Still Think I Am Beautiful?

mackattack911

,United States

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Still Think I Am Beautiful?

He held my hand, gently running his thumb across my wrist as if to erase what was there. And he still thought I was beautiful. He was the first person to ever tell me that. He could feel the raised lines. And he still thought I was beautiful. But with each kiss that he planted softly on my lips, I was brought back to the day I made the marks. Kiss - Me lying naked, crying, on my bed. Kiss - Me watching 'Him' walk out my bedroom door. Kiss - Him saying 'It's what you get.' But the arms that held me now weren't controlling, weren't restricting. It had been so long since a guy had been gentle towards me. I had forgotten what it was like, not flinching away from a guy's hand. Shane knew about my past, some of it anyway. I turned away, assuming the stereotypical 'sad girl' pose, hugging my knees to my chest. He took my hand again, this time focused on my pale forearm. I could see myself, only fifteen and scared out of mind, standing in the doorway of the kitchen. Pills were spilled across the counter, my baseball bat propped up against the refridgerator. I saw me, swinging the bat awkwardly towards myself, connecting with my stomach. I saw it again. And again. I watched my tears splash against my forearm, stinging the fresh cuts. I blinked and looked at him as he got onto the floor next to me. My face was blank, hiding everything. I liked him, but could never trust him. I liked him, but could never confide in him. I liked him, but could never love him. And he still thought I was beautiful. But only because he had never seen the real me. He had never seen the pathetic girl lying on her bed, staring blankly above her, reliving what had happened there. How could he think that I was beautiful?