Scars from a Memoir by Marni Mann Read Free Book Online Page B

him.
    “What do they think about…us?” I asked.
    “Nadal and I may look alike, but he's like my father—quick to judge and only willing to hear one side. His side, usually. Jesse's like me. We think with our hearts.”
    “I can see why Tyme wants to date the freckled one.”
    That was the first time I heard him laugh. It was deep and honest. Asher had a funky haircut and a pierced skull, but underneath was something soft.
    “Tyme isn't my type,” he said. “I like women who aren't afraid of their darkness. There's a little bit in all of us; some just choose not to embrace it.”
    “What if it's not just a little bit? What if it's all of me?”
    He looked at me for a few seconds and then pulled me to my feet. With my back against the brick, I just stood there, silent. He placed one hand beside my face and leaned down. “You don't see me running, do you?”
    I gazed up into his eyes and shook my head.
    “I'm not scared of what I know,” he said.
    “You should be.”
    He laughed again. This time his tone was lighter, but his smile was just as wide. “Your past only makes you more beautiful.” His hands went to my cheeks, and his lips hovered over mine. “Tell me you want this.”
    No one had ever asked before.
    “I want—”
    He gently parted my lips, surrounding the top one and then the bottom, his tongue teasing both. His hands never left my face, pulling it closer, though there was hardly any space between us.
    To stop his hands from moving, I gripped his forearms. I didn't want him to ever let me go. His lips became hungrier, and his body pressed against me. But when his thumbs pushed into my skin, like he was trying to squeeze out all my emotions, I felt something inside me grind to a halt.
    Both rapes had left me with scars: a horseshoe-shaped mark under my chin from when I was in college, and memories from the night Richard—my old drug dealer—had forced himself inside me. My body had already been taken and abused, so it was the only thing I'd been willing to give to men. But that wasn't how I felt anymore. The attraction to Asher was more than physical. I wanted to make sure those feelings were real before I let him peel off my layers.
    As I was about to pull away, he moved his face back and stared into my eyes. “I'll never hurt you,” he whispered.
    I wanted to believe him. A part of me did.
    “I'm a mess.”
    “A beautiful mess.” He ran his thumb over my bottom lip. “We'll take it slow.”

    *   *   *

    Tiffany looked awful. She'd been studying for a week straight and pulling all-nighters. Other than coffee and cigarettes, I didn't think she'd eaten in days. I made her a sandwich, but when I got out of the shower, the plate still sat in front of her, untouched.
    “Let's go to a meeting,” I said.
    She wasn't required to go, but that didn't mean she should skip them as she'd done for the past week. Without looking up from hertextbook, she said she couldn't take a break. This was her hardest semester, and she needed to ace her finals next week; otherwise she wouldn't get accepted into her core classes.
    I stood in front of her with my arms crossed. “You're powerless over your addiction.” When she didn't respond, I yanked the book off the table. “Get dressed.”
    The addicts at our meetings were at various stages of sobriety. The rookies, who had just graduated from their first shot at rehab, would initially share their story. Then they'd mostly just listen. Eventually they'd start showing up late and would leave once the meeting was over. After a few weeks, maybe a month, they'd stop coming altogether. For most addicts, at least the ones I knew, it took more than one attempt at rehab to get sober. I was on my third.
    The vets were hardcore followers of the Twelve Steps, the mentors of the group. They believed silence was a sign of relapse and encouraged the newbies to express their feelings. Before we swarmed around the coffee and cookies, the vets would ask us to join hands and