The scars stand out like white streaks tearing my skin. Over my shoulder and down my ribs. Across my hips and snaking along my abdomen, trailing down into my pants.

“Annah,” he says, holding up his hands and turning his head as if I’m naked.

“No!” I shout at him. “You wanted to know why I force people to see how ugly I am. It’s because that’s who I am. It’s all I am.”

I grab his hand and press it to my sternum. His touch is scorching hot and he closes his eyes.

“Annah,” he says again, a plea and a warning.

“You look at me, Catcher,” I growl at him.

He stares down at me, his eyes glistening. I’m panting with rage and humiliation and regret as it dawns on me what I’m doing.

Catcher’s fingers curl against me ever so slightly, the pad of his thumb whispering along one of the scars on the top of my left breast.

I choke back the resentment that crawls up my throat as I yank myself away from him and grab for my shirt and coat. His hand still hovers in the air where my body used to be.

Furiously I turn around and shove my arm through the damp frigid sleeve of my shirt while I stumble away. I want to explain to him about all the times I’ve been taunted for the way I look. About the men who would see me walking through the City and who would shy away when they saw the scars. As if the marks made me worthless.

But how could he understand? He’s beautiful, with high cheekbones and blond hair that falls over his eyes. A crooked smile that burrows inside even the coldest heart. Broad shoulders and long fingers and a heat that’s all-consuming.

Nothing mars his face. His skin is smooth and warm and soft.

He doesn’t understand what it’s like for me to see my sister—so perfect in every way—and how Elias wants her and not me. As if I never could be good enough.

And now Catcher too.

“I think you’re beautiful, Annah,” he says.

I scowl. “I’ve heard those words before,” I choke out, buttoning my shirt crookedly. I don’t dare look at him. I don’t tell him Elias told me that just before leaving me. Just before running away and finding someone else to love.

I throw open the door to the stairwell again, frigid snow seeping through my clothes and burning my skin. “It’s nothing but a lie,” I tell him. I make the mistake of glancing up at him as I stumble down the steps. He stands in the middle of the roof, his hand extended as if he can still feel my flesh under his own.

Chapter XXIV