“You’ve been through this?” I asked.
“All this and more, Kat. Lots more.”
“And you’re out …”
“Yeah, I’m out,” I said, sighing.
“Cor, was it hard?”
“It’s all hard, Kat. Staying in. Getting out. Staying out. It’s all bloody hard.”
“But you look so … what? Confident. So … coping.”
“We’re all acting the same lies, Kat. We’re all frightened, pretending we’re tough. Lost, pretending we’re sorted. Scarred, pretending we’re mended.”
“But … but how did you escape?”
“Long story but, right now, the details don’t help. My first step, however, was deciding I was going and deciding I’d be alright. I’d cope.” My hands eased across the table and covered Kathryn’s. She didn’t move.
“But … but …”
“I just decided, Kat. I just decided.”
“And?”
“I kept deciding. And deciding. And deciding. I hung on to hope till my guts ached. Till my skin ached. And I kept hanging on. Every smack I hung on harder. Every punch I hung on harder. Every put-down, every denial, every confidence-busting bloody thing I hung on harder. It’s like he punched hope back into me. That’s all I can say.”
“Jeez.”
“I hung on to the hope, the dream, of being okay one day. I hung on way past hurting time and I kept hanging on,” I said with fervour, explaining it to myself for the first time. I looked down and realised I was squeezing the blood out of Kathryn’s hands. I quickly let them go. “Sorry!”
“It’s okay, Chris. But he punched the hope out of me.”
“Yeah, same here. But I decided differently; that each impact brought that punched-out hope back. I just decided.”
“And it worked, obviously!”
“Not for a long time. Not for a bloody long time. But then opportunities came and I took them.”
“And you’re here.”
“Here to help you, Kat.”
“No, keep moving, get out of here. I’m good. Don’t hold yourself back.”
“You’re not good and I owe you the moon.”
“You owe me nothing.”
“You have no idea, Kat,” I said, trying to out-stare her. “I’ve run as far as I’m going and now I’m staying.”
Excerpt from Scars Can’t Tell #ScarsCantTell - https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BMXYM1FJ