Scar

I'm not that guy who takes women out to nice restaurants, and I'm certainly not the guy who gets invited to such restaurants by women. My scar took care of my desire to be out in public with normal people a long time ago, and my lifestyle since took care of the rest. But if a gorgeous woman asks you out, you say yes. And that's pretty much all I've been focusing on. Namely, just how gorgeous she still is. Even though she nearly folded in on herself while that cowboy was making his move on her before I chased him away.

She was flirty when I first met her, not in a forward way as most women I meet are, but in a good-girl-next-door kinda way. At the diner, I watched her fend off guys who went too far with smiles and gentle rejections. Today, she couldn't even speak when that guy put his moves on her. She's still as gorgeous as ever—even more so because she's all woman now—but she's clearly damaged. While I was rescuing her, the fantasy of her wrapping her arms around my neck once I got her out, and telling me I'm the only one for her right before we rode off into the sunset together, kept playing in my mind.

But the reality was a completely different story. She could hardly speak, hardly even focus her eyes on me, and I knew I was too late, knew Lizard and the rest of that scum broke her. There's no coming back from that. I've seen women broken like that, more such women than I like to think about. I fucked more of them than I care to admit too, but that's because they're easy, and I like things easy in general, and especially when it comes to women. That's more or less the kinda women I can get with this face of mine—easy ones. And they're the most fun to be with besides, so it works out.

Lynn was out of my league then. Now she's still out of my league and broken besides. But she did say she's been waiting for me to visit for a long time and she did invite me on a date, so I'm gonna forget all that and take it all the way tonight.

The restaurant Lynn wanted to meet at is a family sort of place. I checked it out on my way back to Sanctuary and promptly realized I have nothing suitable to wear to it. But I never fitted in anywhere except with the MC, so I'm used to being out of place.

We're meeting at seven-thirty, and I got here early, which earned me fifteen minutes of getting gawked at in fright and disgust by passersby. But I'm used to that too.

That's not how Lynn looks at me as she parks her car aways from my bike and walks up to me. She's looking at me like she's very happy to see me. Almost as happy as she looked when I showed up at her work this afternoon. She dressed up too. Damn, but she should be on the cover of some magazine not getting an early dinner with an ugly motherfucker like me. In a perfect world, that would be a fact. In this world we're both fucked up and it makes perfect sense that we're here together.

The dress she's wearing covers her up completely, but is still sexy as hell. The women I usually meet wear tight, skimpy outfits that hide nothing, but this is better. The wind is blowing her skirt here and there, and my dick swells a little more each time it blows hard enough to give me a glimpse of her ankles and calves.

Cool it, bud. The sun hasn't even set yet.

"Hello, Scar," she says when she reaches me, her voice faint and strangled like she's scared. But she's smiling. "Am I late?"

"No, I'm early," I say reassuringly, since she seemed genuinely worried. "Let's go in."

The urge to place my arm around her shoulders is strong, but I fight it. It’s too early for that. We gotta talk some first, see if we're on the same page about this date.

She's so elegant and so gorgeous, and she always seemed more like a dream than a real person to me. Back then, she was saying my name with a smile on her face, and talking to me with a smile on her face. That never made much sense to me. A woman like her and a guy like me? That has to be just a dream. I wanted to fuck her from the moment I saw her—what warm-blooded guy wouldn’t? —but it was more than that with her. I was happy just spending time with her, listening to her stories and telling her some of my own. But I was younger and more naive then. That guy is gone.

"This place, huh?" I ask and offer her my arm so we can start walking.

"Yes," she says and almost takes it, then flinches and folds her arms over her chest.

I pull my arm away and pretend I never offered it in the first place. The gesture was part of that dream I was remembering before. Because in reality she was broken by a bad man, and the only reason she's smiling at me is because I rescued her and saved her from more torture.

Probably the only reason she smiled at me before then was because she's a nice and kind woman who felt sorry for me. This ain't no fairytale, it never was. I could probably fuck her once or twice because even good girls like to go slumming with bad men sometimes, but anything more than that is just a fucking fantasy.

We walk in step to the door, where I do remember my manners again, and open it for her.

The place is crowded and the interior is all done up in dark wood, which gives the light a reddish tone, and that's something I'm used to at the other establishments I frequent. It's also kinda dark, which suits me perfectly. They direct us to a booth, which is so small our legs would be touching if she didn't keep hers tucked well away under the bench.

A frazzled looking waitress with bleached hair that looks yellow in this light comes to take our order and Lynn looks after her with a knowing look in her eyes when she leaves to bring our order.

"She must be dead on her feet," she says. "I remember what it was like during busy times at the diner. We called it "rush hour" and it was especially bad, if you got stuck working it alone."

"I should've been there to walk you to your car that night," I say since that regret’s been floating in my mind a lot today.

She blinks in surprise, then looks at me like a doe caught in the headlights. A very graceful and pretty doe. "I would've told you I was fine and said, "No, thanks". I was all about being independent and making my own way back then."

She tries to smile, but can't quite do it.

"And you'd figure I wanted something more besides walking you to your car, which is another reason you'd say no, right?" I ask and grin at her.

She shrugs and her smile is a little more pronounced now, but still faint as hell. "Maybe. Probably. But with you it was different."

Our drinks arrive just then, snatching away the moment for me to ask, "Different like how?", and breaking this tension that I remember existing between us back then. Maybe she remembers it too, maybe she felt it too, maybe she's trying to get back to it too.

But her face grows is very serious, almost stone-like after the waitress leaves, so it was probably just me living in that fantasy again.

"You couldn't have done more for me than you did," she says.

We both know that's an exaggeration.

And the way she stopped my attempt at flirting in it’s tracks with another “thank you”, just told me this really is just a thank you dinner and nothing more, as far as she’s concerned. Maybe it's for the best.

She's worth more than a fuck and a, "See you later" afterwards, but there's not much more I can give her. She has her life and I have mine, which is no place for her. Besides, what woman in her right mind would want to hang on the arm of a scarred monster like me?

That thought is always in the back of my mind. Most of the time I don't even hear it anymore, but it's there. It was plenty loud when I was getting ready to ask her out that first time, before Lizard took her. And it's plenty loud right now.

"You're welcome, Lynn," I say. "Any decent guy would do as much for you if he could. Rescuing you is its own reward."

The waitress brings our food before she can explain the thoughts that are bringing that cringing, skeptical expression to her face.

She thanks the waitress the way a colleague might, showing that same warmth I saw in her back then, the one that made me think she could see past my scar. But it's just her spiel, just an act. She's Miss Congeniality, for sure. I wonder if she ever won that title. She must have, the way she just flipped from frowning to smiling. I'm the one she's frowning at and that should tell me everything I need to know.

She ordered something called risotto and I got the same thing, since I had no idea what else to order here. I should've gone for spaghetti, that's Italian, I realize as I'm staring at the rice on my plate. I hate rice.

That, the people turning in their seats to stare at us, and the fact that I don't know what I'm supposed to make of this thankfulness of hers is making me wish dinner was over, so I can either find out what's what or go home. I could just hear the waitress thinking, look it's Beauty and the Beast over here, while Lynn was being all nice to her, and that pissed me off too, not so much for my sake.

I know what I am. I don't hide from it and I don't deny it. I'm a beast through and through, a very bad man. And I'm also at a crossroads, because my brand of badness is no longer required.

But this pretty, delicate lady sitting across from me is not someone I can take with me down any road. She deserves more than I can give her. I knew that then and I know it now and I should've just left things alone instead of looking her up. Now this dinner is just adding to the pile of shit I'm already wading through.

I thought we'd smile at each other and then go somewhere private to have some fun afterwards, but the longer I look at her, the more I realize this is all just part of that fantasy that can't be.

I start eating, since I can't very well leave a full plate when I leave.

"I'm glad you looked me up to tell me about…about…" She can't say Lizard's name, and she once again reminds me of a frightened doe as she struggles to compose herself.

"If it were me, I'd want to know a thing like that," I say to help her along.

"I did want him punished," she says and smiles kinda apologetically, holding her fork up but not touching her food.

"Only by the cops, right?" I ask, swallowing a mouthful of the crunchy rice without chewing it, because I hate uncooked rice worst of all.

She shrugs and nods, again very apologetically.

"He got punished the only way he was ever gonna get punished. Cops couldn't touch him," I say and try to eat more of the rice, but give up on the idea before I bring it to my mouth. It's too disgusting.

She nods and finally starts eating, not saying anything more. Though I think plenty more is going on in her mind, judging by the shifting in her gorgeous stormy sky blue eyes. Most people find storms depressing, but I always liked the wind and the rain.

She comes out of her trance by shaking her shoulders a little then looks first at her plate and then at mine.

"You don't like it?" she asks.

"Let's just say that if I'd known it was rice, I wouldn't have ordered it."

"We can go somewhere else if you want," she says, and maybe she's just saying it, because she's Miss Congeniality through and through, but I'm gonna seize it. It’s time to get out of my head and find out what's what.

So I grin at her. "Like to your house?"

She freezes, even the storm in her eyes does. She's not a doe caught in the headlights anymore. She's a doe that's already been hit. And killed. I missed my chance to be her twelve years ago, and this dinner is just a very annoying reminder of that fact.

Never mind my scar, never mind the fact that I torture and kill people for a living. That's not the problem. She wasn't in a fit state to ride off into the sunset with me when I rescued her, and she never will be again. And it's pissing me off so bad, I can't sit here and be reminded of it anymore.

I didn't save her. I just freed her.

"So that's a no on your house?" I say to break her weird silence, which reminds me too much of that night I dropped her off at the hospital when she just stared at me with her gorgeous, thankful big blue eyes, but didn't speak at all. I can deal out pain and death all day long, but I could never stand witnessing delicate, fragile things suffering. And that's what she was that night. A trampled little flower. A dead doe. Not much has changed.

She doesn't say anything, doesn't even look at me, just stares down at her hands. But things are happening in her mind, I can see it in the storm raging in her eyes.

Maybe I'm blowing this way out of proportion and she just doesn't want to fuck me, but doesn't know how to say it. Either way, I'm ending this shit now.

She's not eating, I'm not eating, and now we're not even talking anymore. I wave the waitress over so I can pay and get out of here. Lynn still isn't saying anything while I take care of all that.

But I'd prefer to end this night on a friendly note. "I had to try, Lynn. You're too beautiful not to try, and you did ask me out. But I won't bother you anymore. I'll just go now."

She clutches my arm as I move to get up, and looks so deep in my eyes I can feel the wind and the rain in them hitting my face.

"You should've asked me out back then. I would've said yes. But now I'm just too messed up. You're the first guy I've been to dinner with, since it happened, can you believe it?"

I just shake my head, since I have a hard time believing that, a very hard time, but my mind is too stuck on what she said before that to answer her.

Yet all she's telling me is in the past, so far in the past I barely even remembered it until my life got turned upside down by Cross' decision to make the MC only about running guns from now on.

It all came back to me the second I saw her, but that doesn't change much.

"Well, it's true," she says and smiles faintly. "And I hoped this dinner would go better than this, but I can't. Just thinking about having sex gives me a panic attack. If I had to do it, I'd probably have a heart attack. I think I just already had all the sex I was meant to have."

She chuckles darkly at her own joke, the sound the exact opposite of her giggles, which I loved listening to back then.

"I'm not gonna lie, Lynn. That’s not exactly what I hoped to hear tonight," I say. "But I guess it's my fault for being a big pussy and not asking you out when I had the chance. I figured you finally fixed that by asking me out earlier, but…"

I should've stopped talking long before now, and I finally do when I notice the sad expression on her face.

"I can't," she says in such a soft voice, I barely hear it, and I'm not sure I was meant to either.

"It's alright, Lynn, don't worry about it, " I say and toss a couple of dollars for the tip on the table.

"We're not the people we were back," I add and get up.

She nods and clutches her purse to her chest as she stands up too. I follow her outside where the gusts of wind are strong enough to seriously shift her skirt to and fro, giving me glimpses of her thighs, not just her calves, and I wish I could just enjoy the sight of her bare legs without all the extras.

I like to keep my life simple. Lynn is a complication. She was a complication from the moment I saw her. I never had any idea what to do with her, just as I don't right now.

She turns to me suddenly as we reach her car and I almost run right into her. I like being close to her. The closer, the better. That part of things was always easy and simple to figure out. The rest, not so much.

"We could use some help at the ranch for the next couple of days," she says breathlessly, her eyes very wide, but not in that scared way. More in an excited, I can't believe I just said that way. "I realize this dinner didn't go so well, but I'd still like to see more of you now that we reconnected."

I grin a little, can't help it. "Or you just need someone to scare off all those cowboys up there at the ranch?"

She blushes a soft pink, but then smiles slyly, the way she always would before saying something funny. "There's that too, if you wouldn't mind."

"I wouldn’t mind at all," I say and grin even wider.

It's scaring off other guys I'm agreeing to, not so much the actual ranch work. I don't know the first thing about working on a ranch, but I'm sure she'll teach me, and I'd love to learn from her.

I over-complicated things in my brain with all that thinking before. Lynn and me, we're probably never gonna fuck, but I like spending time with her so that's all good too.

Between her saying I'm the one guy she's been longing to see again, the way she keeps smiling at me, her saying I'm like her goddam prince savior over and over again, and how dressed up she got for this dinner, I let my dick get ahead of my brain. And it wouldn't hear reason even after she told me it was impossible. But I got it back in check now.

"OK, I'll see you tomorrow morning at eight," she says and unlocks her car, then lets me hold the door open as she slips inside as gracefully as any doe I've ever seen.

"Yes, you will," I say and she smiles and I grin back and then close the car door, because she's already got the keys in the ignition.

That was simple. A simple request that was simple to say yes to. I want to see her again. And what could be simpler than that?

All those other things, they're not gonna go away by thinking or talking about them, so why bother?

* * *

Lynn

That dinner was a disaster! I went in there thinking I'd let him take me home, or at least let him kiss me goodnight, but the problem was, I kept thinking about it. So by the time he suggested we go somewhere private, I was on the verge of a full blown panic attack. I froze when he mentioned going to my house, just like I always do, and he couldn't wait to get out of the restaurant after that. Forget Miss Illinois, I was Miss Mixed Signals tonight. No wonder he got pissed.

But I can't be with him. Not that way. Not yet.

No, not ever.

I can't stand being touched by a man. I'd just go right back into that black hole in my mind where I hid so I could forget and recover. I won't risk that.

Trying to explain that to him didn't go very well either. Few people understand what it's like, and I guess a huge, muscled, scarred biker is probably very low on the list. But I never saw him as just that.

By the time we were walking to my car, I wasn't even thinking about any of that anymore. I was just hoping for a do-over to the whole thing. I messed up and he was leaving, and I didn't want to never see him again, but we were heading down that road fast.

I still can't believe that after all that, I just asked him to come help at the ranch, just like that. And that he said yes, just like that. Simple and natural. Better than I hoped for. I wish everything between us was that simple all the time. I wish there was no need for hard conversations. But the rest—other than joking and laughing and talking and spending platonic time together—is impossible for us.

Thank God he said yes to my request or my heart would probably hammer right out of my chest in that parking lot.

The living room light in my house is on. I'm sure Mom is waiting for me to get home and will wait until I do. I drive past the house, because my face is hot, I'm breathing fast, and I know Mom would know in a second that I'm not returning from a quick dinner with Tammy. I'm not yet ready to talk to her about Scar.

My mind is whirling in a thousand different directions right now and none of them make much sense. I was always so unsure about my feelings for him, but at the same time, deep down, I was always very sure. I haven't forgotten him, and it's all coming back to me now. Along with every second of the failed dinner we just had.

Maybe I shouldn’t have told him the truth about me and men. Maybe that was too much. But he's coming to the ranch tomorrow, so maybe it wasn't too much?

I told him, because he's easy to talk to and I could always tell him anything. But also, because he's the only person who knows. Knows exactly what I went through, because he saw me at the bottom, saw the room I was locked up in, saw the bruises and the blood and my filthy naked body. I was just a thing when he found me, a well used thing nearing the end of her usefulness. Like a sofa that needs to be replaced.

Even my mom didn't see that, because the ER nurses cleaned me up before she was notified that I was rescued. Scar also knows, because that's his world and I'm sure he's seen it all before and probably since.

My mom can't talk about it, and I'm sick of explaining it to psychiatrists, because I can't stand their pity. I also don't want to take the pills they keep prescribing. We all know that the only cure for me would be amnesia, or something else that would make me forget it all. I need to just wake up one day not knowing who I am. I mentioned that to my last shrink and she almost had me committed, because she was afraid I was suicidal. I'm not. I appreciate this gift of life that was restored to me. But if I could give the memories back, I would.

I'm driving too fast, but I'm on an empty road going up into the hills that I know very well. I'll stop once I get to the top. Then I'll sit there and look down at the valley where I live, watch the lights twinkling below me and the stars sparkling above me, until I once again remember that the world is full of beauty that's worth living for, and that appreciating it is enough.

After half an hour of sitting in the grass by my car on top of the hill, the sparkling, peaceful world all around me works its magic. My thoughts are no longer a runaway train in my brain.

Scar is the only person apart from my mom who knows me from before, who remembers me as I was. My mom doesn't remember that girl anymore, and I hardly do either. But I think Scar remembers her very well, and maybe, just maybe he can bring her back, so I'll see her again too.

There's such a tiny chance of that!

Besides, it's a whimsical, poetic and naive wish of the kind my head was full of once upon a time, back when I still sorta believed that I could actually help save the world, if I was crowned Miss Illinois.

These days I can't even save myself, and I've stopped trying. But I want to try again. And somehow, under this blanket of stars, on this night, with the promise of seeing the only man I ever fell in love with tomorrow, I kind of feel like I’ll succeed this time.