We walked home hand in hand on a less crowded part of the sidewalk. Tom tried to talk to me, but I was thinking about what I'd talked about just now with Dr. Ozera. I really didn't like the idea of showing off my scars; even if it was just Tom, I was too embarrassed by them. I thought about how when it wasn't too cold Tom wore his usual over sized t- shirts. Even though the sleeves covered most of his arms, he wasn't embarrassed by the scars that did show; and he still slept in just his sweatpants or underwear. He really wasn't afraid of his scars so he didn't really try to hide them. I just wasn't sure if I would have that same kind of strength.
"Helloooo?" his voice snapped me out of my thoughts.
"Huh?" I said confused.
"I said 'do you want to stop for something to eat?'."
"Oh; yeah, sure."
We entered a small ice cream parlor that was completely empty (which wasn't surprising since it was December). I got cookie dough and Tom got lemon sorbet. We sat outside the shop to eat our food.
"What were you thinking about that distracted you so much?" he asked.
"Stuff Dr. Ozera said," I said trying to make it sound casual.
"Like what? What did you talk about today?"
"What I thought about when I was away."
"Anything else?"
"She said I should not wear long sleeves when I'm at home," I said after a lengthy pause.
"Are you?" he asked, trying to hide his enthusiasm.
"I don't know," I half mumbled.
"Why not? It'll be good for your recovery."
"I'm embarrassed by them."
Tom put down his sorbet and picked up my hand in both of his.
"I know you are, and the way I reacted to them last night probably didn't help; but the sooner you can get over these fears the faster our lives can return to normal."
"I know," I said weakly.
He stood up, pulling me with him.
"Then let's head home and start getting back to normal."
We finished our ice cream on the way home, getting many strange looks from people. We weren't far from home and arrived in minutes. Tom helped me out of my coat when we walked in the door before removing his.
"I have a web cam meeting with some producers soon, so I'll be in the office if you need me," he said with a kiss on the side of my face.
With that, he disappeared to the small room where he and Bill kept all their instruments and recording equipment. I stood in the front room wondering what to do. I wandered to the guest room which was where I kept all of my stuff. Looking at my clothes, I noted almost all of my tops had long sleeves. I pulled a thick black and red flannel shirt I'd stolen from Tom from a hanger. I tossed it on the bed then stood in front of the full length mirror on the wall. I rolled up my sleeves and looked at my arms. They were layered with scars and other marks from various kinds of abuse and manhandling; I could hardly look at them. And I was expected to walk around showing off my whole body? Just the idea of it scared me. But, if it did help me move on faster, the sooner the better.
Turning away from the mirror, I pulled my turtle neck over my head leaving me in a plain white undershirt. I quickly pulled on the flannel shirt which covered most of me, but left my collar bone exposed (which also had numerous marks on it). I kept my eyes down and walked back out to the living room. I turned on the T.V. to Spongebob Squarepants to watch. I tried to focus on the show, but a thick stack of paper neatly filed in a manila folder on the coffee table kept distracting me. It was a complete copy of the file on our case from the day we had been abducted. Tom had read it obsessively while I was gone; he still read it now sometimes and suggested I read it to fill in missing information. I really wanted to, but I was too afraid to face the past. All I was able to do was fill out simple reports with basic information about how I was doing now.
Tom suddenly walked out of the office and sat down on the couch next to me.
"Hey—nice shirt," he said sarcastically.
"Thanks," I replied just as farcical.
He stared at me for some minutes, but not at my face.
"What?"
"You have a sexy collarbone," he said bluntly.
"What are you talking about?" I asked as I felt myself blushing.
"And you're really cute when you blush."
"Stop it," I giggled.
"Why should I?" He asked raising an eye brow and pulling his mouth into a smirk. He also simultaneously moved his body closer to me.
"Because," I said, leaning back.
"That's not a reason," he said as he moved even closer.
"So what?"
"Your shoulders are quite tantalizing as well," he carried on. He continued to inch closer to me as he spoke.
"What of it?" I was also continuously creeping backwards.
"Just thought I'd mention it."
This playful banter continued until I was sitting on the arm rest and he was sitting next to me. In one swift move he grabbed me by my waist and pulled me onto his lap. He leaned his forehead against mine and closed his eyes, sighing deeply.
"I thought you were going to stop wearing long sleeves," he said against the side of my face.
"I'll get there, I'm going slowly."
"How slow? One inch of skin at a time?" he teased.
"If that's what it takes," I mumbled.
He sighed again and picked his head up from my face to look at me.
"No one's going to see you here but me. You already know I don't care about what your skin looks like. If you want we can cover all the mirrors until you're ready to look at them, but sometimes baby steps are too small."
As he was speaking he slid the flannel shirt off of me, tossing it behind the couch. I automatically crossed my arms over my chest in a weak attempt to cover some of the scars. He pulled my arms down and placed them on my legs, resting his over them.
"How do you know it'll happen that fast?" I asked.
"I don't, but we can still try; if you're willing to," he said as he looked into my eyes. "Are you?"
Showing my scars was the last thing I wanted to do, but I knew I had to be strong and get through it. I wanted to move on and have a life so much it hurt. And it was unfair to Tom that he had to put up with it all.
"Yes."
And so began the restarting of my life with Tom.
Note: fear not, the story does not end here there is still quite a ways to go