Battle for the Lost
Homecoming
Calvin patted the spot on the bed next to him, a boyish smirk spreading across his lips.
"Oh, naughty boy," Darcy giggled. Despite her superficial nonchalance, inside she was shaking, afraid of committing the smallest misstep and ruining their relationship. Fingers trembling and silently willing them to obey, she worked at undoing her belt. After a few moments spent fighting with the buckle, her pants were loosened and she easily stepped out of the denim.
To her slight amusement, she noticed Calvin also nervously fingering the hem of his shirt. At least she wasn't the only one having pre-performance frights. Even though they were soon going to attempt the most privacy-invasive act two people could engage in, she glanced to the side, trying to give him some modicum of privacy.
When he pulled off his shirt, she could see the raised white scarring along his notched spine and ladder-like ribs. The sheer number of scars, and how some wove together to create lattices and webbings of warped skin, gave her pause. His chest was littered in raised lines, patches of discolored flesh, and little starbursts of puckered scar tissue. The skin on his stomach looked like someone had dug into him, clawing and shredding through his abdomen. Her jaw dropped, having been rendered wordless by the sight of her lover half-naked, and not in a good way.
"Cal," she whispered. "You… What— Are all these from—"
"These?" he parroted anxiously, an obvious attempt at feigning ignorance. "What do you mean—" He cut himself off as Darcy ran her hands over his scarred flesh. The ploy, however flimsy, broke, drawing across his features in a horrible way that reminded her too much of self-loathing. He rushed to put his shirt back on, but Darcy stopped him.
"It's fine, babe, but I was just—It's um… Scars are not exactly as… You see, people usually don't have so many scars, usually." She laughed nervously, a jittery sound that rang false in the room. "A lot of scars, it, um, it automatically sends out a danger sign to humans, don't you know?"
"Oh."
Already she regretted her words as her attempt at humor fell flat.
"I— I'm sorry, Darce. We can… We don't have to do this."
"No, no, I didn't mean it like that, I just didn't want you to, um, feel bad. It was a joke, a bad joke. Because your scars make you who you are and I— look, I really like you and I refuse to let stupid superficial things get in the way of us. Okay?"
But the damage was done, and the mood, whatever small amount of lust the two had built up, was killed. Cal shook his head and dropped his face into his hands. "Darcy, those 'stupid superficial things' have a right to be in the way. You are a seeing human being, meaning you, however consciously or unconsciously, place some form of emphasis on your physical partner's appearance. Being in a mostly non-sexual relationship with a—" she noted that he made a sort of guttural stop instead of any other number of words he'd been prone to calling himself "—changes nothing."
"Except my perceptions."
"What."
"Okay, yes, I will admit that I saw scars as, well, ugly for the longest time, but you… Okay this is, um, really awkward… You have given me an appreciation for scars, okay?" She gently pressed him to the bed and straddled him, resting her hand over one of his scars. "I would lick them to prove my point but I have a feeling that would only make you freak out." She grinned cheekily.
Calvin stared up at her, quiet and wide-eyed.
More seriously, she said, "Tell me you don't trust me there. You know that I care more about your mighty fine brain, rather than your mighty fine abs, right? I mean, I would be more than willing to show you, if that's what it takes." She bent over and planted a kiss on his mouth, her lips smiling against his.
"Wait, no, wait, Darcy this… This needs to be addressed."
"Addressed?" She sat back up, ramrod straight, as apprehension shot along her nerves. "What do you mean, addressed?"
"I mean precisely that, love. You are— you were disgusted by my scars at one point? And I assume still, judging by that horrified look that overcame you."
Darcy sighed and rolled off him to lie next to him. "Okay, fine, I admit that it is a little off-putting to see so many scars and thus be reminded that your boyfriend has seen horrible things that you can maybe never help with! I mean—"
"Darcy."
"Calvin."
There was a pregnant pause. Finally, he hesitantly broke the silence. "I saw some things over there and yeah, not all of them were good things, but I'm not broken. They didn't break me. I can talk about the lives I had to take and the decisions I had to make. It's not like I can't deal with what happened." As he spoke, his voice had strengthened and evened out, losing the uncertain warble it began with, but he trailed off, as if making some grand internal decision. She waited patiently. "That said," he continued, "there are some things that I'll probably never feel comfortable telling you about, sorry. Just don't treat me like glass. I'm. Not. Broken."
Darcy stared up at the ceiling as she struggled to process the past few minutes and as his words ran circles in her brain. Slowly she took his hand in her own and brought his fingers to her cheek. "All right,” she whispered. “All right, babe. Just… Know that I'm here for you, whether you're broken, breaking, or just want to talk. Okay? That's the whole point of a relationship."
As he laughed, as his chest shook with laughter, she watched mesmerized. She hadn't meant that to be a joke, and searched his face questioningly.
His dark brown eyes met hers. He drawled, “So that must be a new record. From sexy to conversation in under two minutes. I feel like we should be lighting up now.”
She scowled at him, but couldn't stop that traitorous smile from overtaking her lips. As Darcy gave into the bubble of mirth growing in her chest, she realized that she was still content to stay this way. They could renegotiate the physical aspects of their relationship later. For now, she just wanted to enjoy the warmth radiating off her boyfriend.
"Oh, naughty boy," Darcy giggled. Despite her superficial nonchalance, inside she was shaking, afraid of committing the smallest misstep and ruining their relationship. Fingers trembling and silently willing them to obey, she worked at undoing her belt. After a few moments spent fighting with the buckle, her pants were loosened and she easily stepped out of the denim.
To her slight amusement, she noticed Calvin also nervously fingering the hem of his shirt. At least she wasn't the only one having pre-performance frights. Even though they were soon going to attempt the most privacy-invasive act two people could engage in, she glanced to the side, trying to give him some modicum of privacy.
When he pulled off his shirt, she could see the raised white scarring along his notched spine and ladder-like ribs. The sheer number of scars, and how some wove together to create lattices and webbings of warped skin, gave her pause. His chest was littered in raised lines, patches of discolored flesh, and little starbursts of puckered scar tissue. The skin on his stomach looked like someone had dug into him, clawing and shredding through his abdomen. Her jaw dropped, having been rendered wordless by the sight of her lover half-naked, and not in a good way.
"Cal," she whispered. "You… What— Are all these from—"
"These?" he parroted anxiously, an obvious attempt at feigning ignorance. "What do you mean—" He cut himself off as Darcy ran her hands over his scarred flesh. The ploy, however flimsy, broke, drawing across his features in a horrible way that reminded her too much of self-loathing. He rushed to put his shirt back on, but Darcy stopped him.
"It's fine, babe, but I was just—It's um… Scars are not exactly as… You see, people usually don't have so many scars, usually." She laughed nervously, a jittery sound that rang false in the room. "A lot of scars, it, um, it automatically sends out a danger sign to humans, don't you know?"
"Oh."
Already she regretted her words as her attempt at humor fell flat.
"I— I'm sorry, Darce. We can… We don't have to do this."
"No, no, I didn't mean it like that, I just didn't want you to, um, feel bad. It was a joke, a bad joke. Because your scars make you who you are and I— look, I really like you and I refuse to let stupid superficial things get in the way of us. Okay?"
But the damage was done, and the mood, whatever small amount of lust the two had built up, was killed. Cal shook his head and dropped his face into his hands. "Darcy, those 'stupid superficial things' have a right to be in the way. You are a seeing human being, meaning you, however consciously or unconsciously, place some form of emphasis on your physical partner's appearance. Being in a mostly non-sexual relationship with a—" she noted that he made a sort of guttural stop instead of any other number of words he'd been prone to calling himself "—changes nothing."
"Except my perceptions."
"What."
"Okay, yes, I will admit that I saw scars as, well, ugly for the longest time, but you… Okay this is, um, really awkward… You have given me an appreciation for scars, okay?" She gently pressed him to the bed and straddled him, resting her hand over one of his scars. "I would lick them to prove my point but I have a feeling that would only make you freak out." She grinned cheekily.
Calvin stared up at her, quiet and wide-eyed.
More seriously, she said, "Tell me you don't trust me there. You know that I care more about your mighty fine brain, rather than your mighty fine abs, right? I mean, I would be more than willing to show you, if that's what it takes." She bent over and planted a kiss on his mouth, her lips smiling against his.
"Wait, no, wait, Darcy this… This needs to be addressed."
"Addressed?" She sat back up, ramrod straight, as apprehension shot along her nerves. "What do you mean, addressed?"
"I mean precisely that, love. You are— you were disgusted by my scars at one point? And I assume still, judging by that horrified look that overcame you."
Darcy sighed and rolled off him to lie next to him. "Okay, fine, I admit that it is a little off-putting to see so many scars and thus be reminded that your boyfriend has seen horrible things that you can maybe never help with! I mean—"
"Darcy."
"Calvin."
There was a pregnant pause. Finally, he hesitantly broke the silence. "I saw some things over there and yeah, not all of them were good things, but I'm not broken. They didn't break me. I can talk about the lives I had to take and the decisions I had to make. It's not like I can't deal with what happened." As he spoke, his voice had strengthened and evened out, losing the uncertain warble it began with, but he trailed off, as if making some grand internal decision. She waited patiently. "That said," he continued, "there are some things that I'll probably never feel comfortable telling you about, sorry. Just don't treat me like glass. I'm. Not. Broken."
Darcy stared up at the ceiling as she struggled to process the past few minutes and as his words ran circles in her brain. Slowly she took his hand in her own and brought his fingers to her cheek. "All right,” she whispered. “All right, babe. Just… Know that I'm here for you, whether you're broken, breaking, or just want to talk. Okay? That's the whole point of a relationship."
As he laughed, as his chest shook with laughter, she watched mesmerized. She hadn't meant that to be a joke, and searched his face questioningly.
His dark brown eyes met hers. He drawled, “So that must be a new record. From sexy to conversation in under two minutes. I feel like we should be lighting up now.”
She scowled at him, but couldn't stop that traitorous smile from overtaking her lips. As Darcy gave into the bubble of mirth growing in her chest, she realized that she was still content to stay this way. They could renegotiate the physical aspects of their relationship later. For now, she just wanted to enjoy the warmth radiating off her boyfriend.