SCAR: a monster's love

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CHAPTER 1

TW

PANIC ATTACK

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JED'S POV:

The darkness isn't just around me-it's inside me.

I can feel him. Again. His hands-bruising, possessive, relentless-claw at my memory like jagged glass. I'm trapped in that room, that goddamned room, with the smell of sweat and metal and blood. Laughter echoes around me-not mine. Theirs. Always theirs.

The cuffs bite deeper into my wrists as I thrash, powerless. I know I can't overpower him. I never could. But somewhere in me-what's left of me-refuses to surrender.

"You bastard!!!" The scream tears out of me, hoarse and helpless. My voice cracks, brittle from fear and rage and shame.

My lips tremble. My vision swims. My eyes are hot and red, like they've been crying for years even when I haven't let the tears fall.

And then-

I'm awake.

But I'm not free.

The panic clings to me like a second skin. My breathing is shallow, desperate. The air feels thick and wrong. I reach, blindly, instinctively, for the blade hidden under my mattress. Cold steel. Cold comfort. I draw it across my skin-once. Then again. And again. The pain is sharp, real, grounding.

I hate this skin.

I wish I could rip it off and leave this filthy body behind.

I want to disappear.

The blood wells up in crimson rivers, staining my sheets, my fingers, my world. The sharpness brings a twisted sense of relief-an illusion of control in a life where I have none. I don't stop. Not until my hearing dulls and my sight starts to blur, like my mind is checking out, leaving me behind.

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There's a beeping. Distant. Rhythmic.

Reality calls.

I blink through the fog. My vision clears enough to see Maverick hovering over me, his expression twisted in something between heartbreak and fury. His jaw is tight, but his eyes-God, his eyes-they're filled with pain. Disappointment.

I did that.

I put that look on his face.

The tears I've been fighting finally slip down my cheeks. Silent. Hot. Ashamed. But the wounds on my body are nothing-nothing-compared to this ache of seeing him look at me like that.

"I panicked," I whisper. My voice is broken, like I've forgotten how to speak.

"Jedi..." he breathes, barely audible. "What have you done?"

That question shatters me.

There's only so much I can carry. But hurting him? That's a weight I can't bear.

I want to tell him I'm fine, that he shouldn't worry. But the words are stuck, strangled in my throat. I can't lie to him. I never could.

"I'm not disappointed," he says softly, leaning closer. His gaze searches mine, seeing more than I say-more than I can. "I'm scared. That's all."

He always knows. Always feels what I can't express.

I try to be strong. I really do. But it's useless. The dam breaks. My cheeks are soaked, my shoulders shake, and I crumble.

"I felt him," I choke out. "His hands. Their laughter. The pain. I felt it all again. I felt dirty. Ugly. I couldn't help myself."

I collapse into his arms, curling up like a child seeking shelter from a storm that never ends. His arms wrap around me, strong and safe, and still trembling with panic of their own.

"Just breathe for me, Jedi. In and out," he murmurs, his voice the only steady thing in my world. But I see it-the fear in his eyes. He's barely holding on.

And I did this.

To him.

Again.

I feel awful.

Like a curse that keeps coming back.

I'm selfish.

I let the tears fall until I have no more left. My body sags against him, exhausted. Empty.

He holds me through it all. As he always does.

"I'm sorry," I whisper into his chest, the words barely there.

"I know," he replies.

And somehow, that's worse.

I wish I could stop.

Stop the pain.

Stop hurting him.

Stop being this broken version of someone I barely recognize.

But I can't.

Not yet.

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