Forgotten Scars Read online

  Forgotten Scars

  Scars of Days Forgotten Series

  Natalie J. Reddy

  Natalie J. Reddy

  Copyright © 2019 by Natalie J. Reddy

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  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Visit the Author’s Website at nataliejreddy.com

  For Suraj and Claire,

  You two are my greatest Adventure!

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Excerpt From Hidden Scars

  Also by Natalie J. Reddy

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  The little girl shivered. The sharp, chilled night air bit at her cheeks and nose.

  “We’re here,” a female voice spoke, and the little girl looked up into the eyes of a teenage girl; a girl she didn’t know yet whose hand she held. Regardless, she gripped the hand tighter as the rain coated her lashes and soaked through the hood of her dark wool coat. Confusion swirled through her as she took in the buildings and streets around her. She didn’t recognize anything. Not a single thing felt familiar or made sense to her.

  Where are my mommy and daddy? she wondered. She knew enough to know she should have parents but as she strained to bring their faces to mind, she couldn’t. How would she find them if she couldn’t remember what they looked like? How would they find her?

  A siren blared, and the little girl started, her eyes darting across the street. Police cars pulled up as men and women in uniforms walked in and out of a large building. Where am I?

  “Across the street is a police station,” the older girl said as she knelt in front of the little girl and pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. “A safe place.” Carefully, she pinned the paper to the little girl’s coat; the rain instantly dampened the paper causing the words to smear ever so slightly. “I’ll walk you across the street, but you need to go inside by yourself.”

  The little girl’s eyes widened, and she shook her head. No! She couldn’t! She didn’t want to go alone!

  But the stranger in front of her smiled. It was a sad smile, but she rested a hand on the girl's chest, and warmth seeped into her. “You can do this,” she said. “You are so brave and so strong.”

  Was she brave? She couldn’t remember. But in spite of herself, she nodded.

  She was pulled into the teen’s arms for a brief moment, and when she pulled away, her eyes were shining, not with rain but with tears.

  Why is she crying? The little girl wondered, but the only response she got was a gentle kiss on the forehead.

  The older girl stood and took her hand and led her across the busy street. Once they were outside the police station, she gave the little girl’s hand one last squeeze before nudging her towards the front entrance to the police station.

  “I love you, Wren,” she called after her, but when the little girl turned back one last time, she had already disappeared into the crowd.

  I crumpled the envelope in my fist before yanking open my bedroom door. I moved down the hall, stepping around a pair of jogging shoes and a guitar case before making my way into the eat-in kitchen.

  Emmy, one of my roommates, lifted a well-manicured brow in my direction as I yanked my chunky grey cardigan off the back of a kitchen chair.

  “I’m headed to campus,” I muttered, heading to the door.

  “See you later,” she called around a mouthful of Lucky Charms.

  I tossed a wave back in response, letting the front door shut behind me.

  Stepping outside into the beginning of dusk, I started down the steps that curled down the side of the two-story building. The clatter of cutlery against plates and the hum of music drifted from the restaurant below my three-bedroom apartment. I shared it with five roommates, and though it was a tight squeeze, it made for dirt cheap rent.

  The breeze that met me was cool, but not cold, and brought with it the smell of chicken souvlaki and a hint of blossoms. I pulled on my cardigan and shouldered my canvas messenger bag before stepping onto the street into the heart of Greek Town. I glanced at the crumpled envelope one last time before shoving it inside my bag and starting the fifteen-minute walk to campus.

  Usually when I walked to campus I took my time, allowing the sights and smells to assault my senses and later turn them into a sketch or painting, but not tonight. Tonight, nothing seemed to dampen the disappointment filling my veins.

  The letter had been a surprise. I had planned everything around getting into a summer art program in Barcelona. It was a program that would have allowed me to work with amazing modern artists. But more than that, a handful of students would be chosen at the end of the summer to be a part of a year-long internship with the school and other select studios around the Mediterranean. My work was top of my class, and I had received letters of recommendation from almost all my teachers. I wanted one of those internships so badly, and I hadn’t prepared myself for the possibility of not going. I just assumed from the encouragement from my teachers that I’d get in. But I hadn’t been good enough, something the letter in my bag made perfectly clear.

  A blast of wind whipped my recently dyed hair into my eyes as I turned the corner onto Pape Avenue. I ran my fingers through the tangled pink and purple strands. ‘Mermaid hair’ the hairstylist had called it. The mixture of periwinkle-purple and fuchsia swirled together made it look like I’d stepped out of a fairytale, or at least my hair had.

  I’d never looked like one of the princesses from the fairy tales, not with the scar that stretched along the side of my face. It reached from my temples to my lower jaw. My hair usually covered it, but the odd time I absentmindedly tucked it behind my ear, it showed in all its glory. When that happened, I’d get curious looks, and occasionally, questions followed. Childhood accident, I replied, but really I had no clue. Memory loss brought on by trauma was what I’d been told time and time again.

  I put on my headphones and turned on Skyward by Davina Michelle, and as I passed the subway station, I let the music seep into me. Tightly packed houses lined the street, and I walked past a few couples holding hands, a family out for a walk, and an elderly couple sitting on their front porch, all enjoying the Spring evening.

  Soon I reached Centennial College. There were numerous campuses around the city, but this campus focused on art. I cut across the grass, passing the bike racks in the front of the brick and glass building before slipping through the main entrance. I hurried past the displays of paintings and photography that decorated the main lobby and started up to the second floor, and its shared art studio. I had
an assignment due later that week in my fine arts class and needed to add some last-minute touches.

  It was my boyfriend Jesse’s turn to use the studio, but he wouldn’t care if I worked at the same time. He likely wouldn’t even be there. He was a business major and had taken the art class to impress a girl. He hadn’t impressed that girl but couldn’t drop the class, despite his dorm and all his other classes being in another part of the city. Eventually, his interests had switched to me. We had almost nothing in common, but Jesse was fun. Something I’d been sorely lacking in my life.

  The light in the studio was on when I approached, and a smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. At least I wouldn’t need to be alone. I turned the knob and pushed the door open.

  At first, I didn’t see anyone. I was about to step inside when I spotted the make-out session happening on a table in the far corner of the room. I decided I would come back later. I stepped back, about to ease the door closed when I spotted a backpack sitting haphazardly on the floor by the couple’s feet. The backpack sported a familiar patch of the emblem for the Toronto Blue Jays. It was familiar because I’d sewed it on for the owner!

  “Jesse?” I stepped inside and kicked the door shut behind me.

  “Wren!” Jesse yanked away from the girl he was with, unwrapping her arms and legs from his waist and neck. Their faces were flushed, and their breaths uneven. My stomach twisted as I noticed the top few buttons of the girl’s shirt were unbuttoned, showing traces of her pink bra underneath.

  They’d been at this for a while.

  “What the hell, Jesse?” I felt like I’d been punched in the gut, my feet frozen to my spot by the door.

  Jesse ran his fingers through his sandy blonde hair, and for a moment I thought I saw a glint of tears and a look of devastation cross his face. But then there was a twist of a cruel smile, and it erased all trace of regret.

  “I’m sorry you saw this.” He shrugged, not sounding sorry at all.

  “What?” My bag slid off my shoulder, hitting the ground with a thud, but I didn’t care. I just gaped at the man I’d been dating for almost six months who now seemed like a complete stranger. I blinked away the tears pricking my eyes and took a breath, “Why?” I asked. “And why here? You know what this studio means to me.”

  That studio was a safe place. A place where I could create in peace, where I could believe in myself without someone looking over my shoulder and telling me otherwise. It was the place I opened myself up to the emotions I otherwise kept buried within myself. And it was also the place where Jesse and I had kissed for the first time. The place where we’d spent hours talking over boxed wine and potato chips, while I painted and he attempted to paint. And now? That was all lost.

  “Jesse?” I asked, finding it harder to fight the tears.

  “Who are you?” The girl asked, her voice deeper than I expected.

  “I’m the girlfriend.”

  She slid down from the table and shot Jesse a hard look.

  Jesse took a step back and put his hand on the girl’s lower back, and now that she’d fixed her clothes and wasn’t wrapped around him, she looked like a pretty decent person. “Wren, this is Paula.” Jesse ran his fingers through his mussed hair.

  My brow furrowed as I cocked my head and studied Paula for a moment. I took in the glasses she’d slid on and her wavy brown hair and the cute dimple in her chin. The flash of a photo tucked in a drawer in Jesse’s dorm room popped into my head, and I realized who she was.

  “This is Paula? Your ex-girlfriend Paula?” My jaw went slack in disbelief.

  “Yeah—” Jesse shrugged like it was obvious. “—we ran into each other at Jason’s party the other night. You know, the one you didn’t want to go to? Well, I guess we missed each other.” He flashed Paula a grin, but she didn’t meet his gaze.

  “You missed each other?” I clenched and unclenched my jaw, anger coiled up into my gut. “You’re an asshole!” A major asshole. And I was an idiot for never noticing.

  “Aw come on, Wren. We both knew that our relationship wasn’t anything serious. That’s what you said the other day, wasn’t it? We were just having fun, right?”

  I thought back to the conversation we’d had. The one where he’d asked me to come up to his family’s cottage for a couple of weeks in the summer and meet his parents. The one where I told him I was planning to move to Europe and that maybe we shouldn’t take any big steps like meeting parents when I would be gone soon.

  “Right,” I said. Of course, that’s what this was about. I was stupid to hope that he would let that go. “So you decided to just move on and start seeing other people without telling me?”

  “You moved on first, Wren. You made your feelings about our relationship perfectly clear when you decided to move across the world without even talking to me about it.”

  I nodded. There was no point in telling him I hadn’t gotten in or that I wasn’t leaving. He was right. In a way, we’d cheated on each other. I just hadn’t thought he’d let go so quickly. I hadn’t thought I’d lose my best friend just like that.

  “You’re right.” I picked my bag off the floor. Tucking my hair behind my ear, I felt Paula’s eyes instantly go to my scar. I didn’t care. All the anger I’d been feeling was replaced by something worse; loss. “Have a good life, Jesse.” I turned to keep him from seeing the tears in my eyes. “I’ll miss you,” I whispered before pushing into the hall.

  I heard Jesse call my name, followed by a loud “What the fuck!” from Paula, and I ran. My boots slapped against the tiled floor. I didn’t stop to catch my breath until I was outside and up the street. My side was burning and my breath was coming out in gasps.

  “Stupid son of a—” A couple of girls bumped into me. They shoved their way around, and one of them looked back and glared. I glared back. I knew I probably should just go back to my apartment, but it didn’t feel like the most comforting place to be. I just wanted to be home. So I turned in that direction.

  I cut across the street as I spotted the familiar slanted roof and the glowing windows that took up the front of the Toronto Public Library. Pulling open the door, I took a deep breath as I slipped inside. The scent of books greeted me like an old friend, a friend I was always glad to see. Libraries and bookstores always felt like home, similar to the way that a paintbrush felt like it belonged in my hand, and the way a mug of tea brought the promise of warmth. Books and my art had been an escape for me since childhood. Since I’d started college, this library, in particular, had become my home away from home—or maybe it was my only home.

  A cool burst of air swept in behind me as the door opened, and I stepped aside.

  “Wren?” said a familiar voice.

  I turned to the person behind me. “Wendy!” The corner of my mouth pulled up.

  “It’s been forever,” Wendy said, leaning forward and pulling me into a hug. She was warm, despite coming in from the cool night, and smelled of vanilla.

  We had met the year before, and although Wendy was a good ten years older than me and we only saw each other at the library, we always managed to lose a couple hours sitting on the floor among the rows of books whenever we bumped into each other.

  “Where’ve you been, girl?” she asked in her usual gentle voice.

  A year ago, during my first week of school, Wendy had stumbled upon me sitting in the back corner of the library next to the dusty reference books. I was a mess, overwhelmed with trying to find my way on my own, and Wendy had offered me a cookie of all things. A freshly baked chocolate chip cookie she’d made herself. I’d been so closed off from everyone else, but Wendy and I had talked for almost two hours that day.

  After that first encounter, we continued to bump into each other, and soon it became a weekly thing. Wendy had seen me cry about losing both my dads in a car accident during my senior year of high school. She had been there when I had first started dating Jesse, and she’d listened as I’d gushed about his kissing skills and how he made me feel almost normal.
Without Wendy’s friendship, I don’t know where I would have been or how I would have made it through the last year.

  “I’ve been busy with school,” I said, pulling out of her embrace, trying to keep my voice light. “I haven’t gotten much of a chance to come here lately.”

  Wendy held me at arm’s length, her brow scrunched as she cocked her head. “Is something the matter?” she asked, her slight British accent making everything she said sound lyrical. “You look like you could use a shoulder.” She pulled a knitted beanie off her short-cropped, mousy-brown hair and stared hard.

  “A shoulder?”

  “To cry on.” Wendy smiled knowingly.

  I shrugged, forcing a smile to my lips. “Doesn’t everyone?”

  She raised a brow, taking my arm and pulling me down a row of books. She sat on the floor, motioning for me to do the same.

  “Alright. Talk,” she said after I’d settled myself across from her.

  Tears pricked my eyes, and I brushed away the one that managed to slip down my cheek. Wendy waited as I began digging through my bag.

  “I heard back from the art program.” I pulled out the crumpled envelope and smoothed it out as best I could before handing it to her.

  She sucked in a breath. “And?”

  “Look for yourself.” I nodded to the letter.

  She carefully pulled out the letter and unfolded it.