Текст книги "The poison daughter"

Автор книги: Sheila Masterson

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 48 страниц)

21HARLOW

Henry’s aura pulses frantically around us as he leads me down the stone staircase. He’s nervous.

I can’t tell if it’s because he wasn’t supposed to show me this well, if he was hoping to hold out on this secret for a more strategic reveal, or if this is the actual strategic reveal and he’s just trying to get me to tell him what’s wrong with me.

I’m disoriented without my sight, with my head still foggy from the aftereffects of the pain. Every muscle in my body is wound tight from bracing against the ache, and even though the worst of it is gone, the remnants hang on as a warning not to let my guard down.

Still, a wild glimmer of hope sparks inside me. If this well is closer to the source of whatever magic is imbued in the waters of our family well, maybe it will be more potent. It could finally fix what ails me.

A frightening thought sears through my mind. Maybe it will make me mad like my father and Able. Maybe it will make me worse.

My silk slipper slides on the steps, and Henry tightens his hold on me. I’m graceless without my vision, too close to him and too off-kilter, and so angry at my body for being weak when I need it to be strong.

My heart beats frantically as the damp and fresh smell of water hits me. A faint trickling sound echoes through the stairwell.

Finally, we reach the bottom of the descent, and Henry stops me. He removes the blindfold, and I blink, trying to acclimate to the dim space.

Light emanates from the pool in front of me. Steam rises off the surface of the water, warping the reflections on the arched stone ceiling. On the far side of the room is a table with a carafe of water and a pile of linen towels.

It’s not as ornate as the Carrenwell Family Well. Instead of the fancy whitewashed stone of the well I grew up with, this room looks carved from the mountain itself. The dark granite walls glitter in the dancing sunstone light, but the dark color of the space seems to eat up the glow. The effect is a bit claustrophobic—like I’ve been let into a space too intimate for the newness of our acquaintance.

I stare at the water in disbelief. What does this well do?

For so long, I’d believed that the only wells in existence were the Family Well and the Blood Well. How could there have been another all this time without us knowing? I’d never been naive enough to believe my father knew everything, but he was nothing if not motivated by his own survival. There is no way he knows this exists and wouldn’t have at least attempted to explore it after the fort fell.

Henry watches me so intensely, it’s like he’s trying to see through my skin to understand.

“How does this work?” I ask.

“Well, lovely. You simply get in the water and⁠—”

I glower at him. “I know that part, you ass. I mean how do you get the water in here? Our well is always cold. The water flows through in a gentle current, but this is still.”

Henry walks around the pool to the far wall. He taps his hand on what looks like a long stone slide that forms a gutter into the pool.

“As you can tell, we’ve come down pretty far below ground level. The actual flow of the well is higher than this. It’s about twenty feet or so to the right of where we stand. There’s a valve here.” He places his hand on a knob I hadn’t seen before. “If I turn this, water will flow in. Cold as a glacier. Not pleasant at all. That’s why we use the sunstones. It should be nice and hot for you.”

“And when you’re finished—where does the runoff go?” I ask.

I don’t really expect him to answer. He’s already given me a valuable piece of information.

“You saw it in the armory. We typically only use the well once a week or so. The leftover water is repurposed to treat weapons and fortify our walls.”

“This seems like quite a journey for your people to go on to pay their blood tithes. I assume you do them all on the same day instead of having daily rotations like we do in Lunameade,” I say.

Henry shakes his head. “We don’t do regular blood tithes. People only tithe if they choose to, once a year on Founder’s Day.”

I stare at him, dumbfounded. If they don’t tithe to the well, surely it affects the well’s magic—but I don’t want to say that and insult him when he’s offering me a way to heal.

He leans back against the wall and crosses his arms. “Now, have I satisfied your curiosity? Will you tell me what’s wrong? Maybe I can help if the well can’t.”

I shake my head. “No healer’s magic has worked.”

He frowns, but there’s a curious gleam in his dark eyes. “What is it?”

I step to the edge of the pool and stare down at my reflection. I don’t know what I expect. Even I have trouble understanding how something invisible can ail me so severely. It makes it feel less real, or at least like I shouldn’t bother anyone with it.

“At least it’s not a visible affliction. Thank the Divine for that. At least this beauty can be of use.” My mother’s words are seared into my mind. I wonder what she would say if she could see how messy my hair is in front of my husband-to-be.

This is a gift my parents have naturally—no Divine blessing required. Their words are always with me; I can’t shake their disapproval even if I’ve shaken their observation for the moment.

“Are you homesick?” Henry asks, startling me from my thoughts.

I laugh. The question is so absurd to me. I have been waiting to escape that house for twenty-four years—ever since my magic showed up. Of course, living at the fort is more dangerous than being safe behind the fortified walls in Lunameade, but it’s also the most freedom I’ve ever had, and while the scrutiny is still substantial and drenched in loathing, no one here is scolding me for looking tired or messy.

Henry probably has no idea what that’s like; his parents are doting. They welcomed him at that dinner with true warmth, not the fake performance like my parents put on.

It’s hard for me to fathom that kind of nurturing. I’ve thrived in spite of my parents, not because of them. The roots of defiance dug down deep into my bones. I don’t want to be this way, but I don’t know anything else.

“No. I could not be less homesick. Why do you ask?”

“You seem to take every opportunity to make jabs at how wild it is here.”

I finally look up at him. “It is wild here.”

He waits for me to say more, but I can ice him out until he leaves.

I swallow and gesture to the glowing pool of water. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

It’s meant to be a dismissal, but he stays. The silence stretches.

I wait for him to leave, to realize that this is a line I won’t cross, even for my duty. Revealing this secret now could throw this whole agreement into peril.

Instead of retreating, he unbuttons his collar and then his sleeves, a hint of defiance in his eyes.

“What are you doing?” I rasp.

“I’m bathing with my fiancée in my family’s well. Suppose she’s overcome by her pain and slips beneath the water. How would I live with myself if I wasn’t there to be of assistance?”

My skin heats as I glare at him. “And if she doesn’t wish to bathe with you?”

He waves a hand at the stairwell behind him. “Then she’s welcome to leave.”

I could. It would be easy to walk away and leave him here, but I want to know what this well does, and I’m afraid that if I don’t go in now, I’ll lose my nerve for good. Who knows if I’ll have another chance with such easy access to it?

I glance at the shimmering water. I’m afraid to even hope for healing. I’m surprised I can still feel any semblance of hope that I’ll find a cure for this peculiar pain that ails me. The episodes have been so debilitating for so long, and trying to hide it from my new in-laws so they don’t think me defective has been a chore. Right now, I’m too broken by the pain that pounds dully in my temples to pretend.

Henry tosses off his shirt, revealing a broad, muscled chest and abdomen. But it’s not his physique that makes me gasp. His skin is a tapestry of vicious scars—most notably, jagged claw marks crisscross his chest, shiny and several shades lighter than his skin, and a bumpy white scar that looks like a dagger was slid between his left ribs.

Years of appearing unaffected are completely worthless now. I’m too stunned not to stare. I should look away. I wouldn’t want someone to stare at my scars like that, but the more I look, the more I see the violence of his history scored into his skin.

As he turns to hang his shirt on a hook on the cavern wall, the light catches a short, neat scar over his jugular and what looks like two puncture wounds in his back that appear to be made by arrows.

The training for hunters that go beyond the fort walls is extensive and harrowing, but Henry looks like he’s survived so much more than my poison lips.

There are other, fainter scars over his forearms and shoulders—the marks of years of training—the same kind common on city guards back in Lunameade.

Henry clicks his tongue as he unbuttons his pants. “I know I’m handsome, Harlow, but if you don’t stop staring, I’m going to blush.”

Finally, I drag my gaze away and busy myself with the buttons on the back of my dress. I slip the straps off my shoulders, letting the silk land on the floor, a pool of red against the dark stone.

Henry pauses with his pants hanging low on his hips. He watches me bend to unfasten my garters. He swallows hard, eyes fixed on the stretch of skin above my stockings, and I know he’s remembering kissing me there the way I remember the sharp pinch of his teeth that chased each kiss. I slide the stocking down my right leg slower than I need to, enjoying this power I have over him. I do the same with the other stocking before standing tall and unclasping my bustier, letting it down my arms.

Finally, he meets my gaze and grins, sliding his pants down as I shimmy out of my lace underwear. I stand in front of my husband-to-be, naked, trying not to let my eyes stray any lower than his chest, even as I feel his unapologetic predatory perusal.

He makes a low sound like a hum, then steps into the pool. He might have been ready to fuck someone else the other night, but it’s clear I have his full attention now.

There’s a ledge a few feet down that he uses to slowly lower himself into the steaming pool.

Staring down at the water, I try to summon the courage to step in. What if it hurts me? What if these waters are like the ones at home and they’re only carrying me on a current toward madness?

The longer I stand here, the more questions I’ll raise in his mind.

I force myself to walk toward the water, silently praying to any of the Divine who will listen to let this be a well that will heal me and not drive me toward madness. Praying that this secret holy water that appears to be even closer to the source won’t be the thing to prove once and for all just how broken my body is.

I pause with my foot hovering over the water. I hate myself for that one second of weakness. I cannot afford to be weak here.

Breathing in deeply, I step down onto the ledge. The hot water feels amazing on my aching calves. My whole body has been clenched in pain for so long. Perhaps, at the very least, the heat will help ease the tension.

Henry takes my hand and helps me down.

The water comes to just below my breasts, so I sink lower, holding my breath—I don’t know why. It’s not as if the relief is instantaneous at home. It usually takes at least fifteen minutes of soaking. I typically stay in longer.

Questions bounce around my brain. What if being closer to the source means the madness comes on faster? What if it makes the pain worse? What if Henry sees?

I swish my hands along the surface of the water as if I can shake the rogue thoughts free. Henry watches me from the far side of the pool. We’re separated by ten feet of aqua water, but he still feels too close. His aura is stretched wide, pulsing slowly and steadily. He’s calm and comfortable in here.

“How often do you soak?” I ask.

He shrugs noncommittally. “After every hunt beyond the walls.”

Mentally, I calculate how often that is from the book he gave me on the basics of life in the fort. Several times a week, hunter parties, made up of the calmest and best-trained people of Mountain Haven, venture beyond the fort walls to hunt game. It’s dangerous work, though not as dangerous in daylight.

“You work in shifts, right?”

He nods. “It works out to be two to three times per week, depending on how many people are healthy and able to go out. I try to go a little more often for appearances.”

“Always a slave to appearances, aren’t we?” I sigh. “How do you usually feel after? I’ve only ever been in the Family Well and the Blood Well.”

Henry looks down at the water. “It’s usually subtle at first—just a feeling of being refreshed. It’s not until I’m climbing out and walking back up to my room that I notice how much less stiff and tired my body feels.”

We fall into a heavy silence, and I use the time to look around the space. It’s not very large, and there’s only the one way in and out. I should probably be more nervous about that than I am. At least Gaven knows I’m down here. If I don’t come back out, he’ll know who to blame and where to find the body.

“Why the ice?” Henry asks.

The question startles me out of my daze.

“Excuse me?”

“While you were in meditation.”

Think. Think. Make any excuse.

“Pain tithes.” It slips out, and I immediately regret it.

Henry’s dark eyebrows shoot up. “To which of the Divine?”

“Harvain, of course.”

“You pay pain tithes to your patron Divine by using ice?”

“Of course,” I say.

“To bless our marriage?”

I laugh. I’m so startled by the question that I can’t help it. There’s no way he would believe that. I have to give some kind of half-truth.

“I pay them to help me control my magic or—” I tip my head back and groan. “Or to take it away. I know that sounds ungrateful. Maybe it is, but I’ve never completely understood why I have this particular gift, and while I’ve found good use for it with my hobby, I’d love to be able to live a normal life without being afraid I might accidentally kill someone I care about.”

It’s partly true. The best lies always are. I used to wish for a cure to my cruel magic. But I stopped wishing when I stopped hoping for better and started making myself worse. If the men of Lunameade needed repercussions to behave, I would be the harbinger of consequences.

When I finally meet Henry’s dark blue eyes, he looks less skeptical but not entirely believing. That’s okay. He can be suspicious. It’s better than him knowing I’m defective. That could destroy this entire arrangement. I can’t afford that when I need this goodwill from my parents—when Aidia needs to get out of the cage of Lunameade before it suffocates her. For a moment, the wind is knocked out of me. I close my eyes and I can see nothing but her haunted eyes when she lay in bed with me the night before I left home.

The water stirs as he sits on the ledge next to me. “And the ice is for⁠—”

I blink my eyes open. “Have you ever held your hand in ice water for a few minutes? It’s very painful.”

He hums. Not exactly an agreement, but it seems like enough to get him to stop pushing.

Generally, when I’m hunting in Lunameade, I don’t have to spend so much time talking, and I certainly don’t have to volunteer things about myself that are even partially true. I’m starting to realize how out of my element I am. Mercifully, my first husband had thought me nothing but pretty window dressing and didn’t care to hear me speak at all.

I’m only now realizing how different fake intimacy is from real intimacy. When a man knows you already tried to kill him twice, he’s not inclined to believe casual flirting. I need to make him believe my interest the same way I need to let him think I’ve given up information I don’t want to.

I need to get him talking about something else. I clear my throat and nod at a neat scar on his throat. “That looks like it hurt, but it’s too clean to be from the Drained. How did you get it?”

He purses his full lips. “Going right for the throat. Why am I not surprised?”

“You have many curious scars. I could pick another,” I offer.

He bows his head and goes so still, I’m afraid to even breathe. When he looks back up at me, he looks entirely at war with himself.

“You don’t have to—” I say at the same time he says, “I hate talking about the day the fort fell.”

He runs a hand through his hair, the water flattening his waves and trickling down his temples. His eyes are far away. The candlelight bounces off the well’s surface, casting strange shadows over the planes of his face.

“No one here talks about it,” he says. “We don’t need to—or maybe we do and we just don’t know how to speak to that kind of terror.” He pauses and licks his lips. “I’m a fighter. Every man in Mountain Haven is raised to be a fighter. You chase. You hunt. But most of all, you protect. And that responsibility was even heavier for me. I was raised with a blade in my hand—to not fear the monsters in these woods that surround us, because to fear is to attract them. But it is one thing to go meet them where they are, and another entirely when they bring the fight to you. I have never felt fear like I felt that day.”

He takes a slow breath and looks at me. For the first time since we met, his face is absent of all its guardedness and there’s no hint of cunning in his eyes. He looks devastated. “You are wary of me and uncomfortable so far from Lunameade alone. I’ve done nothing to make you feel at home, and I could say I’m sorry, but we both know I wouldn’t mean it. You did try to kill me, after all. However, at some point we have to have a base level of trust between us or this whole thing will fall apart.”

I lick my lips. “That’s fair.”

“I have no illusions. I know you have your own agenda, Harlow. No grown woman enters into something like this without good reason. But I’m telling you a secret and asking you not to share this information with anyone else.”

My mouth is dry. I shouldn’t feel so uncomfortable when I’m getting what I want, but I hate this version of him.

“The ring I was wearing in the city hides auras. It’s made with protection magic from Vardek. My sister’s creation. She was gifted with more protection than just holy fire. She also had a sort of boundary magic. My parents also wear them.”

That explains why I haven’t been able to see his parents’ auras. “But I can see yours now.”

“I don’t wear it around you because I imagine it’s unnerving when you’re used to seeing everyone’s auras. I only wore it in town when I didn’t want to be spotted by the rest of your family. But my parents always wear them because my mother has a blessing from Asher.”

His intense, dark eyes bore into me.

“She’s a resurrectionist.”

The words take the breath out of me. Resurrection—the rarest of magics. While we had credible reason to believe that was the case, it’s another thing to hear it from Henry.

When I don’t say anything, he continues. “It’s a rare gift, but also a terribly draining one.”

He opens his mouth to say more, then closes it.

Finally, he turns on the ledge to face me head-on, and I can sense the weight of whatever he’s about to say.

“The day the wall fell, I wasn’t just wounded. I died. And my mother brought me back.”

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22HARLOW

Shock freezes me in place. Those two small words echo through my mind: Henry died.

I have so many questions, but my chest seizes with a shocking grief.

“How?” I rasp.

He pats the claw marks on his chest. “The blood loss from these almost killed me.” He closes his eyes for a moment. “It’s been almost ten years. It feels like both a lifetime ago and like it happened yesterday.”

“I’m sorry.” Though I actually mean it, I’m so shocked it sounds like a reflexive response.

“You’ve seen the way the fort is set up—it’s like the city. Fallback plans and safe zones. The Drained had never done more than climb the walls a few at a time. We’d never even had a breach beyond the wall before that day.” He shudders. “The first five levels of the fort fell that day. Holly and I—” His voice is hoarse, and he takes another slow breath. “You’ve seen how strength is the most prized currency here and you know how it is being a ruling family. If you don’t protect your people, you have no value. We had to be on the front lines. My parents stayed back, trying to keep our people calm and help as many as possible to safety and to hold a final line to help the wounded. Holly and I and the last of our hunters—Bryce, Carter, and one hundred others—held the level six wall.”

He shudders and rubs a hand over his face. “I grew up venturing into the woods. I know how the Drained act. You can’t hunt for game beyond the walls without a deep understanding of how the Drained operate. You learn what’s normal and how they sometimes work in groups. But this was like nothing I have ever seen. A horde of them. Thousands. You have to understand. Every man and woman who stands on that wall has faced down terror many times. We have plans and contingencies—things that are drilled into us from the time we are children so they run on reflexes when something goes wrong. But the front wall was overwhelmed in minutes. There was a blast and the wall broke and it was madness.”

I am torn between wanting to hear the rest and the desire to run from this. Kellan thinks our family was somehow responsible, and though I have no idea how that could possibly be true, I trust my brother. My stomach turns over. I feel guilty by association. As if I wouldn’t choose to be in any other family.

“We lost so many of our best fighters in the lowest level of the fort,” he continues. “We were on our heels and barely able to hold off the onslaught enough to evacuate our people. So Holly, Bryce, Carter, me, and one hundred of the best men fell all the way back. We knew if we didn’t shore up the level six wall, we wouldn’t be able to stop them. With every level, the Drained fed on the warriors who fell. You know how it is if they get blood in general, but the more vital the blood, the stronger the Drained become. They were faster and more terrifying. So we held the line and it brought all of us to the limits of our magic. I was healing people between fighting. Holly was laying down holy fire to cover the parts of the wall where we were thin. But it wasn’t enough.”

I think of the sheer size of the fort, of the levels that lead up to the manor, of the number of people I saw in the streets on my way into town.

Henry runs his hands over the crisscross of scars. “We were down to the last big surge of Drained, but all of us were flagging. Bryce took a bad hit from one of them, and I was distracted for a split second, and one of them got me. I went down and I knew right away it was bad. But I’d healed so many people, I had nothing left for myself. It was too slow and I couldn’t breathe, because one of the claws had punctured my lungs. I felt myself fading, and Holly lost it. She basically turned herself into a human fireball and jumped into the crowd of them and took out all of the remaining Drained at once. But it cost her. She channeled too much magic at once and she burned herself up from the inside out. There was nothing left of her but ash.”

Henry looks down at the clear blue water. “The last thing I remember was watching over the crumbled edge of the wall as my sister burned away to dust and took the rest of the beasts with her.” He swallows thickly. “Then I closed my eyes, and I don’t remember this part, but my mother got to me right after I died. She brought me back. I was lucky, I suppose. If a soul has strayed too far, she can’t draw them back.”

I’m speechless. The ethos of the fort has always been about strength, so I had assumed Henry’s scars were a way to show off his courage, but this is so much worse.

“She called back as many of us as she could—Bryce, Carter, Stefan, and about fifteen other hunters who stood on that wall with us—but Holly was gone. That day broke my mother. She had always been devout, but she couldn’t live with Holly’s loss. She prayed to Asher for days, and he answered her. He gifted her a way to ensure she would never lose another child.” His eyes meet mine, and I can’t look away from the agony in them. “Divine Asher gave her the method and the will to answer her plea. Whatever end I have met once, I cannot meet again.”

It takes a full minute for me to understand what he’s saying.

“You can’t be killed the same way twice,” I whisper. There’s no way to claw back my composure because this is much worse than him simply being immune to my magic. I might not be able to kill him at all. I point to the pale scar on his neck. “She did that?”

Henry chews his lip. “Technically, my father did that part. She just brought me back. He does the violence. Naima does the healing, and my mother calls my soul back.”

He points to the scar on his left ribs. “Blade to the heart.” He brushes the hair on his left temple aside so I can see the bare line where his head is scarred. “Cracked skull.”

He leans an arm against the lip of the well, looking alarmingly casual for a man describing his many painful deaths. I want to ask what was the worst. I want to ask what happened after he died, but I won’t.

“And then there are all the invisible ones: crushed to death, broken neck, drowned, fever, and hypothermia.” He says them all so casually, but his aura flares violently. “And, as you noticed the night we met⁠—”

“Poison,” I finish.

He nods.

“That’s why I can kiss you.” I look up and blow out the breath that’s been trapped in my chest. “There’s nothing wrong with my magic.”

I didn’t mean to say it out loud, but my relief is so profound, I can’t help it.

Henry arches a brow. “You thought you were moving miles of vampire-infested forest from home, with a man who hates you, while your magic wasn’t working?”

“Yes.”

He whistles low. “You’re braver than I thought.”

I shrug a shoulder. “Or more reckless.”

He smirks. “Or just a complete idiot.”

I’m too shocked he’s making a joke right now not to laugh. “Did you think that’s what I would be? A pretty idiot?”

He smiles sheepishly.

“You must be pretty Divine-damned disappointed.”

He laughs, and it’s a real laugh. He looks relieved for the lightness, but my skin itches. I can’t get out of this room and away from the uncomfortable intimacy soon enough. He probably thinks I’ll feel indebted by the secrets he’s shared, but I just want to run.

There’s a knot in my throat threatening to choke me. “I’m sorry about your sister,” I rasp.

I’m surprised by how much I mean it. I know what it’s like to watch someone dear to you slip away. I think of Aidia’s face in bed beside me the night before I left the city. I can’t imagine what I would do if I lost her. Just like I can’t imagine that he would let it go if he blames my family for what happened. He lost the sister he loved—and he died.

Then, there’s the matter of all the different ways he’s been killed. I may have finally trapped myself in the one mess I can’t kiss my way out of—an indestructible husband.

If I marry him tomorrow, I won’t have any escape.

An involuntary shudder ripples through me.

This sham marriage is so much more than I bargained for. I need to send a message to Kellan. I need Gaven to help me find a way out of here. I need at least three more creative ways to kill a man.

“Well, I appreciate you telling me, and I won’t share that with anyone. I feel quite refreshed and I’d like to go back to my room now,” I say as I turn away from him and press up to stand.

Henry’s gasp startles me. I freeze, standing on the ledge. I know what he’s seen, and I can’t believe my stupidity. My desire to escape left me exposed. I entered into this nude game of daring with him without considering that he might see the thing I’ve managed to keep hidden from everyone for years through carefully selected dresses and clothing that covers it up.

I meet his gaze over my shoulder. His eyes are narrowed and his jaw clenched.

“A gentleman would avert his eyes.”

His gaze lingers on my scars. “You’re to be my wife.”

“So you have a right to my body?” I ask, venom creeping into the words.

I’m mortified by the fury and pity in his eyes.

“Of course not. I thought—” He swallows. “I’m sorry. You were so comfortable in the library that I assumed and I shouldn’t have. I can leave and you can pull the string over there when you’re done and I will come lead you back to your room.”

We stand there, staring at each other over the water. The candlelight reflects off the surface. It casts an eerie glow on his face and stretches his shadow tall and strange on the wall behind him.

“Who did that to you?” he asks.

“Did what?”

His jaw ticks and his hands fist at his sides. “Who scarred your back? Who burned you, Harlow?”

The question leaves me breathless, my rage a great wave that never seems to crest. It just rises and rises until it’s too big for words. All at once, I’ve slipped out of the present and into the past.

The memory skips and jumps. The pain is too bright for it to connect. Aidia’s hand cool on my neck. “I’m sorry, Low. My heart…my heart…my heart—” Broken agony in her voice until I say, “My bones,” and she descends into sobs so intense I can barely make it out when she says, “Our blood.”

Aidia’s hushed voice in my ear. “This is the true beginning of your tale, Harlow. The hurt is not a dying ember—it’s the spark that helps you set this world on fire. The same place where the hurt seeps out is where the hope shines in.”

The brush of my fingers to the bumpy skin on my lower back returns me to the present. Those wounds never felt like a place where hope could live. Those beatings were meant to break me. Surviving them didn’t make me feel hopeful so much as transform me into a weapon to wound the world instead of a tool someone else could use.

I can’t remember the actual violence. But I remember the creeping horror—the awful inevitability of pain—the crushing, claustrophobic terror of having no way out.

Most of all, I remember the helplessness, and I will not be helpless again.

I let him look. I’ve spent so much time trying to keep anyone from seeing it, wearing carefully cut clothing, never being fully naked with lovers. I feel like I’m leaking vulnerability—like I’ve shown him where I’m tender and now I’m braced for a blow.