Lou went potty with her. I went red blushing at the shock, but pondered the suggestion and how to work it. I calmed the feud, it was furious, my these...kids when they go and agreed that whatever we did obviously must be kept strictly between us. They quietened immediately, hugged in repatriation and stared with frantic expectation. “OK, come on Cecily, let me see.” I declared. She baulked and glanced at Lou who nodded frantically. The big boned girl stood and undid her waist buttons, glanced for. They were small scars, always easily hidden by clothing, existing as permanent reminders of the worst aspects of obsessive possessiveness. You couldn't call that love, by Greg's book. People could be treasured, but they weren't treasure, they weren't things.He's come to accept them as part of her, though his heart still hurt for her as he watched over her at night, imagining the story each old wound tells. Almost like writing on a wall, each seems to speak: a burnt dinner might be that pale arc. More

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