Big Bad Wolfie

Tears blurred my vision as I looked up at his glaring face.

I know he's not glaring at me.

He has this habit of being very expressive about what he's feeling. You can always tell it on his face when he's really upset about something.

And he looks like his patients is wearing thinner every second.

He started off looking sad and confused. The longer I don't tell him what happened, the more pissed off he gets.

"Maria," he said, grabbing my waist and trying to turn me around so he could see the scars on my back better.

"Wolfie, no. Stop," I told him, pushing his hands away.

"Who did this to you?!" He growled.

"No one. Just let me go," I'm already crying, but I feel like I'm about to ball. The lump in my throat is growing by the second.

"No one?! How could no one have done this?!" He seethed. He yanked me around so we were standing in front of the mirror where he had a clear view of my back.

One of his hands were lifting my shirt to expose my whole back, and the other was holding my hip in a strong grip.

I looked behind me to see what he's seeing and saw the hideous sight.

Every time I see the ugly scars, it reminds me why I avoid mirrors after showers and backless or strapless dresses.

I'm so hideous underneath all the craziness.

So weak.

All my energy seemed to leek out of me at the sight.

I turned back around and couldn't even bring myself to look at his chest, let alone his eyes.

I looked to the floor and slowly drew in on myself. I crossed my arms over my chest and hunched forward.

He saw the part I don't want anyone seeing.

I had him. I actually had him.

Now I've lost him because of these d@mn scars.

He thinks I'm weak now. Like everyone else does when they see them.

The sad thing is, I can't say they're wrong.

When the uglier scars are covered, I'm the strongest person in the world. I don't care what people think.

When their not, I'm a scared little girl, again.

It'd be different if I didn't still have nightmares. Maybe if my parents weren't gone. Or maybe if the way I got them wasn't so f**ked up and it didn't replay every time I see them. I hate myself.

Why do I have to be so in my own head?

I can't even sleep because of this s**t.

How am I failing at something so simple?

Babies do it!

It happened seven years ago, for crying out lou -

Wolfie is hugging me.

He's standing with his arms, scent, and goodness wrapped around me like a blanket.

It's doing a lot for the frost bite that felt like it was ripping up my back.

But now I feel like I'm on fire.

He bent down and nuzzled his face into the crook of my neck. He's no longer looking in the mirror at the evidence of my weakest moments.

He let my shirt fall, but his hands still explored my back.

Not in the urgent, sort of rough way he did before, but the way a lover would caress their partner.

Which threw me for a freaking loop. It had my mind going fuzzy.

"What ya thinking about?" He whispered.

My insides did somersaults.

It wouldn't be Wolfie if there weren't mood swings, would it?

"Nothing," I mumbled back.

He shook his head, "You know, the more you deny anything is wrong, the more I wanna know."

I stayed silent.

"Does this maybe have something to do with the nightmares?" He questioned quietly, carefully.

I hid my face in his chest and ignored his question for a second to bask in his touch.

This is confusing me so hard.

Why is he acting like this?

Why is he running his hands along my back like the skin there isn't rough and bumpy?

Why is he acting like it's beautiful?

"Maria," he hooked his finger under my chin and tilted my head up to look at him.

Normally, I hate this action. I don't know why. It's one of my pet peeves in life. If you wanna piss me off and make me snap at you, grab my face and try steering me around. Though, in this moment, I feel so small and vulnerable. I'm pretty sure even if I tried snapping at someone, the words would just die in my throat.

The fact that it's Wolfie is not helping.

He hugged me tighter, "C'mon, please, talk to me."

The statement made my mind reel but my body relax.

This situation is just a rollercoaster.

Even though, if Wolfie wasn't so invasive and insistent, we wouldn't even be on this ride, now that we're on it, I feel like letting him hold my hand through this s**tshow. I suppose that means opening up a little.

"Yeah... It's what my nightmares are about," I started slowly, hugging myself tighter and detaching from his warm chest.

Opening up doesn't mean I'm happy about it. If I didn't think he would chase me down if I tried to leave, I would be long gone.

But having this conversation in public is about as appealing as a snake latching onto my face.

"What are they about?" He asked gently.

D@mn your compelling voice.

"When they kidnapped me," I mumbled under my breath.

Somehow I shrunk into myself even more.

His arms tightened around me, but he didn't say anything. He took a second to collect his thoughts.

"Who kidnapped you?" He said stiffly.

"... The hybrids."

I've never heard my voice so quiet.

Somehow, he stiffened even more. "And now you want to go after them? Are you crazy?! You —"

"Don't yell at me!" I screamed at him before he could even get started. I'm overwhelmed enough. If he starts throwing a fit, I'm gonna have a panic attack.

He clenched his fists over my scarred back but took a deep breath. "Sorry," he gritted.

I hid my face back in his chest.

What did they do to you?"

I slowly looked up at him. "What do you think?" I whispered.

The look of the scars are pretty self explanatory.

He swallowed. "They used a whip?"

I gave a small nod and hid back into his shirt. "Among other things."

"How did it scar you so bad with your healing abilities?" He unconsciously skimmed his fingers over the lumpy skin.

"The poison."

He didn't say anything.

"That's how you developed an immunity? They... Um... Used it on you a lot?"

"... Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

I shrugged tiredly, "It's not your fault."

I grabbed his wrists and tried to pry them off me, "Can you just forget you ever saw this now? And let's just never talk about this again."

He frowned, "Why are you so against people seeing this?" He asked sadly.

I frowned back, "You mean besides the fact it's repulsive and makes me look weak?"

He shook his head at me. "You never usually care what people think. And you have plenty of other scars on display all the time," he ran the his thumb over the one under my eye.

I looked down, back to being small. "Those are battle scars. Or can at least be passed off as them. Those are beautiful. They show your strength, what you've been through." I rubbed my arms. "Like yours.

For all anyone else knows, you single handedly took down a group of twenty rouges and came out with just a few scars."

He nearly laughed out loud, "That is not what happened."

I shrugged, "You'd never know. Mine on the other hand," I hung my head lower. "there's no mistaking what mine are from."

Pathetic.

"The weakest moments of my life. It's etched into me and on display forever."

"You can't judge people on their lowest point, Maria. It doesn't define you," He tried to convince me.

My heart warmed, but not enough to melt the ice that's formed around this subject over the years.

"And yet, people do. I do," the tears sprung back to my eyes. "I hate them. I hate the reminder. I hate who put them there. I hate the judgement I get when people see them. I hate all of it," I talked about the

scars.

Wolfie flattened his hands against my back. "I don't."

Then he crashed his lips onto mine.