Perfectly Flawed (46 page)

“What? I’m sorry,” he instantly says, jumping
from the bed and quickly making his way over to me. I scramble
away, crawling back until I hit the wall. “What did I do? Was I
pressuring you? I wasn’t aware, Joey, I swear,” he rambles out,
running his hands through his hair before he drops to the floor in
front of me, his knees in my direct line of sight. His hands fall
to the floor, trembling as he nears me.

“No, it wasn’t that,” I tell him, keeping my
hand on my stomach, keeping my shirt down and everything hidden. “I
just…” I trail off, not entirely sure what to say or even what to
tell him. How can I explain this?

“Just what, Jo? Talk to me.” he asks, his
hands resting on my knees. “You scared the shit out of me.”

I know, Zephyr, believe me, I know.

Why do I continue to scare him over and
over?

“I can’t tell you,” I whisper lightly. I hug
my knees to my chest, feeling the need to rebuild those brick walls
I knocked down for him but I don’t want to be strong about this, I
just want to let him in. I
can
let him in, right. I can’t be
this hopeless. But the biggest part of me knows that I’m
hopeless.

“Why can’t you tell me?” he asks as his hands
grip my ankles, tugging my legs over his lap.

I so much want to tell him,
Because I’m a
pathetic basket case
. The words won’t leave my mouth. The truth
remains within me.

But it’s Zephyr. I can tell him anything. I
look up to him, staring into a gaze so pure, so warm, that I just
want to unleash everything.

I reach up and thread my fingers through his
hair, feeling the silky locks glide along my fingers. He leans into
my touch. My fingers find the scar on the back of his head, the one
he got by accident when he was playing baseball as a kid. One of
the other kids wasn’t paying attention when he was swinging the bat
and hit Zephyr in the back of the head so hard, it resulted in
twelve stitches and his mother pulling him from baseball and
preventing him from starting again. I’m surprised she lets him play
tackle football.

“Do you remember when you got this?” I ask so
lightly, I barely recognize my own voice. My finger rubs against
the long, jagged line of smooth, raised skin hidden within his
hair.

“Yeah, I do.” He laughs softly as his hand
reaches up, his fingers circling around my wrist while his thumb
rubs circles along the inside of my wrist. “It sucked, I liked
baseball a lot.”

I figured that he’d say something like that;
he was always playing different sports as a kid.

I’m debating within myself to open up. I can
tell him, I can trust him, he’s Zephyr and he wouldn’t judge me,
right? What am I saying? Of course he wouldn’t judge me or whatever
other horrible things I’m thinking of from the likes of mayhem and
vandalism to completely shunning me.

He’d never do anything like that, not to
me.

I pull away, holding his hand in mine and
massaging it, still thinking how I want to show him. I could just
take off my shirt, but the visual is a little much. I could just
tell him, but he’d still want to see them. He’d want to
know
.

I know what I can do.

Taking his hand, I lift up my shirt and place
his hand over a scar, lining up his fingers with the jagged line
along my skin. It’s the ugliest one on my body, one he can feel
without having to try. From his eyes, I can tell he doesn’t
understand, but after a moment, his hand moves and his expression
changes to scared as he tries to figure out what his fingers are
tracing.

“I have a few scars of my own,” I tell him.
He raises the fabric of my t-shirt, looking at the white jagged
lines crossing along my stomach. There are four on my lower stomach
he can easily see.

“Oh, Joey,” he whispers as his hands navigate
the bare flesh, seeking each and every last blemish and deformity.
I make it easier for him by tugging my shirt over my head and
turning around to show him my back. His fingertips trail down my
back lightly, like connecting a macabre Connect-the-Dots drawing.
“So it was true?” he asks quietly, but not to me, to himself.
“Everything those idiots started spreading around school, all if
it’s true.” He sounds certain of himself, of his statement.

Where is he going with this?

What does he mean?

Arms wrap around me from behind, tugging me
to his chest, his heat warming my back. “I am so, so sorry that any
of this happened to you,” he whispers into my ear, a shudder in his
voice.

“Zephyr, it’s okay,” I tell him, my hand
reaching up to cup his cheek, feeling scruff brush against my
fingertips. He doesn’t look at me, only stairs at the painting
leaning against his wall. It’s the painting of me surrounded by
green. He still hasn’t finished it. I open my mouth to tell him
it’s a part of the past I can’t change when he abruptly cuts me
off.

“No, it’s not, Joey.” His voice hardens.
“Something like this will never be okay.” His arms tighten around
me, pulling me closer. He fears he’ll lose me if he releases. “If I
could take all of your pain, if not away, I would. I would wear
these scars for you if only you still had your family.”

His words bring tears to my eyes.

“We can’t change the past, Zephyr.” As much
as I would love to change that night or anything before that night,
the outcome is still the same. I’m here and they’re gone.

“I know that.” His grip loosens slightly
before his hands slide down my arms.

“This is just what you get with me.” My
throat tightens and I try to hold back the tears that want to
erupt.

“When are you going to understand how truly
beautiful and perfect you are to me?” he asks, feathering a kiss
against my bare shoulder. I may want to put my shirt back on but
his kiss completely changes my mind.

“Perfectly ruined,” I mutter, appreciating
and loving him for trying, but scoffing all the same.

“Perfectly flawed,” he responds, proud. “But
we’re all flawed, that’s what makes us human, and that’s why I love
you.” He presses his lips against my neck.

I lean back, looking up to him as his hair
tickles my cheek. I love him; I really, truly love him. I know that
I’ve told him before, I’ve expressed my feelings, but now there’s a
warmth blooming in my heart, it’s coursing through my veins, and it
makes me realize that I never want to be separated from Zephyr. I
can see this being forever.

Thirteen

I sit in my favorite recliner in the back of the
library, reading through my next AP English assignment,
Dostoyevsky’s
Crime and Punishment
. I’m halfway through the
first out of six parts—when I should be doing other homework—when
Zephyr walks up, dropping dramatically into the neighboring
recliner. I haven’t lifted my eyes from the book, reading the same
sentence twice, when he slides a sheet of paper into my line of
sight.

It’s light green with large, hand-drawn block
letters on it.

“What’s this?” I ask, holding out the green
sheet of paper, not bothering to read it, even though that would be
the easiest solution.

“Just read it,” Zephyr offers with a grin. A
grin that kind of scares me. He has a look on his face that screams
mischief
but also
this is for your own good
and now
I’m really worried.

My eyes scan the sheet, taking in the words
Idol
and
singing competition
hoping that what I think
he’s implying is wrong. Very,
very
wrong. “Our school is
holding an Idol competition?” I ask with skepticism. This can’t,
no,
will
not turn out well.

“Continue,” he directs, rolling his finger in
the air, begging me to read on.

“It’s for the entire school district,” I say
aloud. That’s all that the paper says, other than a few names of
people I don’t know. “So what?”

“
So what?
” Zephyr repeats. “You should
sign up to do it.”

I snort loudly, catching the attention of
someone sitting at the closest table attempting to finish their
homework. “Not going to happen,” I tell him, flinging the paper
back to him. I’d rather deal with Raskolnikov’s
stupidity—seriously, the man has an axe and he doesn’t
chop
the lady?—than sing in front of a crowd, let alone auditioning in
front of people that probably don’t like me to begin with.

“Come on, Joey,” Zephyr coos. “You’re really
good. No, you’re great,” he tries to convince me.

“Thanks, honey,” I say, speaking to the book
in my hand. “But never, in a million years, will I agree to do it,
just move on.” I turn the page.

Zephyr drops to the floor, in the middle of
the library, right in front of everyone and it didn’t seem to
bother him as much as it was bothering me, crawling over to me on
his knees with his hands clasped together. “Please,” he begs,
jutting out his bottom lip in an accentuated pout. “Pretty please.”
Now everyone’s starting.

“No,” I tell him, trying to ignore him, but I
can’t read a full sentence without getting distracted and starting
over.

He snatches the book from my hands, flinging
himself backward to keep it away from me. My mouth drops open as I
realize I’m dating a child.

“Zephyr, give me my book,” I command,
standing up from the chair to take it back from him. He
continuously snaps his hand back before raising his hands above his
head. Damn his height.

I really don’t want to wrestle for a book in
the middle of the library. Not today, I’m not in the mood for it.
And his happy-peppy smile isn’t helping things.

“Only if you agree to do this,” he offers,
tossing the paper back at me. It floats to the floor between
us.

“And if I don’t?” I ask, crossing my arms
over my chest defensively, seriously giving him the stink eye.

“Then you fail whatever assignment this is,”
he tells me, taking a moment to look at the cover of the book.
“
Crime and Punishment
, huh?” Like he has any interest in
Dostoyevsky.

“Dude, I can just go to Barnes and Noble
after school to buy another book, jack ass,” I snap at him, still
trying to take my book back. Zephyr’s too fast for me, whipping his
hand back, nearly launching the book across the room. I doubt
anyone wants to be smacked in the back of the head
Crime and
Punishment
. Though, if my boyfriend continues with this
stupidity,
he
will be the one getting smacked in the head
with it.

“And I’ll just keep taking every copy you buy
until you agree to do this.” He points to the paper at my feet.

I roll my eyes, cross my arms over my chest,
and pop out a hip. “The deadline passes in a week, Zephyr.”

“It does?” He looks to the paper. “Hmmm, I
didn’t notice that,” he mumbles, still holding the book out of
reach. There goes my chance at distraction. “Still, it’d be
awesome, Joey, can’t you picture it?” I shake my head. “Come on,
picture your name in lights, a crowd of millions cheering your
name…”

“Dude, it’s a high school singing
competition,” I remind him. “I won’t be singing at Comcast Arena or
the Tacoma Dome, I’ll leave that to Taylor Swift.”

“You don’t dream, do you?” he asks,
deadpan.

Not really! “You know what, fine, whatever,”
I blurt out. “Just give me my book,” I demand, holding out my
hand.

His hand drops as he looks at me in
disbelief. In his brief moment of weakness I snatch my book back
and launch back onto the chair, resuming my reading.

“Seriously, you’ll do it?” he asks, confused.
I can see
well, that was easy
float through his mind, like
it’s reading through his forehead.

“Sure,” I concede while searching for my
bookmark, I lost it somewhere in the chair. I flip my hair over my
shoulder as my hands slide between the cushion—a very disgusting
and disturbing thing to do, I don’t know what’s happened in these
chairs—and slide out the Everett Silvertips ticket I use to mark my
place.

“That’s good to hear,” he tells me as he
takes his seat in the other chair. “I already signed you up for it
at lunch.” He smiles at me and my mouth drops open. I want to punch
him, hard, in the face. Am I supposed to thank him for going behind
my back? Should I thank him for his cockiness?

“Are you kidding me, Zephyr?” I ask, loud
enough to garner a few shushes from nearby people, and a glare from
a teacher in the back of the library by the computer bank.

“Like I said, you’re a great singer.” His
smile widens as he leans between the two chairs, close enough to
kiss me, or for me to sucker punch him. Let me tell you, it’s
really tempting to just bitch slap the smirk off his face right
now. “I did what I thought was right, Jo.”
Really
,
tempting.

I look to the book in my hand; I could smack
him in the face with it, but it wouldn’t really be worth it. If I
were reading
Anna Karenina
or
War and Peace
then his
face wouldn’t be safe. That seems like an appropriate idea for the
moment. Or I could just shove him until he falls between the
chairs. He would fall on his nose and I could just tell him
I
did what I thought was right, Zeph.

But I do nothing of the sort.

Damn, I love him too much for violent
sass.

Instead, I turn to him and smile. That’s it,
just a polite smile, not even a sarcastic bitchy one. I still need
to think of something to do to him to make him understand this was
a bad idea. But I have time. Standing up from the chair, I make my
way out of the library, toward the nearest sign for the Idol
auditions. Tomorrow after school. Great, another thing for me to
freak out about.

By the time of the audition, I’m sweating
through my clothes. I swear I’ll punch Zephyr the next time I see
him. I am eighth on the list before I have to sing in front of that
really old camera the school rents out to students. Really, I could
just leave, tell them to fuck off, but I’m a little curious to see
if I’d make it.