If gentle touches weren’t a surety for love, then what were the chances that pain and love weren’t as mutually exclusive as my sheltered mind had thought them to be? Could there be love in pain? The creepy-crawly pinpricks on my scar intensified. How far would I go to find out? To feel loved? Would I bruise for it? Hurt for it? Bleed for it? Yes. And who did it better than Malyr?
