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Ummm." Allie? You don't have to answer me right away and if you just want to say no, do so. I'll understand." I insisted."Can I get back to you in a day or two?" She asked nervously."That would be fine, and again, please don't feel obligated because I gave you a ride or anything. I totally understand. OK?" Hoping my question wouldn't shut me out from her."Jess, I only know 3 people here, Mary, Susan and you ... oh, and my landlord and she gave me envelopes for mailing my rent and she doesn't even live around here. I just need time, OK?" Allie, I said it was fine. Don't feel pressured or obligated." I assured her.Not another word was said between us about my request that week or the week following. Summer was turning into fall and I had all but forgotten my request for a date with Allie. I've been shot down before and Allie was a better than average looking girl who I am sure had her choice of men, or women for that matter, to go out with. She was still a nice girl and from my latest. They were small scars, always easily hidden by clothing, existing as permanent reminders of the worst aspects of obsessive possessiveness. You couldn’t call that love, by Greg’s book. People could be treasured, but they weren’t treasure, they weren’t things. He’s come to accept them as part of her, though his heart still twinges painfully as he watches over her at night, imagining the story each old wound tells. Almost like writing on a wall, each seems to speak: a burnt dinner might be that pale arc upon her upper breast, or a moment too late with a cold beer begat the white line upon her hip. This is what her scars do to him, as he stares, contemplating her nude body, and he can only imagine the nightmares they bring her. Amy cries out in her sleep sometimes, and he can only draw her closer to try and keep the dreams at bay. *** Greg has known a few women who have been abused, and whether it was by spouses or boyfriends, the station never really mattered, just the terrible effects.
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