“When you look at me, you have to be repulsed.”
“By what?” I ask.
He gestures to the scars that line his face and then to his legs.
“I don't even see them,” I say with all honesty.
His eyebrows lower and his eyes follow. I caught the blatant yearning in his eyes just before he hid it. He wants to believe me, but can't allow himself to.
My fingers curl into the palms of my hands to keep from reaching out to him. I blow out a noisy breath and look at the caterpillar ever so slowly creeping along the grass. I put my finger out and it carefully feels my skin before crawling over it, tickling my flesh as it goes. I smile.
“He's so slow, but you know what? He never gives up. He knows, one day, he'll be free,” I say in a low voice. “He's ugly to most, but to those that matter, he's beautiful. They know his potential. They know where he started and where he'll end, and how long it will take for him to get there. It's something to be admired, not tossed aside.”