"It is."

I feel someone staring at me like they want to hurt me. I whirl around in a quick circle, but I can't see anyone watching us.

Meghan squints at me. "What's with you today? You act like someone's after you."

"Someone might be."

"Seriously?" Meghan stops walking.

A bicyclist rings his bell angrily at her.

"You don't like it, get off the sidewalk!" Meghan shouts, giving him the finger.

"Let's keep going, okay?" I say, touching her arm. "At least to the park."

I start walking, and Meghan joins me.

"But who's after you? What's going on?"

"He's after me. My abuser. At least, I think he is."

"You mean, the guy you don't remember?"

"Yeah." I try to laugh. "That MP3 player I gave you? That was from him. There was a note from him earlier, too. I'm sure he's been following me, trying to scare me." I look at her. "I know how this sounds, but I'm not making it up."

"I know you're not." Meghan frowns. "He shouldn't get away with this."

"Well, I can't exactly call the police. Hey, officer, I think someone's following me-but I don't know what he looks like, except for his hands. And, oh yeah, I think he's the guy who raped me when I was little.' That'd go over really well, wouldn't it?"

"Aw, cops. What do they do, anyway, except swagger around?" Meghan juts her chin out. "We can do better. He doesn't want you to know who he is, right? I say we turn around and yell out what he did to you. Make everyone turn and look. With two of us, he wouldn't dare try anything."

I go cold. "No! He said he'd kill me if I ever told."

"You've got to fight back somehow."

"But not like that."

25.

I turn off the sidewalk and into the park. Leafy trees whisper in the wind, and birds call to each other from the branches. Even the air smells fresher, less like car exhaust, even though the cars are just a street away. I flop down on the gra.s.s, lean my head back against my hands, and look up at the green leaves and patches of blue sky.

Meghan flops down next to me. "We'll figure something out. Don't worry. You're not in this alone."

She's looking at me so intensely, I want to lean over and kiss her. Instead, I s.n.a.t.c.h the tube back and bop her on the head. "Aren't you going to open this?"

"Hey!" Meghan grabs the tube and bops me back.

I laugh, shielding my head.

She pulls the cap off and draws the painting out, unrolling it carefully. Then she sits there, staring at it.

I'm scared I've freaked her out, but when she looks at me, her eyes are shining.

"It's beautiful," she says. She leans over and kisses me on the cheek, lets her lips rest against my skin for a moment. "Thank you." Then she starts to cry.

I don't know what to do. I rub her back. "What is it?"

Meghan gulps. "No one's ever done anything like this for me before." She wipes her cheeks with her wrists. "It's so ... romantic."

Romantic. The word echoes between us.

I keep my gaze on the ground, watch an ant crawl up a blade of gra.s.s. She can't mean it the way I think she does. There must be some other meaning for the word.

"Kendra?" Meghan reaches for my hand.

Our fingers touch, warmth exploding through me.

I jerk away. "But you-you like boys." My cheeks burn.

Meghan hunches over the painting. Her hair falls over her face, blocking my view. "I sleep with boys. There's a difference."

"You have s.e.x with them ... but you don't like them?"

Meghan looks up at me through the curtain of her hair. "Hey, I told you I was screwed up."

"You're not screwed up."

"Whatever." She looks away again and jabs the ground.

I want to touch her face, her hand; I want to rea.s.sure her.

She rips up a handful of gra.s.s, then throws it jerkily away. "I've always been turned on by girls. But I thought that if I slept with enough boys, I'd get it out of my system-start thinking like everyone else."

"And you haven't?" My voice is hoa.r.s.e and deep. I almost don't recognize it.

"Nah." Meghan cups my face in her warm hands and kisses me.

Her lips are soft and wet against mine. I never knew it could feel so good. So beautiful.

Meghan pulls away, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"What's wrong?" I ask, my heart pounding in my ears.

She shakes her head, still crying. I wrap my arms around her, and she leans into me, pressing her face against my neck. I can feel her tears against my skin.

I wish I could take her sadness away. I hold her tighter. Meghan cries and cries. I don't know what to do, so I just keep holding her.

Meghan sniffs and laughs. "Sorry; I don't normally do this."

"It's okay. It helps get it out."

Meghan sits up, her shoulder still touching mine. She twists her leather bracelet around her wrist, the wood beads appearing, then disappearing. "Maybe I sleep with boys because I don't feel close to them. There's no way to get hurt."

"But there's no way to feel much love, either," I say. "Not when you're cut off like that."

"I know." Meghan shudders. "I could feel it-love, connection, something-with you. Kissing you was different. Don't be mad, Kendra. But I don't know if I'm ready to let someone in that much."

"I'm not mad," I say softly. "I can wait as long as it takes."

And I can. I will.

Because I love her.

26.

Meghan smiles, lips puffy and vulnerable. "Let's just hold hands for a while."

I reach for her hand. It feels soft and strong at the same time. It feels right. Not like his hands.

I wrench my gaze from hers. I'd forgotten about being followed. I take a quick look at the people scattered around the park: the shoppers strolling along the sidewalk, the people sitting at the cafe across the street. But I don't see anyone watching us-watching me.

Meghan traces my hand with her fingers.

I shiver. Her fingers trail up to my wrist. I feel the ache in my arm and the heat from the wounds. Can't let her see.

I jerk away.

Meghan pulls me back, turning my arm over. "What's this?"

A small corner of white bandage pokes out from beneath my sleeve. I jerk away again, yank my sleeve farther down. "Nothing; it's nothing."

"I don't think it's nothing."

My heart is beating too fast. I never thought this would actually happen-someone finding out. I've been so careful. But Meghan sees me, and I don't know whether to be scared or happy.

"Kendra." Meghan takes hold of my hand again, clasps it in both of hers. "Don't you trust me?"

"Yes, but-" I bite my lip. "If I show you, you can't tell anyone. Promise?"

"I promise."

Trusting her scares me, but that's what love is all about. At least I think it is.

I undo the b.u.t.ton on my sleeve, rolling it up to show the gauze beneath, greyish white and bloodstained.

"Jesus," Meghan says, her voice choked with tears.

"Don't look yet. Just give me a minute."

Meghan closes her eyes.

I turn away from her. I don't want her to see me do this. I unroll the gauze and stuff it in my pocket. Then I tug at the edge of one of the white pads. It sticks painfully to my arm, pulling at the skin. I grit my teeth.

There's no pain when I cut, just the easing of fear inside me. The pain comes after, when I'm finished. But it's a fast, clean pain that shuts down everything I need it to. I expect it; I even want it. But this pain feels messy and slow, and it's not strong enough to do anything but make me hurt. And I don't like hurting.

I hold my breath and yank hard. The pad comes off, taking pieces of brownish yellow scabs with it, leaving open, b.l.o.o.d.y wounds. I yank the second pad off and turn around.

Meghan's eyes are already open. I slowly stretch my arm out toward her.

I can hear her breath catch in her throat.

The wounds I made the other night are scabbing over, ugly soft yellow crusts working to join the puffy, reddened flesh back together. My arm is a grotesque patchwork of unbroken flesh, hardening scabs, and shiny new red strips of skin-and now, small, b.l.o.o.d.y mouths where some scabs got ripped off.

Meghan covers her mouth. "Why did you do this?"

"Why do you sleep around?" I snap-and then wish I could take it back. I reach out my hand. "I'm so sorry; I didn't mean that."

"It's all right."

"No, it's not...." I look at the ground. "d.a.m.n. I was scared you were judging me."

"I'm not. And you're not the one who deserves to be hurt, Kendra. He is."

"That's not why. I'm not punishing myself. Not most of the time, anyway. I cut because it helps me."

Meghan frowns, looking puzzled, and I know she wants to understand.

"Cutting stops the memories when I need them to stop. It bleeds the pain away when I can't take it any more. It gives me relief. Lets me breathe."

"It numbs you?"

"Yeah. Emotionally, anyway. At least for a while."