Unhooked

by Lisa Maxwell

Pan’s collarbone. The red lines aren’t smooth like a tattoo should be. They’re raised, ever so slightly. They’re not just tattoos, I realize. They’re scars. Someone carved these symbols into his skin. The warmth of his skin beneath my fingertips brings me back to myself and, embarrassed, I pull my hand away like I’ve been burned. My cheeks are hot with the awareness of how strangely forward it was to touch him like that, but even in my embarrassment, something makes me want to reach out again, something pulls me toward him. I clench my hands into fists at my sides instead. “What are they?” I ask. “They were a gift from my mother,” he replies with a small smile. “Your mother did that to you?” I say, horrified. “She did it for me, Gwendolyn,” he says. His face is still serene, pleasant even, as he takes my hand and brings it up to his chest again, covering mine with his own. Beneath my fingertips and the raised edges of the carved lines, his heartbeat is slow and steady. His eyes, with their glacial-blue irises ringed by midnight, never