Hi everyone. I'm back with a new one-shot, although I suppose I really should be working on the one for Annoyance's new contest...but I'll get around to that one soon. This idea just came to me randomally and here it is. And on a side note...plagerism sucks. Don't do it. Ever. It's pretty much ruining this site. So thanks oh so much to all of you who thought you could get away with *note my sarcasm.* But without further ado, here's Battle Scars.


Battle Scars

"So I take it I'm not getting any tonight?" That would be the first thing he says to me when he finds out we're locked in a room together on a Friday night. So someone explain to me how we wound up laying in bed together with me falling for him more and more by the second.


It was my friend's fault that I was here. It was her fault that I was destined to be bored on a Friday night because she had canceled our other plans. It was her fault that I decided that yes, I would tag along with her to this "super cool, totally awesome, out of this world party" that I had apparently also been invited to. Which I didn't know about until a couple of hours ago.

It was her fault that I decided to be daring tonight, to let loose and wear an outfit with a little lower neckline and a little shorter hem than I usually wore. It was also her fault that I had decided to be a little more liberal with my application of makeup—meaning actually wearing some instead of going natural like I usually do.

But most importantly, it was her fault that I was now locked into a room with Tucker god-damned Davidson for the entire night. A room with one bed, a tiny bathroom—thank god—but unfortunately, no way out.

Needless to say, I was going to kill her when I got out of here.

"So I take it I'm not getting any tonight?"

I turned around slowly from where I was at the door, jiggling the handle uselessly, to lock my glare on the aforementioned boy, who was standing by the bed with his arms crossed casually in front of his chest. "No," I growled, narrowing my eyes at him, "You're not getting any tonight."

He uncrossed his hands and held them up in front of him defensively. "Take it easy, Princess, it doesn't hurt to ask."

I huffed at him and raised a dubious eyebrow.

"Hey," he said, patting the air with his hands—as if that was going to calm me down. "I don't like to make assumptions. You never know, with the way you're dressed tonight, Princess, maybe you had something in mind."

A growl rose from somewhere deep in my throat. "By merely asking the question, weren't you already making an assumption?"

His face slackened for a second as he considered what I said, and then brightened apparently. "It would look that that, wouldn't it? But I was merely asking a question based off of an observation."

"And what observation would that be?" I shot at him snarkily. Michelle was going to die tomorrow morning. I just hadn't figured out how yet.

"The fact that you looked like a cat trying to save its life by trying to get out of that door." There was a pause, and then he chuckled lowly. Surprisingly, I couldn't detect any humor in it. "It's almost like you didn't know what was going on here tonight, Princess. Either that or you were hoping to get a better room assignment. Say Tristan, for example."

There was a degrading sneer in his voice that I clearly heard when he said his brother's name. Tristan Davidson was, of course, the golden boy of our high school, the "good' twin. Fluffy blond hair, blue eyes, soccer and lacrosse player, straight A student and vice-president of our student body, Tristan left his twin in the dust competition wise, both from the hearts of nearly 90% of the girls at River High and the love of their parents as well. Poor Tucker was the black sheep in the family—the darker hair automatically setting him apart from his brother, but also his more angular features giving him a harder appearance. He wasn't straight A's, but he passed with a regular B average, and he didn't participate in any school activities. He wore darker colors and hang out with the "gothic" crowd, although he wasn't seen to be one of them. Of his personal life, not much was known, especially since he was always in his brother's shadow.

I walked over to the bed and flopped myself onto it, heaving a sigh. "No, I didn't know what this was going to be tonight," I groaned, the anger draining from me rapidly and just leaving me weary. How was I to know that the party Michelle dragged me to was a sort of dating party, where everyone was paired together with someone else and thrown in a room, with a locked door, for the night. That's what I got for going to a party in a mansion. Could this technically be called kidnapping? Wasn't I technically a hostage?

Tucker's eyebrows shot up on his head. "Really?"

"Really, really," I murmured, reaching up to yank out my messy pony tail, shaking my auburn hair around so that it was down past my shoulders. If I was going to be stuck here, I was going to be comfortable. I didn't care how much of a mess my hair looked right now. Up next would be the makeup. Too bad I didn't have any more comfortable clothing.

Tucker was looking at me with a weird expression on his face. "You honestly had no clue what was going to happen here tonight?"

"None," I replied, tugging at the uncomfortable hem of my skirt. I looked enviously over at Tucker's clothing. Comfortable dark jeans and a silky black button down shirt, with the first few buttons left open. I rolled my eyes when I realized that. "If I had known I wouldn't have come."

"You wouldn't have?"

"Nope," I replied, heaving myself off of the surprisingly comfortable bed and heading towards the bathroom. Thank God for small favors.

I heard Tucker follow me as I went.

"Why not? Shelby's parties are infamous for having great guys to hook up with. Or at least, that's what the girls all say."

"Great guys?" I snorted, turning on the water and cupping my hands under it, splashing my face in an attempt to remove the layers of product pasted onto it. "Like yourself?" I ventured.

"Like my brother," he replied, and I peeked up at him to see him leaning casually against the doorframe. He had been looking away, but turned his gaze to me, as if he felt me watching him. "I…I don't know how I got myself dragged into this."

"Looks like we're in the same boat then," I muttered as I wiped my face off with a towel. "Only I take it you knew what was going to happen tonight."

"I did."

"And you were hoping you were going to get lucky?"

Tucker shrugged. "With the girls that usually come to these things, I figured it was a possibility."

"And instead you got landed with me. Probably the only girl who won't be putting out tonight," I concluded. I felt a constriction of guilt in my chest. I should have never come…I felt bad that Tucker wasn't going to get what he expected, which was most likely a trivial and fleeting, but likely effective what it lasted, release from whatever troubles he was bound by. "I'm sorry."

"You're apologizing?" he asked incredulously. "Why? You have nothing to apologize for."

"You're stuck in here with me instead of with some bimbo who you could use and loose, so I'm merely stating that I'm sorry fate threw you in here with me instead."

He grunted in response, and I moved to the window, gazing out it. Being three stories up, there was no way I was risking crawling out of it, but at least it had a nice view.

"Why did you do that?" Tucker asked, coming up to stand beside me again. I looked at him in annoyance—must he insist on sneaking up on me like that?

"Do what?" I asked tiredly.

"Take off your makeup just now?"

I looked at him over my shoulder, startled. What sort of question was that, anyway? Catching the question on my face, he shrugged his shoulders.

"It just seemed random, so I was curious. Most girls would have left it on."

"Yes, well, I'm not like most girls," I snapped, frustrated again. I pressed my fingers against my temples and stalked back to the bed. I thought I heard Tucker mutter, "I've noticed," but I couldn't be sure. But one thing I knew, I could feel the tears pressing against my eyes. Right now I wanted more than anything to just be home.

I took a deep breath to steady myself. "I took it off because it was bothering me. I wasn't exactly in the mood to be wearing it anymore. I don't know if that's something you could quite understand."

"Oh? Why's that?"

I looked up at him ruefully. "Because," I drawled, "I doubt you've ever worn makeup."

He smirked at me. "You'd be surprised."

I tilted my head at him, and was about to open my mouth to say something when he interrupted me.

"Can I ask you a question, Princess?"

Eying him up warily, it took me a minute before I could respond with a nod of my head. "You can ask, I might not answer."

"Fair enough," he conceded. He walked over and sat next to me on the bed. "If you could be in a room right now with Tristan instead of me, would you take it?"

A huff of exasperation left my lips before I could help myself. "What is your obsession with your brother?" I cried. "I don't understand!"

"I'm just trying to understand what all the girls see in him," he muttered.

"Well when you find out, feel free to let me know because I've been wondering that myself for years!" I shot back at him, crossing my arms angrily over my chest.

Tucker's head snapped up, and his eyebrows climbed to the top of his forehead. "You have?"

"Yes," I sighed, pacing slowly to the other side of the bed, sitting down on it, and away from him. "Everyone worships him like a god, but I don't see it. All the attention gives him a big ego, and he just seems to…false…to me. I've never liked him, never pictured myself with him, and I sure as hell can't stand it when my friends—and all of the other girls—moon over him."

I felt Tucker straighten on the bed, and then the movement of the mattress as he crawled over to the side where I was. I tried not to squirm—he was making this harder and harder.

I had always been…drawn…to this boy that I was now locked in a room with. He fascinated me for years. While his brother soaked up the limelight, he hid in the shadows. And he was good looking, too. More so than his brother, I always thought. His black hair was always alluring, whichever style he decided to wear it in—right now, it was short, but long enough so that it could still be tousled in a way that made him nearly irresistible. His blue eyes were the same color as his brother's, but had more depth to them, and displayed his emotions clearly.

But it wasn't just that either. I watched him when no one was looking, when I could observe him for myself, and it was then that I alone discovered his secret passion—drawing. I had seen so few of the actual pieces he drew, but I loved the concentration he gave each one when he sat alone under a tree or on a bench. I had seen his notebook once, but he had snatched it away from me quickly, snarling something about privacy. I don't know if he remembers that now, if he even knows that that was me.

"That's very…refreshing, to hear," he said lowly, and I didn't know if he was talking to me or just himself. His gaze lingered on me, but I wasn't quite sure he was actually seeing me, so much as staring into space. I tugged in frustration at the tight clothes I wore. More than anything—besides wanting to be at home—I wanted to get into comfortable clothes.

"What time is it?" I wondered out loud.

Tucker seemed to be startled out of whatever reverie he was by my question. "Midnight thirty," he told me.

We had only been in here for half an hour. Great. "Well I don't know about you," I said, trying to keep my voice as nonchalant as I could, "but I think I'm going to grab some shut eye."

He nodded wordlessly in agreement, then eyed me funny as I stood. "Uhm, where are you going?"

"I thought I'd pee before I went to sleep," I snapped at him. I almost instantly felt bad for yelling, but wasn't in the mood to apologize.

"Hey, wait a second, Princess," I heard him say, and I turned around to face him, only to feel myself start with surprise as I watched him start to unbutton his shirt.

"What…what're you doing?"

His lips curled into half of a smirk. "Well I'm not going to sleep with it on and I'm willing to bet it's more comfortable than yours," he said, finishing the last button, slipping it off of his shoulders, he tossed it to me, and it took all of my willpower not to stare too much after I snatched the shirt from the air.

How could girls pick his brother over this creature of beauty, I wondered? His chest and stomach were finely sculpted and perfectly angled, and I was willing to bet that they had more muscle than athletic Tristan ever had. But something else I couldn't help but notice were the imperfections, the scars that kept his beauty from being something that could be considered perfect, but seemed to make it just that. Lighter and darker lines of various shapes and sizes dotted his exposed skin, and I was sure that his back was similar.

I managed to shake myself and murmur, "Thanks," before fleeing into the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind me. My heart thudded in my chest, and I looked down at the shirt in my hands. He was right, it was certainly better than nothing. I lifted it to my nose and inhaled slightly. It smelled like him too.

That thought nearly stopped me in my tracks, and I had to shake myself for thinking it. I had not, and could not, fall for this boy. With slightly shaky fingers, I pulled my low dipped shirt over my head, thankful that I had chosen this over a halter that I still had my bra on. Slipping the shirt on and buttoning up, I couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief at finally having something comfortable on. The shirt was as long as one I would wear to sleep, and though I knew it didn't cover much, I was tired of the skirt I wore and forced myself to discard it on the floor next to my shirt before I could think about what I was doing. My cutesy sneakers joined the pile. That being done, I did what I had told Tucker I was in here to do, and brushed my teeth as best as I could as well.

Taking a breath, I opened the door from the bathroom, and was surprised to see that Tucker had taken a pillow and comforter from the bed and was now fussing with them on the floor. He had taken his jeans off while I was gone, and I noticed how his dark grey boxers hung low on his hips.

"I figured that the very least I could do was to take the floor," he said when he heard me walk out, not bothering to look up. "So feel free to take the ah…bed," the last word was a whisper as he finally looked up and saw me, his eyes going wide as they skimmed my body. I had always been prided on my long, slender legs, and I knew he was getting the full view of them now. Plus the shirt didn't completely cover my figure, especially with I had my arms crossed in front of my chest as they were.

Blood rushed to my cheeks, but I ignored it. "No," I said.

"No?" he looked confused.

"No, the bed is big enough for the both of us. You're not sleeping on the floor."

"But I don't want to make you uncomfo…"

I cut him off with a wave of my hand. "I don't mind, honestly," I said, smiling at him to reassure him. I realized that that was the first time I had smiled all night since I had gotten into this room. "I've slept with guys before."

His eyes bugled. "You…you've?"

I rolled my eyes. "Slept in the same bed with guys before," I amended, "My brothers, my guy friends, it's no biggie," I said, shrugging my shoulders. And it really wasn't…except for the fact that I was more drawn to him now than ever before. But I refused to let that thought cross my mind any more than it already had. Besides, there were two sides of the bed.


"Plus I did have a boyfriend once. We slept in the same bed…" but we never did anything, which was why Greg, my boyfriend of three months, had broken up with me a few weeks ago. The thought still made me ache with betrayal. Tucker opened his mouth. "Don't even try and fight me on this, I'm not in the mood," I told him, heading over to the bed and scooting into one side.

It took a moment before I felt the covers on the other side lift up and the mattress sink down as Tucker slid in beside me. "If you change your mind…"

"Shut up," I growled, rolling over on my side. I wanted to sleep.

But sleep didn't want me.

Fifteen minutes or so later, I groaned and rolled over onto my back. "Tucker?"

"Yeah, Princess?" His voice sounded deeper, slightly huskier in its sleep coated state.

"I can't sleep."

I heard him chuckle. "And? You want me to do what, exactly."

"Tell me something."

"The sky is blue."

"Something else."

"The grass is green."

I rolled my eyes and turned on my side to face him, propping myself up on my elbow. "How did you get all those scars?"

He turned his head to face me. "What scars?" I couldn't quite decipher his tone.

"The ones…the ones on your chest, and stomach." I was glad it was dark so he couldn't see the blush blooming rapidly across my cheeks.

A grin spread across his face as he propped himself up like me, on his elbow. "So you were checking me out, were you, Princess?"

My eyes went wide and I turned my head a little away from him. The motion caused a curtain of hair to fall in my face. I felt his fingers push it gently away and tuck it behind my ear.

"There's a different story for each of them," he said, graciously ignoring my lack of response to his previous question.

"Let me see them then," I said softly, but it was more of a question than a demand. I felt his eyes on me, scrutinizing me as if trying to figure out my motivation.

"Alright," he drawled slowly, and his hands pushed away the covers, exposing himself to me. He waved a hand to his muscled body. "Pick one," he whispered.

I bit my lip as I found my eyes wandering over his exposed body, the blush deepening further across my cheeks. I picked a scar on his left arm that was draped across his side. It was thin and there were three parallel marks.

He smiled. "When I was little, my neighbor had a cat that Tristan and I used to like to play with. One day we decided that the cat needed a dress, and Tristan had to hold it while I put the dress on. The problem was, the cat was never declawed. But we did manage to get the dress on, so that was a particularly deserving battle scar."

I smiled a little at the story and picked another one, a ragged square like one on his left side. I pointed at it. "This one."

"Ah, that was from tripping and falling over some train tracks. That was from the bolt that held the track down."

"It cut you?"

"It did indeed. Not a particularly well earned battle scar."

I dipped my head in agreement, and picked one on his ribs. It was dark, unlike the others, and didn't really have a particular shape. I pointed at it.

Another smirk, that was half grimace, formed on his lips. "We were ten, and trying to set off fireworks. Backfired a little bit. Well, a lot. Tristan has one on his leg from the same thing…but we managed to get a few of them in the air so it was…"

"A good battle scar?"

"Yeah," he said, looking up at me, "A good battle scar."

It went on like that for a while, as I picked more and more scars and he explained them to me in full, never seeming to tire of my inquisition, never seeming to falter too long over the "bad battle scars." I couldn't help but notice how many started off with "Tristan and I," but I made no comment. After a while, tired of being propped up on his elbow, he sunk back on the bed, laying on his back.

I paused for a moment before moving on to the next one a scar that trailed on his right side, a little bit in from his hip. I pointed at it, "This one."

He picked his head up a little. "I can't quite see where you're pointing, Princess."

Again, I paused, then ran my finger down the length of the scar. "This one," I repeated, but my voice was unintentionally softer than I meant it to be.

"Easy," he said, "Appendix."

"Did it hurt?" I wondered.

"Mmnh, a bit," he said, and I could tell he was probably downplaying it. I moved on to a sister scar that started on his left hip and followed it down.

"What about this one?"

The smile on his lips was not exactly a happy one. "Tristan and I were having a sword fighting contest when we were younger, only problem was it was with bread knives. He got a score."

I heard a hiss of breath escape through my teeth.

"But that's only the start of the scar, here, look," he said, his thumbs coming up to the hemline of his boxers. I recoiled a little bit and he chuckled. "Don't worry, Princess, it's not that far down, here, see?" He took my hand and gently traced my finger an inch below his hem where the scar burst into an erratic star pattern, probably from where the blade exited, when Tristan realized what he had done. My fingers rested there, playing with the small bump of scarred skin. Tucker's eyes were focused on me intently, and I barely noticed when he reached up and pushed hair out of my face again.

Jerking back to reality, I moved on to the next scar. "This one," I said, tracing a line on his chest above his heart. I heard his breath hitch with the light contact of my finger grazing against his skin.

"A few years ago, I got it in my head that I would rebel by joining a gang," he said, his voice low and soft, tinged with regret. His fingers found their way to my hair as he talked, winding strands of it around themselves. The gesture felt strangely pleasant.

"You were in a gang?"

"I hadn't been officially inducted into it before I left," he said, still absently playing with my hair. He went from staring at the ceiling to focusing on my face. "It was a stupid thing to do, and I know that now. But this particular battle scar was from a slight…tiff between myself and a member from another gang. Box cutter did that."

"It looks like he was aiming for your heart," I murmured, my eyebrows furrowing together as I traced the line again. He caught my hand and rubbed it with his thumb.

"It was a she, actually, and yes, she was."

I sucked in breath through my teeth. I didn't understand the way that my heart suddenly ached for him, at the fact that he could have died had that weapon penetrated any further than it had. At the fact that I couldn't pinpoint a time when he would have been missing from school to have had that happen. At the fact that no one noticed. I felt him squeeze my hand.

"That wasn't the worst," he said softly.

"Really?" I whispered, feeling my heart skip a beat. There was worse?

"Mnh," he said, and he guided my hand up to a roundish, puckered scar beneath his left collar bone. I traced it with my thumb for a minute.

"What is it?" I asked quietly, half afraid to know the answer.

"It's from when I got shot," he said, and I felt my heart stop, and my lungs go paralyzed before my heart picked up tempo again, more rapid than before. "When I tried to leave the gang before even joining it."

"How…how long ago?" I asked, and was surprised at the clenched feeling in my chest, the raw sort of panic and hurt that made no sense.

"Less than a year," he said, and I had to bite my lip to keep it from trembling.

"Did it hurt?" I whispered.

"Like hell," he said. "But it was a through and through. Here, see?" he rolled his shoulder up slightly and I leaned forward over it, feeling the scar that came out the other side. I could feel unshed tears welling in my eyes.

I looked down at him to see him looking up at me, waiting for my reaction. When he saw my eyes, he fell back again wordlessly, but reached up a hand to brush away a stray tear that had fallen down my cheek. I found myself leaning into the palm there, relishing in the feeling of the living skin. I closed my eyes.

"Does it still hurt?" I asked, and I could hear the tears in my voice, even.

He held my gaze for a moment and I could see the internal debate in his eyes on what to tell me. Finally he looked away. "Sometimes," he admitted, his thumb automatically brushing away another tear and then delving itself into my hair, playing with its soft strands. He turned his head back, and when he did I could see he was grinning. "You could always kiss it and make it better," he teased.

I narrowed my eyes at him momentarily, but I could tell he meant it as a joke, that he expected me to swat at him or yell at him. He meant it to turn my mind away from it. So instead, I surprised him. "Okay," I said, and before he could process what I had said I bent over him and pressed my lips against his scar. I felt him freeze, could feel his hand still against my hair, his chest cease its moment against mine, and his heart thudding hard against his ribcage, so that I could distantly feel it, my heart beating to the same rhythm. Goosebumps rose on his skin from where my lips rested.

After a moment, I pulled away, returning to where I had been before. "Better?" I asked. His breathing was uneven as he examined me, and it was at that moment I realized how compromising of a position we were in. He was on his back and somehow, during the time he was telling me about his scars, I had made my way to his side. My legs, which I remembered how bare they actually were, now brushed against his, my hips were nearly flush against his right side, and my elbow rested under his right armpit so that I was leaning over him, my hair tickling his chest when it misbehaved and dangled down, like it was now. My eyes flitted to his with a mild alarm, and it was then that I saw the emotion behind his eyes that I hadn't expected to see.


"Princess," he said, his voice husky his right hand toying with my hair. His left hand came up to cup my cheek, caressing it for a moment before hooking his fingers behind my head and guiding me down towards his.

"Tucker…do you even know my name?" I asked, milliseconds before he would have kissed me, so that my lips almost barely brushed against him when I spoke. It was hard to think with the way my heart sounded so loud in my ears, with the electricity jolting through my veins.

Tucker rolled his eyes. "No, Amy Wellington, I don't," he said, his voice laced lightly with sarcasm. I shivered when he said my name, his breath warm on my face and lips. But he didn't kiss me from there. Instead, he leaned his head back on the pillow, gazing up at me. "But frankly, I'm a little surprised as how you know so much about me. And how curious you are."

"Why's that?" I murmured. From this lower angle I was at, his chest pressed against mine with every breath he took, and the feeling was driving me crazy. "Just because you aren't held up as high as your brother doesn't mean you're completely hidden in the shadows."

"No one cares about me, Princess," he said, his thumb stroking my jaw. "Not as much as they do Tristan. Not my parents, not my brother, not the school, no one."

I had to lick my lips before I could force the words out. "I do," I whispered. His eyes locked on mine, shocked and startled. "I care, Tucker."

Those words seemed to bring him back to life, and in one simple motion, he had us reversed, rolling me onto my back so that he was propped up over me. His hips held me in place, lightly, almost teasingly, as his lips hovered centimeters from mine.

"You're unreal, Ames," he said, and before I could say anything else, his lips pressed against mine, soft and hard at the same time, warm and moist and gentle. I gave a grunt of surprise, wrapping my arms around his neck, running my fingers through my hair as he deepened the kiss, his teeth lightly nipping at my bottom lip. I gasped in surprise, and he took that to his advantage to kiss me harder, more passionately. My body felt like it was on fire, especially my lips. So different were these kisses than the ones that Greg had given me. Tucker's made me want to cry with joy and longing as the fire spread through my body. He placed light kisses down my jawline and down my neck before he nuzzled his head into the crevice of between my shoulder and neck.

"No one's ever cared," he murmured, and I wrapped my fingers through my hair, holding him there with one hand while the other hand explored his back in circular patterns as he drew me tighter, his hands wrapping around my waist and pulling me flush to him.

We fell asleep like that.


It was the bright light slapping against my closed eyes that finally made me wake up. Groaning, I blinked my eyes open slowly, and found myself completely and utterly confused by my surroundings.

"Good morning, Princess."

Tilting my head up, my eyes met Tucker's, and my eyebrows knitted in confusion. I let my eyes roam around to try and get my bearings and it was then that I realized his shoulder was my pillow, and the warmth my hand was enjoying was his chest. One of my legs and somehow hooked itself around his in the middle of the night.

A blush spread across my cheeks, firey red, when I looked back up at him, memories from last night flooding back. "Morning," I replied, my voice thick from sleep.

His eyes penetrated into mine, searching for something. I was too groggy to understand what. I felt, more than heard, him sigh as the air rushed from his lungs in a big whoosh. "Amy…I…" he began, and I gazed up at him patiently, waiting for him to continue.

But he never got the chance to, as we had both seemingly missed the sound of a key in the lock and the next thing we knew a bright light flashed into the room and there was a triumphant squeal of, "Got it!" followed by "Who knew!"

I recognized the voice instantly and was out of the bed in a flash, clambering over Tucker and racing for the door. "Michelle!" I yelled, determined to give her a piece of my mind. Never mind that last night wasn't as bad as I had expected it to be. Never mind that it had turned out for the better, she still needed to know that she was in trouble.

I threw a look over my shoulder at Tucker, "I'll be back," I said before racing out the door after my best friend who had already taken off down the hallway.

It was impossible for me to have seen the devastated look on his face.


By the time I had thoroughly chewed Michelle out, gotten the Polaroid picture from her hands, and realized what I was wearing enough to be embarrassed and run back upstairs, Tucker was gone. I searched for him in the bathroom, under the bed, under the covers, although I knew he couldn't truly be in the last two places, but something wouldn't make me believe. He had just left.

I was in a daze the rest of my time in that house, and I don't even remember pulling my skirt back on, or folding my shirt over my arm and getting a ride home with Michelle. I could only remember burying my nose in my shoulder, inhaling his scent as much as I could, and then heading straight for the ice cream when I got home.

Michelle sat with me for a while, trying to gently out of my daze, but she could only take so much before she finally gave me a piece of her mind.


I don't know how exactly I managed to ring the doorbell, but somehow I had. I had made it up the steps of the Davidson family home, onto the doorstep and I had rung the doorbell. I clutched the shirt that was my excuse in my hand as I gritted my teeth and forced myself to stay where I was.

When the door started to open, I thought I was going to have a mini heart attack.

But the face behind the door was not who I expected.

"Well hello there gorgeous," Tristan drawled, giving me a once over and smiling his trademark smile that made every girl's heart flutter. Except mine. I longed to see the happy smirk that belong to Tucker.

"Is Tucker here?" I asked, my voice sounding small and slightly weak, and I cursed myself for having such insecurities.

Tristan's face fell and became a hard mask. "Him? What would someone like you want something to do with him?"

"I need to talk to him, Tristan," I said, and I couldn't help but notice how I spat the other twin's name. "Where is he?" my voice was a growl now, and I prided myself for finally finding my voice.

"The studio in the back, straight through," Tristan said, obviously confused, but nevertheless, he stepped aside and let me pass through the house.

I strode through angrily, determined to see the boy who had made me feel like my body was on fire, like I would do anything for him, to protect him. "Tucker Davidson," I bellowed, bursting in through the door to the patio, hardly noticing the gorgeous drawings and paintings that lined the small room.

The dark haired boy jerked as if struck from where he was standing at an easel, pencil in hand and he turned to face me. I watched as the pencil clattered to the ground.

"Princess," he said, his voice slightly breathless from disbelief, "What are you doing here?"

I threw the shirt at him angrily, and he caught it just before it hit him in the face. "Why did you leave this morning? You were gone when I came back."

He looked down at the shirt, then up at me. His face was painted with guilty confusion. I stalked closer to him, my arms crossed over my chest, demanding an answer. "I didn't think you were coming back," he said, his eyebrows furrowed as he looked at the shirt once more, then back up to my face, his head tilted to the side.

I threw my hands up in the air in exasperation. "I said I was going to be right back, didn't you hear me?" I watched him duck his head. "You didn't believe me. Damn it Tucker, this isn't going to work if you don't trust me," I cried, stomping my foot on the ground in vexation.

Tucker's head snapped up and he took a step towards me. "What isn't going to work, Princess?"

My arms folded across my chest and I pursed my lips, looking out the windows. I had already said too much, and I was busy fighting the tears away from my eyes.

I felt his finger under my chin, and he turned me to face him. "Ames," he said, his voice that alluring husky tone it was last night, "What isn't going to work? If I don't trust you, that is."

I blinked, looking at him before looking away again. "Us," I whispered, feeling foolish. I heard that noise again, that one he did when he was surprised and had his breath catch in his throat.

He put his hand on my shoulder. "There's an us, Ames?"

I shrugged, biting down on my lip again. "I do care," I whispered softly, not meeting his eyes, for fear I wouldn't be able to finish what I had to say, "I know you might not believe it, but I do. I care about you and all of your battle scars. I care about you so much that I think I might even be falling in love with you, which certainly was never my intention but you know what, I don't care." Picking my head up, I held his gaze with mine, making sure he understood every word I said. "I don't care because…I like this feeling. I like you, Tucker Davidson, not your brother, not anyone else, you."

His gaze stayed locked onto mine for a moment longer, and then the next thing I knew, his lips were crashed down against mind, his one hand cupping my head and tipping it farther up, his other snaked around my back, pulling my hips deeply into his. He kissed me as though his life was at stake, as if I was the air he needed to breathe, to survive…as if I was his lifeline.

He had me backed up against a wall, my arms around his neck, his one hand still buried in my hair, guiding my lips and face as his other hand traveled down to my right leg first, skimming down it and then pulling it up, hooking it around his hips. My left leg followed, and that's how I found myself between him and the wall, holding on to him as dearly as he was holding on to me.

Finally, he pulled away, resting his forehead against mine as we both struggled to consume oxygen. "I think I might be falling for you too, Ames," he said, his thumb stroking my cheek. "But no, that's wrong…I know I've fallen for you. I fell for you as soon as you showed me how much like other girls you weren't, which wasn't just last night. You've had my attention for a while now…but last night you showed me how unique you truly are. God, Ames," he groaned, pressing his lips against mine again.

My hands played with his hair for a moment and I felt him smile against my lips. I gently pushed him away. "I had something else to show you too," I said, and he nodded. "But you're going to have to put me down," I said, looking at him pointedly.

"Oh, right," he said, grinning sheepishly, backing away and lowering me to the ground by my hips. I walked over to my purse that had been discarded on the floor sometime earlier and pulled out the Polaroid picture that Michelle had snapped. I handed it to him with a sheepish smile of my own.

He looked at the image of me on his shoulders, looking up at him, the sunlight playing across both of us and smiled. He handed it back to me as he said, "There's something else you should see then."

He held out his hand, and I let mine slip into it. "Close your eyes," he commanded, and I obeyed, letting him lead in the direction of the easel he had been working at earlier. He stopped me in front of it and stood behind me, his hands around my waist, his chin on my shoulders. "Open them."

I opened my eyes to see the likeness of me, but from an odd angle, an intense expression on my face as my fingers traveled along something…a scar, I realized. He had captured last night better than the Polaroid had, and I found myself breathless.

"You, Ames, are my inspiration. You opened me up and examined me and showed me more care than anyone has in a very, very long time. You make me want to learn how to heal."

"And I'll be here as long as you need me to help you with that," I told him, still stunned by the work in front of me. I squeezed his hands in mine.

"I think I'd like that to be forever," Tucker whispered in my ear.

"I think I'd be okay with that," I replied, and he turned me around to kiss me again, sending the fire spreading back through my limbs.

Distantly, I heard Tristan walk into the room, and exclaim something in disbelief, but I didn't really notice, as I was too busy with Tucker, who kicked the door shut in his brother's face, shutting him out as he got the attention he finally deserved. I was never going to be one of his battle scars, I determined, I was going to be the one who healed them.

It didn't matter what the school was going to say, what our families were going to say, what our friends were going to think. We had each other now. And that was final.

Meep, the end! Not quite sure how I feel about it, but I didn't get someone to really look over it much. Please feel free to leave some constructive criticism, I always need room to grow!

Hopefully you'll hear some more for me soon. It felt really good to crunch this out yesterday...I can't believe it was as long as it became.

Thanks for reading everyone! :)