Dawson's Secret

Part 4: The Hidden Scars

"Why?"

"You're cutting too deep."

Dawson then shrugged without question, almost as if he understood. "Okay," he said, removing the handcuffs and handing me the knife after he put yet another Ace bandage on me. I sat up as I took the knife in my hand and looked down at my right arm. Now, you can't see them unless you look closely, but I have scars. They're thin, faded white lines from self-harming.

I'm twenty-two years old now. I was seventeen when I started. I lost my boyfriend, Paul, in a car accident. We were driving to his house during a storm when a drunk driver came barreling toward us. The car had tumbled over on the road and the airbags deployed. Paul had shielded me from them, but the impact force of it broke his neck. Today, I still question why it couldn't have been me.

"What are you waiting for?" Dawson asked, pulling me out of my memory. I blinked, realizing I was staring at him the whole time. I put the blade against my skin, inhaled a deep breath, and dragged it across my arm, creating a thin red line. I gazed at the cut, suddenly remembering the feeling of relief that I always received afterwards. Hesitantly, I handed my arm to Dawson, and then I looked away as his lips made contact with it. I rested my head against the bed-frame and closed my eyes, waiting for this to end.

★

I rolled over to my side, my eyes slowly opening. Daylight made its way into the room. But today was different. I wasn't cuffed to the bed! I gasped at my sudden realization and sat up in shock.

I carefully looked around the room. Dawson was nowhere to be seen. I got up off the bed and walked to the bathroom. After I exited the bathroom, I walked over to the bottom of the bed and picked up my jeans. I then went back to the bathroom and shut the door, preparing myself for a shower. As I took off my clothes and waited for the water to warm up, I stood there and stared at the bandage on my arm. I had cut myself near the crease of my elbow. It was strange, this half-exhilarating, half-remorseful feeling of release coming back to me. It was like someone running into an old acquaintance from high school, but the two people never really got along.

Well, that's bad analogy, but you know what I mean. I stepped into the shower, letting the warm water run over my body.

★

I stepped out of the bathroom, a white towel wrapped around me. I don't quite recall how long I've been here, but if I could guess, I've probably been in Dawson's room for about two or three days. I walked over to the window and tugged at the curtains. They wouldn't budge. I pulled at them again and realized that the curtains were nailed to the window. Are you flipping kidding me? "Oh wait, I forgot; I'm stuck in a vampire's room who just uses me for food," I said aloud, my tone sarcastic. And then I laughed, walking away from the window. I can't believe I just said that. I laughed again, glad that I was alone for once.

After I dried off and got dressed, I decided to go downstairs. Or try to, at least. I stepped toward the door, anticipation growing inside me. Come on, Erica, my conscience ordered. Don't be such a wuss. I then grabbed the doorknob and turned it.

I walked out of the room and onto the staircase, my heart suddenly pounding against my rib-cage. Before I knew it, I was at the bottom of the stairs. I laughed, and then sighed in relief, realizing how idiotic I was being. I ran my hand through my dark brown hair and walked to the kitchen. It felt slightly weird, being in a stranger's house and the stranger has disappeared. But on the other hand, it's nice. At least he isn't watching over me like a hawk.

After a while, I decided to make a grilled cheese sandwich. I stood there at the stove, watching the cheese melt and the bread turn a crispy brown. When it was done I sat down and ate. I kept checking my surroundings as I ate, thinking that someone was watching. You're being paranoid, the voice in the back of my mind said. I couldn't help myself. I didn't know if Dawson was going to pop up out of nowhere or not.

I'll just wait it out, I concluded.

★

After I finished eating and washed the dishes, I suddenly became tired. So I went upstairs and took a nap. As I lay in bed, waiting to drift off to sleep, I tried to think of the days before I met Dawson, but nothing came to mind. Will I ever get out of here? I instantly thought. I shut my eyes, letting the thought linger in my mind. Hopefully, I will soon.

★

"I just don't understand, Erica. Why did you have to do this?" He asked, his hands tightly gripping the steering wheel. I scoffed at him, bewildered by his statement. "Well, why were you running your hands all over that slut like she was your girlfriend?" I retorted.

"Maybe if you hadn't been such a bitch to me tonight, that wouldn't have happened."

"Don't try to blame this on me!" I shouted at Paul. Now I looked at him. Rage that built up inside me from earlier tonight had now released in the form of words. He slightly turned to me, anger present in his eyes. "Well, who's fault is it then, huh? If you hadn't been badgering me all fucking night, none of this would have happened!" I sat there and stared at him, waiting for his response. He didn't speak another word. He just turned and glared back at me, evil present in his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but he was cut off by the sudden crashing sound that came from the head-on collision that we got ourselves into. We didn't even notice where we were going because we were too busy fighting.

★

I woke up screaming. I could not open my eyes, and I could feel myself lashing out at some unseen force that attempted to hold me down. "Erica!" I heard a male voice shout, and my arms were suddenly pinned side-by-side me. I recognized that voice. The sternness, the depth, everything. That was when I opened my eyes and saw Dawson.

His eyes were locked onto mine. I was afraid to speak, for I thought he'd scream at me again. I lay there staring at him, the blood drained from my face and I'm pretty sure I looked as pale as Dawson. "I'm sorry Dawson," I said, my voice trembling and tears streaming down my face. He said nothing. Instead, his left eyebrow rose in confusion. The anger in his eyes was soon replaced with concern, and his hard expression softened. He now looked like a different person. "Sorry for what?"

"For screaming."

He shook his head. "No, no...don't be sorry for that. What happened?"

I bit my lip, hesitant about how I was going to explain this. He wouldn't understand. But screw it, there's no harm in trying. "It's a long story," I finally said. He let go of my hands and I sat up on the bed. I was now eye-level with him. "Start at the beginning," he suggested tenderly.

"Okay, Dawson, but you have to understand this: I have scars on my body and stories I could never tell until now."