The Scars She Hides

Part 16 - Three Times A Threat

HOLDEN

I could still feel her pulse on my finger tips.

It was the morning after Charlotte had shown me her scars, I was sitting in my 8 am calculus class, running my fingers over my thumb, trying to get rid of the ghost of her pulse instead of taking notes.

To say I hadn't expected my evening to end with Charlotte taking off her clothes was a massive understatement.

The sight of her scars had been... had been enough to answer every question I had ever had about Charlotte. Her skittishness, the reason for her desperate plea to miss gym class, all of her little lies here and there... I considered my initial curiosity about her sated.

Now all I could think about was who had done that to her... and who was leaving her threatening notes?

Both questions Charlotte seemed unwilling to share. That was one of two reasons I had held my tongue last night, and stuck to questions about the scars themselves instead of their maker. I had never seen her tremble like I had last night, felt her shaking hand grip my knee like it was the only thing keeping her from running.

The other reason... being that her hammering pulse and the colour of her blush were quite distracting. She had lit up cherry red when I had traced her scar down her face. I could have pulled away after that, should have pulled away after that, but I couldn't help it.

She had never let me that close before. She practically jumped off my bike every evening, always rushing to regain the large bubble of space she held between her and everyone. Thinking back, I had never been within reaching distance other than sitting across each other at a table. Carrying the unconscious caffeine addict to the nurses office not counting of course.

With what she had shown me... her reasoning for the space I had once thought extreme was warranted.

Her skin had been so warm, her blush heating her face up no doubt. Her scar had been raised, all jagged edges but somehow smooth at the same time.

I clenched my hand into a fist and shook my head violently, like I could physically shake the thoughts from my head. I had to focus.

—-------------

With my final draft well on its way, Charlotte had erased the board of chaotic notes in the corner of my workshop a while ago.

We spent our afternoons doing current school work most of the time. Correction, I spent my afternoons doing school work. Once Charlotte closed and locked the door, she would proceed to pull her school hoodie off, roll it up into a crumpled pillow-like lump, and nap for the majority of her "tutoring session". A few times she had even produced a hair tie from her bag and tied her hair out of her face before settling down for her afternoon nap.

Not that I was complaining. It had been a surprise the day after she had shown me her scars, when she shedded her protective layer like it was nothing and spent the next few hours in a short sleeve shirt. It must be absolutely STIFLING to wear 24/7. The fact that Charlotte now felt comfortable enough to walk around freely in front of me was .... A far cry from where we had been at the beginning of the semester.

We still traded truths in the evenings when I dropped her off at her dorm. We had veered towards easier topics, the casual day to day secrets that were painless to divulge.

When she let drop how much she spent on coffee every day, I judged her. Hard, with more than just a disappointed glare. It was really not sensible.

To which she had only pointed her slight finger at my tattoo sleeves and raised an eyebrow in question.

Touche little bird.

I shook my head, mentally laughing at the memory of the other night while unlocking the door to the workshop. She seemed to be coming out of her shell in huge steps. Leaps and bounds almost since showing her scars.

The sight of the white board sitting right at the front of my work space stopped me in the open doorway.

That had definitely been pushed into the back corner of the room yesterday. For the past few days actually.

Someone had moved it to the front, and flipped it so it was facing the door - so whoever entered would have no chance of missing the message written in red.

The small blocky handwriting was familiar, the same writing that had been left those times before. The only difference this time was it was more than one line of vague threats.

The whole board was filled with one word. A name.

HENRY.

I walked closer slowly, hand on my back pocket ready to pull my phone out and capture another photo. Should I continue be hiding these photos from Charlotte?

I thought back to her face when she had found that first message written on the board. She had turned ash white in a matter of moments. Charlotte's entire demeanour had changed. She had asked me if I had written that note, and I couldn't decide if she was terrified or outraged.

I had seen flashes of that hardened girl since the first note left in my workshop, with the pills, occasionally while spilling hard truths... and I had realised that maybe I wasn't ready to handle all of Charlotte's secrets.

Before I had seen no problem with hiding the one photo from her. It was a harmless note, with an extremely vague message. No big deal. Once was an accident. Twice was coincidance.

It was after I had stepped a few feet closer that I could smell it. Cigarette smoke.

My eyes quickly located the source.

Sitting on the marker tray was a cigarette, smashed into the metal tray, letting off a small trail of smoke.

"The circles?" I pointed to the small round scars littering her arms. Little clusters crawling up her arms in mix-matched groups of two, three, four. Charlotte looked down at her arms, looking at them with a wary eye. She swallowed hard, her throat working up and down a few times before she finally answered me.

"Cigarettes."

Three times was a threat.

(The quote really reads "three times is enemy action"... but I do what I want.)

I pulled out my phone, and pretended that my own hands weren't trembling a bit. I took a few pictures, and decided against erasing the evidence for now.

I glanced at the clock, noting that Charlotte was due to arrive any minute now, if she was running ontime- which she never was.

I had the time it took one cup of coffee and a half assed sprint across the quad to come up with a valid excuse to keep Charlotte out of the workshop today.

I couldn't keep this from her... that would be lying. If I broke the rules of our game, i'd lose the little faith I had built between Charlotte and I. She would retreat back into her shell and cut me off completely.

I was going to tell her.

Just... after I figured out who the hell was breaking into my workshop. After I stopped whoever was after Charlotte.