"God you're gorgeous," Kai said suddenly, into the darkness, deep voice muffled but not drowned by the faint noise coming from the television across the room. It was playing some ancient, but not forgotten movie, which neither of us had a particular interest in. I had been asleep, before Kai woke me. I can't say I'm complaining though. His voice rumbled through my skull, from my position with my head rested upon his chest. My hair was fanned out across his stomach, painting the black of his t-shirt, with waves of white and pink. It brushed the inside of his left leg, currently propped up on the coffee table.
It was serene. Calm. Perfect.
He began to trace the underside of the skin on my left arm. His fingers brushed the artwork collected over the years of taunts and jeers and unspoken hatred. Sick beauty radiated from each, the red a beautiful contrast against the milky white of my skin. It served as a reminder of things I had overcome. Things I still can.
I was snapped into reality, with Kai saying, "You're gorgeous. Beautiful beyond words, thought processes, anything else. But these aren't," he said, signalling towards the scars, "These are the one thing about you that isn't breathtaking, stunning, enviable."
I laughed, despite his obvious serious thinking.
"Nobody's perfect," I replied, after sucking in my breathe.
"Without these," he smiled sadly, "You'd be pretty damn close."
* * *
He bought me a rubber band the next day. Picked me up from school in his Ford Fiesta from 2003 and wordlessly slipped it onto my wrist. I raise an eyebrow, but didn't question him, as he started the engine, and pulled out of the drive. I could see mum peeking out from behind the curtains of the bay window at the front of the house. Upon seeing me looking, she pretended to take great interest in the wilted pot plant on the front lawn.
Kai saw the roll of my eyes, and laughed. "Next she'll be cutting eye holes out of newspaper," he joked.
"Oh shut up you idiot, she's bad but not that bad."
"It's called a joke, Estie. I thought little miss songstress would have come across that at some point."
"I'm sorry about my detachment with human culture," I said drily. "Now that I know we're on speaking terms," I continued, "May I ask why I have a rubber band hanging off my wrist?"
He shrugged, "I don't want to see any more imperfections," he said.
"Bit hasty. Being demanding are we Mr Rock Star. Smashed any TVs yet?"
"No, but I might have to practice with your head if you don't shut up," he laughed. I pretended to cower, placing my hands over my face. "You know what I mean anyway. No more little lines of death littering your skin," I blushed sheepishly, "So, every time you think you need to cut, snap the band."
I was silent for a minute.
"Thank you." I said. Thank you didn't suffice really. I meant to say, thank you so much for loving me, and for being there, and for understanding, and for loving me, and for using my songs, and for being perfect, and for loving me.
But, by then we had pulled into the school car park, so I left it at that.
He smiled and said, "My pleasure," before getting out of the car.
* * *
Later that day, I was walking down the corridor, in between lessons. I was in sixth form (as was Kai,) Year 12, but my deputy head didn't like me, (or anyone but her cat by the sounds of things,) and gave me two in a row.
