“I didn’t want to leave Nova, but you were so ready to risk everything for Brighton. You were ridiculously kind to me, and I had to repay that. But when we were on that roof and Stanton had us cornered, I had to grab the reins.”
“So you laid me out with the urn,” I say. “Then Luna made you cut into me.”
“No, she didn’t make me,” Ness says. “She was furious because I exposed her cemetery plans. I had to convince her I was double-crossing you, and since she wanted to punish you, I volunteered to prove my loyalty to her. It pained me, but it was the only way I could make the best of a horrific situation. Dione wouldn’t have been careful. June would’ve shown no mercy. Stanton would’ve gone too far and possibly killed you.” He can’t look me in the eye. “She believed me.”
“I believed you too,” I say. He would’ve made a great actor in another life.
“Did Eva clean your wounds?”
“No. Between Atlas and how worn out she was from trying to heal me, I didn’t ask for more help. I should be good.”
Ness opens a drawer and pulls out an apron, cutting it up and running the sink. “Take off your shirt. I’ll help you.”
“It’s okay.”
“You have to wash it. Come on.” He squints. “What’s the problem?”
I fidget with the sleeve of my baggy shirt. “I’m not used to someone who looks like you asking me to remove my shirt.”
“Someone who looks like me?”
“Your face is solid and you’re no doubt on top of the rest of your body too.”
“You trying to call me cute and fit?” Ness asks with the hint of a smile.
“In my own words.”
“Look, you’re sweet, but I don’t live in the gym.” Before I can stop him, he removes his shirt and presents himself like I shouldn’t be impressed with his toned chest and build. “It’s not that serious. Believe me, when I first got my powers, I saw dozens of different versions of myself, but I like who I am.”
“Of course you do. I would morph into you if I could.”
“That’s sweeter.” Ness pulls his shirt back on. “Your face is solid too, firefly. I’m sure the same goes for the rest of your body.”
I’m running hot. I know he’s not into me—no one has time for that anyway—but it’s hard to believe him when no one else has ever been able to convince me of this. Smart money is on Ness lying so he can help me and ease his guilt over these scars that I’ll have for the rest of my life.
I tell him why I always wear baggy shirts. My body is either too skinny or not skinny enough. Never enough muscle. But it’s always easier to hide inside shirts where no one can figure out what my body looks like. I used to wear tank tops at the beach, even to go in the water, which always led to chafing, but seeing everyone with their six-packs stopped me from going altogether. I was always promising myself that every summer was going to be the summer I could finally walk shirtless and feel desired and accepted. Then there are all the guys on Instagram whose bodies I zoom in on, and when they post their exercise routines I try them out and deprive myself of any sweets because my joy isn’t worth being ignored.
“Even the Spell Walker gig makes this impossible,” I add with tears in my eyes as Ness sits across from me on the floor. “Everyone has their idea of what heroes should look like, and that’s not me.”
“You’re really not kidding, are you?” Ness asks.
“I don’t need you to tell me how skinny or strong I am, I get it, but it’s this voice in my head that—”
“That needs to shut up,” Ness interrupts.
“I don’t think I’ll ever feel good about myself. I could have the six-pack and the V-cut and people saying they want me, but I will never feel beautiful enough for everyone in the world.”
“You should only feel beautiful to yourself,” Ness says. “And only be with someone who gets that you’re beautiful because of who you are. Look, firefly, the first night I saw you I almost broke concentration and morphed back into myself. Make of that what you will.” He blushes, which is wild, but if anyone can fake that, it’s a shape-shifter. “I shouldn’t have pushed. But you really should clean your wounds. Get your brother or mother to help you. It doesn’t have to be me.”
I stand. “Do you promise not to comment on my body?”
“Of course. If it makes you feel more comfortable, I can close my eyes?”
“Let’s try that.”
We go by the sink, where he wets the rag and closes his eyes. I lift my shirt, immediately puffing out my chest, an instinct that’s been burned into me from locker rooms and the rare instances when I changed in front of friends. I guide Ness’s finger to the cut on my forearm, and he’s gentle, but presses down more when he’s worried it’s not properly cleaning the area. Then I watch his face when I direct him to my ribs, wondering if he’s going to cringe in any way over how bony I feel, but he remains as focused as anyone can be with their eyes closed. He asks if he can put his hand on my lower back to better anchor himself, and I say yes, and the sensations burning through me still take me by surprise. I bite down on my lip when he applies too much pressure on my rib cage and he apologizes. The tip of my hair rests on his curls as he washes the last cut on my left arm.
“Should I keep going?” Ness asks.
“All good,” I say, even though I’m not ready for him to back up.
“Let me know when I can open my eyes.”
I’m tempted to tell him now, but if his face
