Why did you ask earlier about the scars on your wrist?" he questioned.
I frowned slightly as I glanced down at his scarred arm. I swallowed nervously as I recalled what Mr. Hockenberry had said about how he had cut me on that day he had attacked me during school.
"What about them?" I asked in a low tone.
"They're not a normal mark," he murmured. "It's not like the tattoos that you have on your wrists. They're shaped differently." He trailed his fingertips lightly along my collar bone as his eyes locked onto mine. "What is this?"
"This?" I repeated as I lifted my hand to trace the marks that circled my wrists. "These," I said nodding. "Were given to me by my foster parents after I got expelled from a detention centre."
"Why did they do such a thing?" he demanded. "Doesn't it hurt? I me
