Written in the Scars by Adriana Locke Page B

everything, you come waltzing in here acting like a fucking saint over a storm.”
    “I was just checking on you .”
    “Here I am,” I say, holding my arms out, almost touching either side of the hallway. My chest shakes right along with the quick breaths, but I hope he doesn’t notice. “See me? I’m still here. Doing just fine without you. Not that you probably give a fuck—”
    “Are you serious?” he booms. “You think I don’t give a fuck?”
    “Do I look serious?” I shout back.
    “Of course I give a fuck! Damn it!” He tugs at his hair in frustration. “You have no idea just how much I do give a fuck, Elin. You have no idea.”
    “No, I don’t know. And you know something else? I don’t care,” I seethe, lying through my teeth. Because I do care. So much. But I can’t care anymore.
    He takes a deep breath and allows the air to settle in his lungs. He starts to speak a few times before catching himself and starting again. “I just wanted to make sure you’re all right. I’m sorry.”
    “I’m fine, as you can see. Now you need to go.”
    “You look good,” he says softly, ignoring my request.
    I should have some sort of compassion for him because he’s obviously trying to play nice. But I don’t allow that soft spot for him because that weakens my strength. And what do I know–maybe he’s just still worried I am with someone else? Maybe he’s been with another woman and wants to come home?
    Squaring my shoulders, I lace my arms across my chest. “I am good. No thanks to you.”
    His shoulders slump and his eyes hit the floor. “E . . .”
    “Don’t. You have no fucking idea what you’ve done to me.” I see the door to what would’ve been the nursery out of the corner of my eye, and I choke back the lump in my throat. “But let me tell you this,” I say, walking close enough to him to poke him in the chest, letting my pain drive me, “I. Am. Still. Here. And all you’ve done is proven that I can live without you.”
    His eyes draw slowly to mine. “I’ve proven I can’t live without you.”
    “Don’t even say that to me,” I gruff, tears tickling the corners of my eyes. His words, coupled with the look on his face, would break me if I let them. “You don’t have the right to say those things to me! This was a marriage—” I yell, as he cuts me off.
    “It is a marriage—”
    My hand shakes as I glare at him, pointing my finger at his face. “No, it was a marriage, Ty, and you walked out.”
    “You told me to!”
    “Yes, I did,” I say, biting back the memories flooding my mind. “But I didn’t mean it. I just said it in the heat of the moment and you took full advantage.”
    His eyes narrow, his jaw ticking, but he doesn’t respond. He just stands there looking at me like he doesn’t know where to start.
    “A marriage isn’t something you can just come and go from as you please. You ruined this. Not me.” My voice is steadier than I anticipated and it gives me some courage.
    “You’re right,” he says carefully, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I ruined it and I will fix it.”
    “That would mean I want it fixed.”
    The hallway closes in on us, the air between us hot and thick. We just stare at each other, feeling each other out.
    “You have no idea—”
    “No!” I yell, my hand going back into the center of his chest. It’s wet and hard and feels so familiar. “You have no idea what you’ve done to me. To us !”
    His hand wraps around my wrist and my breath escapes in a smooth gasp. The contact, skin-to-skin, is not something I’m prepared for.
    It’s not fair.
    Bending down so his face is inches from mine, he says, “To us . Because it’s still us , E.”
    I snort, trying to ignore the feeling of his touch. The corner of his lip curls, his gaze darkening. The look is ferocious and as he takes a step towards me, I take one back.
    “Don’t act like I don’t know what us means, Elin,” he snaps, taking yet another step