at me that just…it hits me right in the gut. And he just feels different than other people. I don’t know how to describe it other than that it’s something that feels familiar.
“I think you all know who I am. I’m Devon. And I missed a bunch of school because I was arrested for a crime I didn’t commit…all because that girl right there didn’t want people to know she was fucking me.”
“I bet he still loves you,” she says. “No,” I tell her. “He hates me. And he should hate me. I hate me.”
“This is why we can’t get to know each other, Devon. I don’t want to have anything in my life that will make leaving hard.” “We already know each other,” I tell her.
What I would do when someone else wants you and can give you things I can’t. What it would feel like to be here with you and not be able to touch you. How this might affect one of the only friendships and safe spaces I have.
I laugh so that I don’t cry. “Haven’t you seen enough?” He places his hands on my cheeks and uses his thumbs to wipe the tears pooling in my eyes. “Never. Okay?”
“And Ally?” His serious tone stops me. “Hmm?” “There’s nothing wrong with you. Not a damn thing.”
“No, Ally. I’m not disgusted. I’m just worried about you. I care about you. I want to take care of you.”
I touch the marker to her hip and start working, etching three small black roses onto her skin. “You’re beautiful,” I tell her. “Perfect, even. I can’t think of a damn thing that would change that.”
Whatever it means, I like it—both because she’s a talented artist and because it’s her, and I’d let her carve anything she wanted into my skin.
You get nothing from this. I don’t know what I’m going to do when you figure that out.” “It’s okay because it’s you, Ally. That’s what I get from this.”
“And the way he looks at you…that’s something to envy. It’s the kind of look that makes someone not on the receiving end want to clear the room.
“I don’t want to tell you what to do,” he says. “But…you can’t steal and you can’t sell nudes to old pervs and you can’t do this to yourself. I mean…it looks really bad, Ally. Those cuts are deep. That scares me.” “I didn’t mean to.” “You can’t do this again. And I’ll know; I’ll check you.” “I don’t want to do it again, Devon. I want to stop. I want there to be a time in my life when I can move on and forget about this part. I won’t be able to forget if every time I look in the mirror, I see it staring back at me, carved in scars.”
“If you’re going to try and grab my dick in a room full of people like a thirsty slut, then I’m going to take you upstairs and fuck you like one. Is that what you want?”
Then, when I’m sure no one is looking, I cross the hall to Devon’s locker and put in the combination. I take out a notebook and flip through it, comforted just seeing his handwriting inside. That’s ridiculous, isn’t it? To love someone so much you find comfort in their handwriting?
“I could never leave you anyway,” I tell him. “All I ever used to think about was getting away from here, and for so long, it was the only thing that got me through the day. But now, I can’t picture myself happy anywhere without you.”
She wraps her hand around my wrist that holds the knife. “You’re going to threaten me with the only thing that’s brought me any kind of relief over the past few months? Huh? Make sure it leaves a mark, Devon, or it doesn’t count.”
I don’t know what to do with you. I want to hurt you, but I don’t want anything else to hurt you. Can you understand that?” “No, I can’t. Not at all.” I never want him to hurt. Ever.
“Devon, my picture wasn’t supposed to be creepy. It was just supposed to be you…or what you were to me anyway: light in a very dark place. I’d go back and do it differently if I could. When I try to picture a version of my life where I’m happy—which is getting harder and harder to do—I still picture me with you.”
I’m not doing this because I care about you. I’m doing this because no one else does. I can’t live in this never-ending nightmare anymore.
“Yeah. Yeah, I like this one. It’s kind of a reminder of…how sometimes we don’t notice how good things are when we’re in them. We’re too focused on what’s wrong or what we don’t have to enjoy what we do. I didn’t know that car was the safest home I’d ever have.”
What happened to you was terrible. But it was just that: something that happened to you. It doesn’t have to define you. What you do now…that will.”
It helps that I’m mad at him; that makes it easier to leave, but I won’t be able to forget. The vile things we’ve done to each other and the way we loved each other are seared deeply into my brain, both as raw as they ever were, and I don’t see that changing. I don’t think these are the kind of things you can just forget about or cut out. They’re the kind of things that haunt you when you’re old, the kind that will keep you up at night, squeezing your heart while you ruminate over all of the ways you could have done things differently and wonder how it could still—after all this time—possibly
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“You said you missed me. I’m right here. When they came to get me, do you know what was the worst part of the whole thing?” She shakes her head. “It was knowing that whatever happened—if I got out the next day or not for months or years—when that happened, I wouldn’t have you anymore. It crushed me. Why couldn’t you have just trusted me?”
“You don’t have to feel bad for hurting me. I don’t want you to. You don’t have to be sorry because I forgive you. Is that what you want?” “Well…yes. But—” “I’m always going to forgive you because…it’s us.
“You miss me. I fucking miss you, too. Being there fucked me up, Ally. It fucked with my head, too. I know I’m not the same; I feel it all the time. The only time I don’t feel it is when I’m with you.
This is what it’s like to love someone else. Even in the shittiest of circumstances, I’m glad I got to feel it at least once.
“You’re not getting rid of me, though. You realize that, right? It’s us, Ally. Us against the world.” “Carved in scars.”
I meant what I said before—I can’t picture myself happy without you. I don’t even want to try.” “Get ready to be happy then, Ally. We’re going to have a lot of good days.”
But the scars made me who I am, whether I wanted them to or not. And I’m happy with who I am now.
The things that happened to me changed me, but they don’t have to be the sum of who I am. I can be etched in ink instead of carved in scars. I can be happy; I’m worthy of love. I can tell my story. I can bring joy to others through my art and try to make a difference in small ways for someone else when it matters.
There is no version of me happy that doesn’t include Devon West. Etched in ink or carved in scars. It’s us. Against the world.
To all the outcasts and the black sheep of the family—me too. It wasn’t your fault, and it’s their loss. It’s time to heal. Do it for yourself, and find your people.
