Cut Up Angels, chapter 1
I lean in close to the mirror and stare down the reflection, pausing to wipe the fog my breath created in seconds. No, I definitely don't hate myself, but the negatives jump out: lumpy nose. High cheekbones. Chapped lips.
I've always had a low-self esteem and have always been the "shy" one. Without taking my eyes of the image bouncing back at me, I grope around for the small tube of black eyeliner I'd set down minutes before.
It's gone. Sighing, I scan the cramped vanity for that little comfort object I need before I go on. Suddenly the tiny bathroom feels even tinier, and a lot hotter.
Suddenly your arm is extended in front of me, holding the eyeliner, presenting it to me with a, "Were you looking for this?" I smile as I gratefully take it from you, but my smile quickly fades as your black sleeve rides up to your elbow.
You quickly tug at your sleeves, pulling them down past your hands, but I already got an eyeful: pink and burnt red criss-crosses decorating your forearms, fresh scars on your "wall of fame". I try to meet your gaze but you only hide under your long, black bangs, like a turtle in its shell. A million questions twist around my brain like a tornado, but my voice feels like it's hibernating.
"Why?"
You turn and leave me facing a confused girl in a cracked mirror.
***
I step out of Gilman's, the night air cool enough to numb your hands but warm enough for T-shirts and high tops. I slouch along the sidewalk with Tre, who's flat out drunk. And stoned, now that I think about it. He drapes his arm around my shoulder for the ability to walk in a straight line.
As Tre's had lolls with ease from side to side, I consider telling him about my discovery. Considering how hard he usually took hangovers (though this didn't stop him from hitting the bar every chance he got), I began to tell him.
"Tre...Billie's cutting again."
Nothing. More head rolling.
"I saw them. The scars. Fresh, like he's been doing it recently."
Tre finally looks me in the eye, his icy blues glazed over with a drunken look. I myself had had several beers and I felt my knees growing weak with Tre's added weight.
"You...you know what...you're just ssillyy," Tre slurrs with a clownish look.
I smile, feeling relieved that I could tell someone. I felt better, for now, but I knew the disheartening feeling would only return when I saw you tomorrow.
I've always had a low-self esteem and have always been the "shy" one. Without taking my eyes of the image bouncing back at me, I grope around for the small tube of black eyeliner I'd set down minutes before.
It's gone. Sighing, I scan the cramped vanity for that little comfort object I need before I go on. Suddenly the tiny bathroom feels even tinier, and a lot hotter.
Suddenly your arm is extended in front of me, holding the eyeliner, presenting it to me with a, "Were you looking for this?" I smile as I gratefully take it from you, but my smile quickly fades as your black sleeve rides up to your elbow.
You quickly tug at your sleeves, pulling them down past your hands, but I already got an eyeful: pink and burnt red criss-crosses decorating your forearms, fresh scars on your "wall of fame". I try to meet your gaze but you only hide under your long, black bangs, like a turtle in its shell. A million questions twist around my brain like a tornado, but my voice feels like it's hibernating.
"Why?"
You turn and leave me facing a confused girl in a cracked mirror.
***
I step out of Gilman's, the night air cool enough to numb your hands but warm enough for T-shirts and high tops. I slouch along the sidewalk with Tre, who's flat out drunk. And stoned, now that I think about it. He drapes his arm around my shoulder for the ability to walk in a straight line.
As Tre's had lolls with ease from side to side, I consider telling him about my discovery. Considering how hard he usually took hangovers (though this didn't stop him from hitting the bar every chance he got), I began to tell him.
"Tre...Billie's cutting again."
Nothing. More head rolling.
"I saw them. The scars. Fresh, like he's been doing it recently."
Tre finally looks me in the eye, his icy blues glazed over with a drunken look. I myself had had several beers and I felt my knees growing weak with Tre's added weight.
"You...you know what...you're just ssillyy," Tre slurrs with a clownish look.
I smile, feeling relieved that I could tell someone. I felt better, for now, but I knew the disheartening feeling would only return when I saw you tomorrow.
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