Barefoot

Epilogue Pt 2

She smiles and he is still dazed by it, a smile spreading on his lips before he can even feel it. "Let's go for a swim," she suggests. "It's far too hot today."

He nods and turns around while she pulls her dress over her head, revealing the red bikini he had bought for her years ago. Just like she thought when he showed her, it was perfect. She loved it and so did he, but he loved everything she wore, even if it was sweatpants and a hoodie. He insisted she was perfect, and she knew she wasn't, but she was perfect for him and that's all that matters.

She tugs his hand and pulls him towards the river. She splashes onto the smooth stones and he leans down, throwing water up with his fingers. She squeals and laughs, pushing his chest. He picks her up, one hand at her back and one beneath the back of her knees, and tosses her playfully into the water. She's soaked immediately and the flowers in her hair fall out, floating down the river. He lends her a hand and she yanks him down, landing on top of her with his hands catching himself before he actually lands in the water. "Nice try," he smirks.

She laughs and gives him a smirk of her own. "It wasn't a try. It worked." She tosses water right into his face and catches him off guard, flipping his body over so now he's the one who's dripping wet. He shakes his hair out like a dog and grabs her body, his arms wrapped around her waist. She laughs again, something that never ceases to stop when he's around, and wraps her arms around his neck. He leans down and presses a quick kiss to her lips, then picks her up and sets her on a higher stone so she's almost as tall as him. He rests his head on her shoulder, his arms still around her waist, and she kisses the side of his head affectionately.

He kisses the scar on her shoulder, knowing she's very self-conscious about it. The deep scrapes she had sustained in the accident years ago had resulted in a very bumpy, strange looking scar that took up most of her shoulder blade. She left her hair down whenever she wore tank tops or strapless shirts because she hates it, but he likes it. He thinks it shows her strength.

Her body stills as he kisses it. He turns his head so he can look at her face. Like her shoulder, the cuts on her face had left scars, but those she could cover with makeup- when she actually wore makeup. Where she had broken her leg also had a scar, though that one had faded and was nearly gone. The stitches there had been so tight that it was a tiny white line and she had minded that one the least.

He moves one of his arms from her waist and brushes her hair away from her shoulder. She simply watches him, knowing that even if she covers it, he will uncover it again. He can see the dislike in her eyes as he runs his fingers over it, something he does often. "Why do you do that?" She asks. "You know I hate that scar."

"Because I love it," he answers plainly.

"Why?"

"Because it's a part of you." He brushes some stray hairs from her face. "Listen to me, okay? I'm going to tell this to you and you're going to believe me." She nods. "I love you. I love all of you, and until you learn to love yourself as much as I do, I will tell you every chance I get. I love everything about you, scars included. Never be ashamed of your scars," he says firmly. "You know what scars are?" She shakes her head. "They're a message to the world saying I survived."

"That helps a little bit," she admits.

"Well, I've got one more thing. It's something my mother would say to me after I got the scars from my father. She used to say, 'you're body is an empty canvas when you're born. The bumps and marks and scars that you get through your life tell your story.'"