Page 7 of Where Your Scars Meet Mine
He exhales slowly. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s never nothing,” I reply, my tone softer than the words.
The last time he said that, Nick Gardner had thought it was funny to hide Adrian’s canes as a joke. I’d found them tucked under his mattress. Nick spent the rest of that afternoon with his face pressed against his own headboard while I reminded him how fragile teeth can be.
“Last time it was nothing,” I say now, “I made Nick Gardner eat his headboard before kindly apologizing to you.”
Adrian lets out a quiet laugh, the tension easing for a second. “I remember. I still think one of his teeth is under his bed.”
“Probably is,” I say with a shrug.
Violence has always come easily to me. It fits into my hands like it was built for them. Most of the kids here either keep their distance or pretend not to notice it. Adrian never does. He doesn’t treat me like I’m something to be avoided. He doesn’t look at me like I’m dangerous.
Maybe that’s why I tolerate him. Maybe that’s why I don’t mind when he lingers.
“I was expecting someone else to be in here,” he says after a moment, his voice quieter now.
“Other than the Warden?” I scoff. “Or the idiots I share a room with?”
“A couple,” he interrupts.
The word shifts something in the air.
“There’s a couple in the office with the Warden,” he continues, watching me carefully. “They’re asking about you.”
I let out a short laugh, pushing myself upright as I roll up my sleeves. The fabric slides past my wrists, revealing the dark ink that climbs both of my forearms. A forest of black silhouettesstretches upward from my wrists, trees layered and thick, their shadows dense.
My eyes flick down automatically.
It covers them.
The scars disappear beneath bark and branches. No raised lines. No pale reminders.
I check every time without meaning to.
“What?” I say, looking back at him. “They find out I’m eighteen and suddenly want to file a complaint because I glared at them in the hallway?” I shake my head. “Or maybe they’re here to congratulate me on my stellar behavior record.”
Adrian doesn’t smile.
He shifts on the mattress, fingers tightening slightly around one of his canes. “They weren’t laughing,” he says. “They looked… serious.”
I hold his gaze for a second longer than I should.
Couples don’t come here for boys like me.
They walk these halls searching for soft edges. For second chances that look clean on paper. They don’t search for a file that reads like mine does. They don’t choose the kid who killed his father, even if every CPS report stacked beneath that headline tells a different story.
“About me,” I repeat, slower this time.
The room feels smaller suddenly. The four walls closer. The barred window catching light that doesn’t quite reach us.
I straighten my sleeves, covering the forest again.
Whatever they want, it won’t be simple.
“Silas, they were talking about-”
“Here he is!”
