Carved in Scars

by Elle Mitchell

To the ones who really needed a light in a dark place but had to be their own. This is for you.

But this is reality, and we don’t get do-overs. Only one life per customer. Try not to fuck it up.

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.

What I do instead over the next few days is what I’ve been doing for months—I watch her. It isn’t easy. I trace the freckles on the back of her neck in my mind and barely resist the urge to reach out and run my fingers through the curtain of dark hair running down her back.

Rage boils up in my chest as I settle on the most obvious conclusion: she’s meeting up with some other guy.

“I missed lunch because I had to stalk you, and I’m hungry.”

“See?” I tell her. “I’m useful. I’m a problem solver; you should keep me around.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “You’re mine now. And I take care of what’s mine. All right?”

“Say you’re mine, and I’ll let you leave.”

“And Ally?” His serious tone stops me. “Hmm?” “There’s nothing wrong with you. Not a damn thing.”

“No way,” I say, pulling her back down onto the bed. “You have to stay with me for at least two whole minutes before you run away this time.”

I run my fingers through my hair and try not to picture it in my head—Ally in so much pain, suffering enough that she wants to hurt herself. I can’t take it.

“Is there anything about what just happened that would make you think I’m disgusted by you?” I ask. “No, Ally. I’m not disgusted. I’m just worried about you. I care about you. I want to take care of you.”

I didn’t just fall in love with Ally Hargrove. I got lost in her.

I love you, Allyson.

“That’s what I should have said,” he says. “I should have just told you that you looked pretty—because you did—and that I love you. I love you, and I miss you when you’re not around and I can’t talk to you, and it’s hard for me. When something funny or terrible happens, you’re the first person I want to tell, and I hate that I can’t. That’s all I meant by it. I’m not sick of you. I just love you, that’s all.”

“So I guess it’s greasy food, loud music, and the windows rolled down,” I say. “What?!” she shouts over the music. “The things that bring you joy. I told you I’d make it my mission to figure it out.”

She shakes her head. “You bring me joy, Devon. That’s it—that’s the entire list.”

She fits here because she fits with me.

“I don’t want to go home,” she says. She chokes on the words just a little, and it’s enough to tear me apart.

“You’re always safe with me, Ally. I’ll never hurt you.”

“No Florida,” he says. “No getting on a bus and getting as far away from here as possible. You need to stay close—somewhere I can still get to you. We’ll find a small town in the mountains where no one knows you or Mark or Grace, and they won’t suspect a thing.”

“He’s kind of obsessed with you—it’s a little bit creepy.”

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.”

“Do you want pity, or do you want your life back? 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.”

“Don’t be mad at me.” “Why not? What’s going to happen if I’m not mad? You’re mad at me.” “Yeah, I am. But…it’s us, Ally. What am I supposed to do?”

“Try to forget,” she says softly. “Is that what you’re doing?” I ask. “Do you have any tips? Because it’s not fucking working out like I expected. How do I forget you?” “I ruined your life,” she says. “I guess I know how to make an impression, but—” “You left a mark, Ally. A deep one. You can’t blame me if it made me a little crazy.”

“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 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. I don’t want to be at this party. I want to go somewhere with you.”

“Of course I do. I remember everything you’ve ever said.” He pulls his hoodie over his head. “You’re freezing. Here—arms up.” I hold up my arms, and he pulls the sweatshirt down over my head. Cedar and sandalwood, just like always. But no hint of the fabric softener I always associated with his and Darci’s home—that must have been all Lydia.

He kisses me like he needs me to breathe, exactly the way I need him, and all the other stuff melts away.

“I love you, Allyson,” he says. “I love you so much. You’re okay.”

“Anything for you, baby.”

“That sounds really nice, Ally,” he says. “You’re not getting rid of me, though. You realize that, right? It’s us, Ally. Us against the world.”

“Don’t,” he says. “What?” “Whatever you’re thinking. I can see that it’s something you shouldn’t be thinking about. You’re going to try to break up with me in the car and tell me it’s for my own good or something and how it’s okay for me to be happy without you and some other bullshit—I can feel it.”

“How long do you think you’ll stay?” “I don’t know,” he says. “I was thinking…forever.” “What do you mean?” “I told you already, Ally. You’re not getting rid of me. I’m going with you. My dad is going to ship the rest of my stuff. It’s us against the world, remember?

He smiles. “Can I be in your space, Ally?”

“It’s not that long of a drive. Besides, I’d miss things if I stayed, too. I’d miss waking up next to you and making you laugh. I’d miss your smile and the way you taste.” He runs a finger down my cheek and then takes my hand in his. “And we will smile again, Ally. Someday, it’ll just be easy—the other stuff, too, whenever you’re ready.”

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.

She and Devon both have my name etched into their skin. Which is fitting. Because they’re never getting rid of me.

I told Devon that’s what we were, too—a bonded pair—and we brought them home.

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.