Page 43 of Let the Light Shine Through

“What about the mess?”

“The mess…” Which one? The mess I’m making by drawing this out? Or the mess we just made?

I eye Roz’s busted knuckles.

“Do you know how to scramble video feed?”

“Um.”

“I’ll show you.” Luckily, my academy did teach me that particular skill, just not directly.

Roz

Gia’s all over the place. I can’t keep up if I tried. No, fuck that, I can’t keep up even when I’m trying. One minute she acts like I have some kind of effect on her heart, the next she’s making me swear not to develop feelings for her.

And now, instead of dealing with any of it, she wants to up and leave.

She has this incredibly frustrating knack for disappearing right when things are getting good. What the fuck is that about? I told her I wouldn’t get attached but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to say goodbye just yet. We can hook up, and we will, I just don’t want to rush it because then it’ll be over and she’ll be leaving all over again.

She doesn’t want labels? Easy. I’ve never really liked them myself either.

She wants great sex? Check my resume. It’s kind of my specialty. Or, at least I thought it was until Gia started planting seeds of doubt in my head.

I can’t actually care about her aside from fucking her senseless? Well, fuck. Houston, we have a problem—a big one.

Maybe, maybe, that was a possibility before I saw Gia lying in a helpless heap at the skate park because now, I’m not so confident. A lot changed in that moment. I changed in that moment. We changed in that moment, whether she’ll admit it or not.

“What happened to your heart?”

“You.”

What does that even mean? I’d give anything to know.

I’m just coming out of her dad’s office when she’s finishing up with the dishes. I offered to clean them but she insisted. I don’t know shit about video reconfiguration, but Gia explained it enough that I was able to erase the footage of us in the kitchen. I don’t really understand why I had to since Gia’s nineteen years old and the most we did was make a quick stop at second base. Her dad must be strict or something.

With Gia’s back to me, more of her skin is on display than usual. She hasn’t bothered with putting her shirt back on—thankfully—and without her bulk of bracelets on either, I swear I can make out more of those burn-type scars on her wrists. With most of the lights off, it’s hard to tell, but I’m pretty sure they’re the same as the ones on her back. What are they? Who put them there?

The thought of someone, anyone, inflicting any kind of pain on Gia has my fists tightening by my sides.

The moment Gia realizes I’m standing here, her backbone stiffens, making her shoulder blades stick out like an angel’s wings.

I go over and pick up her long-sleeve shirt we abandoned hours ago. Hours. Shit. It’s almost morning and we haven’t even slept yet. Not that I’m thinking of going to sleep. I just left my bed. And after not leaving it for several days in a row, I have no desire to get back in it. Not alone anyway.

Gia places the last spoon on the rack, then I help her put her shirt back on along with the bracelets she set aside. She’ll tell me about her scars someday, hopefully before I use up my last kiss.

Fully dressed again, she smirks up at me, asking, “Do you have a flashlight?”

Here we go…

“How much farther?”

Using my Chevy, Gia drove us to an empty parking lot with one broken light post but thousands of weeds growing through cracks lining the old asphalt and now we’re hiking alongside a decent-sized creek, or kill. New York calls them kills because that’s not morbid at all.

Gia’s leading the way with a flashlight I found in my glove compartment and I’m trying not to fall too far behind. This girl moves when she’s on a mission.

“It’s up here.” Quieter, she says, “Somewhere.”

“Do you even know where we’re going?”