Play On - Michelle Smith Page 0,34
out of her mouth. I toss my arm across the back of her seat and lean toward her. “Are you turnin’ into a Southern girl already, Marisa?”
Her mouth opens, and I can’t hold back my grin as she fights her own smile and fails. “I hate to break it to you, Floral Prince, but a month in the South doesn’t create a Southerner. Besides, it wouldn’t work for me. The accent sounds so much cuter coming from you.”
I’m pretty sure my cheeks just caught on fire. “I highly doubt that.”
“See? Highly. I’m telling you, I’m kind of melting over here.” She looks down at her hands, tugging on her sleeves as she adds, “I bet it makes all the other girls melt, too.”
My heartbeat stutters to an almost-complete stop. I don’t know what gave her that impression, but it sucks that she thinks I’m some kind of girl-hopping a-hole. “There aren’t any other girls. You’re the first girl in a long, long time.”
She plays with the ends of her sleeves, fidgeting in her seat, but stays quiet.
“The other night, at the shop,” I continue, “with the kiss? I asked because I wanted to. Because I like you. And I know plenty of other dudes who make out with one girl after another, but that’s not me. I thought you knew that.”
Her eyes fill with tears. Whoa, whoa, whoa. Shit. She sniffles loudly as she hides her face in her hands. “God, I’m such a mess,” she whispers. She sniffles again and looks at me, all wet cheeks and gut-punching frown and tears that just won’t stop falling. “I’m sorry. I screw everything up. Even nights like tonight, when I’m supposed to be grateful and happy and—” Shaking her head, she presses her lips together. “I can’t do this.”
I grab her hand, which is cold as ice. “What’s goin’ on? Talk to me.”
More tears. Lord have mercy, if she doesn’t stop crying, my heart might explode. She looks down at the hand I’m still holding because, to be honest, I really, really don’t want to let it go. Not only that, but I have a feeling that she needs it.
“What’s going on,” she says, her voice thick, “is that I’m a crazy, psychotic, certifiable mess. I shouldn’t have come out tonight, and I definitely shouldn’t have dragged you into this.”
My pulse races. The last time I saw someone cry like this, it was when we found out about Dad and my momma was inconsolable. “Did someone die?”
She coughs out a laugh and wipes her nose with her other sleeve. “You don’t want to know, Austin. Trust me.”
“I do want to know. Seein’ you like this? It’s kind of destroying me.”
She turns back to me, still sniffling, though the tears seem to have stopped for now. She pulls her hand from mine, and before I can say anything, she holds up her arm.
“It’s not exactly something I parade around,” she says, barely above a whisper. “And it’s a secret that no one down here knows about, and I’d really like to keep it that way.”
“You can trust me with anything,” I say without hesitation.
With a deep, shuddering breath, she closes her eyes, pulls up her sleeve, and holds her arm out for me to see. The word “love” is tattooed in cursive on her wrist, and while it’s nice and simple enough, that’s not what snatches my attention. At least a dozen scars cover that wrist, along with the section of her forearm that’s exposed. Some are tiny, some are long and jagged. Those kinds of scars don’t just come from anywhere. Did—did she actually try to kill herself?
I can’t breathe.
I lean back against my door, staring at her as seconds, minutes, hours pass. I have no clue how long it is before I’m pretty sure someone drives a knife through my gut. She won’t look at me. Instead, she pulls her sleeve down with a trembling hand, shoves open her door, and hops down from the truck. She walks to the pond and stops at the water’s edge, wrapping her arms around herself.
I should follow her. I should make sure she’s okay. I should say something. All that would be a lot easier if I could breathe.
Opening my door sends in a rush of freezing cold air, but it’s exactly what I need. I step down and start for the water, stuffing my hands in my pockets. Marisa was right; the stars do look like diamonds. Momma used to tell me