Until I Met You

chapter thirty-nine

Nova

Those four words are enough to make me want to get up and walk away. But I can't. He deserves to know. Besides, I can feel his eyes on me and hear his silent plea that I finally open up to him. When I turn to look at him, something in his eyes causes my heart to stutter. "Warren..."

He says nothing, and for that, I'm grateful. I'm grateful because I can see the understanding in his eyes, the patience. It's almost as if to say, I've had to wait this long, I can wait a little longer. And I know that even if I say nothing at this moment, he'll be okay with it.

But the thing is, no matter how much I want to avoid this conversation; I also want him to know everything that's happened to me. I want him to know the reason why I tried so hard to keep him at a distance. Why I'm the way I am.

"It's difficult for me to talk about," I say slowly. "I need to, um..." I shift uncomfortably.

My mind is a mess. I'm going to give this part of myself to him, expose my weakness willingly, and I don't know whether or not I want to put some distance between us or pull him closer to me. In the end, I choose the latter one; I move close enough that our shoulders are touching.

"His name was Carter Jackson" – I choke on his name – "and he was my best friend. We'd been inseparable since kindergarten. He was my first kiss, my first date, and the first man I ever slept with." As I speak, I begin to feel the familiar burn in my nose. I swallow hard. I need to hold back the tears for now and tell Warren more. No matter what we end up becoming after this – a summer fling, friends, or just two people that simply know each other – I want him to know.

"We had plans, and when we graduated from high school, we were going to go through with them. About a month after we graduated, we decided to rent an apartment together for a year and get used to the concept of living together before we went to Regina for university." I pause and take a deep breath. My composure is beginning to slip. "Oh God, it was wonderful. Living life with him beside me, loving me. We both had really good jobs, we were in love, and everything seemed so bright for the future."

"Then, there was one day...I had been working for the greenery that was about twenty minutes away from our apartment. Because I didn't have a car, I would always bike to work. So, it was near the end of August, and on my way home from work, a truck hit me. The man who hit me was beside himself."

Shifting away from Warren, I pull up my shirt until the left side of my body is exposed from the top of my ribcage to my hip.

"I cracked a couple ribs, had some severe bruising, and needed stitches," I continue, staring at the view. In the back of my mind, I can see the scar that's about as long as my pinkie finger.

"Christ, Nova," he says. "How did I not notice that when we were at the beach?"

I flinch when I feel his fingers trail the length of the scar. Not because of the shock or because I don't like it, but because it feels good – the warmth of his skin against mine is comforting.