Does Your Lack of Conscience Tell You Everything's Alright?

Alex's finger runs over the scar adorning my lower back. I can feel his eyes burning into the spot.

"What is this?" he asks.

I divert my eyes to the tiles on the floor.

"A scar," I answer.

The touch of his finger disappears; both hands grip my waist. He pulls me closer to him; his chest pressed against my back.

"Did he do that to you?" he whispers in my ear.

I nod, still looking at the floor.

"Why?"

I shake my head, "I don't want to talk about it."

"You need to."

"No, I don't."

He releases his hold slightly and turns me around to face him. I don't look him in the eyes. I can't. Instead, I focus on his shirt; the wrinkles, the color, the design, anything to avoid his face.

"Look at me," he commands.

"I am looking at you."

I think looking at his shirt constitutes as looking at him.

He chuckles.

"Look me in the eyes."

I bite my lip.

I don't want to look him the eyes. I don't want to see the possible hurt lurking in them. I don't want to see him silently questioning our relationship. I don't want to loose him over something I couldn't control.

"Please," he begs.

But what if all my fears are farfetched?

I tear my eyes from his shirt to look him in his amazing eyes. There is no anger, no hurt. There is concern.

Concern for me. Because he cares.

"You need to talk to me. In order for us to get closer, you need to tell me. You need to be open. I know you trust me. Now put that trust to work," Alex says.

"Do I get to change first?" I ask.

"Not yet," he smiles, "Tell me why he carved his name into your back like that."

"To prove a point."

"What do you mean?"

Why is it, when I'm blunt with answers, no one understands me?

Maybe because they don't make sense till explained.

"He did it when he first kidnapped me because he wanted to prove a point."

"That must have been a deep cut. The scar is still pretty prominent."

"He redid it a few times to reiterate it."

"So what was he trying to prove to you?"

I sigh, dropping my eyes to look at his shirt again.

"He wanted to prove that no one cared. I could scream and cry and no one in the neighborhood would come running. He wanted to prove that I meant nothing to anyone."

"So he cut his name into your back?"

"He was doing other things at the same time."

Dirty things that don't need to be said out loud.

"It hurt so badly," I continue, "I screamed, begged him to stop, cried for help. There was so much blood. I had to clean it all up when he was finished because he had to go work," I look back into his eyes. "You know the funny thing about all that, Alex? No one came running to help. No one gave a damn about me. That's not something a ten year old wants to realize."

Alex's hand brushes against my cheek.

"I would have come running. I care," he says.

I smile, place my hand on top of his.

"I know you do. You're my knight in shining armor."

"I always will be," he pulls me into a hug.

I wrap my arms around his neck and burry my face into his chest. His fingers rub circles on top of the scar.

"How do you feel about getting a tattoo over that?" Alex asks.

"What?" I laugh.

"I'm just suggesting making his name less visible. I don't want it on you. You don't belong to him. You're my girlfriend, not his fucking play toy. If I could, I'd kill him for this."

"I'll think about it."