Permanent Scars

2 Chord

November 2, Saturday. 11:47 p.m.

Soft footsteps are heard ascending the porch, nearing the front door. They stop to be replaced by two gentle knocks, which I swiftly answer. Peering through the window as I undo all the locks, I see Adam standing patiently. He's got his backpack and guitar case with him.

   Opening the door, he steps inside and quickly sets down his things, removing his wet jacket and sneakers afterward.

   "Uh... Adam?"

   "Yeah?"

   "It's late."

   He shrugs. "So?"

   "I'm supposed to be in bed. Asleep."

   "This isn't a visit. I didn't come to hang out. I came to keep an eye on the place while you're sleeping, since I can't sleep anyway."

   "You don't have to do that."

   He steps close to me, sets his hands on my shoulders. "And you don't have to be so tough all the time."

I open my mouth to object, but he looks so decisive, I clamp it shut again and stare at my feet instead, mumbling a soft thank you.

"You're welcome. I promise not to bug you or anything. It's just that when I was at work, I kept thinking about last night, and our conversation before I left, and how you haven't really been yourself lately. I just wanted to make sure you're doing okay. I know you're dealing with a lot right now. You've been there for me, I wanna be here for you."

I bite my lip and glance at him shyly, not knowing what to think.

   "I thought about taking you to my house, but then I figured you probably don't want to leave for fear something might happen to this place while you're gone."

   All I do is nod, too many thoughts trying to clog my mind at once. Before I know what I'm even doing, I've wrapped my arms tightly around him, my face pressed into his shoulder. Caught off guard, he nearly tips over, but holds onto me.

   "Easy there," he mutters gently. "Everything okay?"

With a hefty shrug, I pull myself together and stand apart from him. He runs a hand through his hair, teeth tugging faintly at his lip rings. I'm not sure why, but I'm getting uneasy. I'm catching this vibe of discontent coming from him.

It's probably nothing. I'm just crazy.

"I want my cat," I blurt, instantly feeling embarrassed. He smirks sympathetically.

"She'll come around. Don't worry. Now, you can either go to bed or you can stay up for a guitar lesson. Your choice, I won't pressure you."

Playing guitar might trigger me, right? It might make me think about the concert, how we'd had such a good time only to have it come crashing down when we got to my house. On the other hand, if I just go to bed, I'll be thinking about those things anyway.

May as well risk it with the boy who makes me feel safe.

   With a sympathetic smirk, Adam leads me to the couch. At this point I've come to the conclusion that he is incapable of simply smiling—he can only smirk.

   Why am I even thinking of that?

   Taking our respective seats, Adam tunes up before placing the guitar in my lap. It's kind of special to be the only person he trusts with this particular instrument. Not even Dylan has that kind of honor and exclusivity.

   "We're gonna try something a little different this time," he says gently, moving closer. "You're gonna learn to compose a song."

   "Adam, you're forgetting I can't read guitar tablature."

   He chuckles. "It's really no different from the uke, I promise. You don't need to know tab to compose a song. We'll start with two chords, then build from there. It's very simple."

   "If you say so, maestro." Dubiously raising an eyebrow, I allow him to gently guide my fretting hand along the neck of the guitar. Outside the rain pours down gently, providing a soothing backdrop to the music we're creating.

   "Listen to the rain's rhythm," Adam says softly. "And the tempo. Try to match that. Let your song become part of the rain."

   "With just two chords?"

   We pause, and he nods seriously, eyes alight with musical passion. "Trust me girl, you can do a lot with just two chords. The arrangements are endless." Just as he's gently moving my fingers to the next position, his phone vibrates in his pocket. Sitting so close to him, I can feel it vibrate against my thigh.

   "Hold on," he tugs the device out and holds it to his ear, jumping to his feet within seconds of listening to whatever's on the other end. His eyes grow wide. I become uneasy and hold his guitar close as if it will protect me.

   The call ends quickly. Adam is clearly trying to hold in every emotion he's got as he swallows hard and says stiffly, "I—have to go."

   "Go where? Why? What's happened?"

   His mouth is a grim line as he swiftly packs up his things and laces his sneakers, shoving his arms into his jacket and grabbing the umbrella. He's out the door without another word, before I can thank him for his time or even say goodbye.

   I stand in the middle of the room, staring out into the rain through the open door, wondering what just happened.