She is
thirteen when the scars truly begin. Sure, there was one or two
for every year before, blemishes here and there on her
Irish-white skin. But thirteen, her magic number, begins tracing
the blood over her arms, her legs, her back and shoulders.
Thirteen is when she crafts her first mask. And oh, what a mask
it is, with its bright smile and big innocent eyes and
arsenic-coated tongue. It’s paper-thin, but it hides every
tear, every scar, every mark of pain. It shatters two years
later. It cracked with each passing week, tiny, hairline
fractures, all part of a whole, going from head to toe, until her
father shattered it with the truth. The earth-shaking,
fury-inspiring truth. She must hide these emotions, these
poisons, before they can filter through her and into her family.
So, she crafts another, stronger mask. This one allows some anger
through, explosive, painful bursts, for her and for those caught
in the fire. She learns of manipulation then, and sees the
darkness she lives in. And oh, she sees it; it is eating her
alive, raking its claws across her marred flesh, bleeding her of
all strength, all drive to do what she knows she must. So, she
puts up shields that no-one can pierce, shields that keep her in,
as well as anyone else out. But not everyone else is kept out.
One person, a boy two years younger than her, works his way in.
Gains her trust within weeks, where others require months or even
years. He slips past the shields, speaking honeyed words and
triggering her “protect” instinct. There, the secrets
start. They grow closer, days becoming months, their only
interaction through a simple game, his voice comforting her
through the darkness, luring her into a trap of her own making.
Six months. Six blissful months. Then, as summer begins, reality
tears her from her dreamland, ripping into her with its
knife-like teeth and claws. The boy with the honeyed words
disappears, and her almost-hell phase begins. Attempts to get her
in school start, finally giving the days a meaning, a mark to go
by. Battles, fights with the dark ones, begin. Three months, and
she discovers why the boy with honeyed words left. He stopped
caring. He thought it best, thought that by shredding the heart
she had so blindly trusted him with, he would be doing good for
them both. She began to curse him, despising his name. Another
month, and someone new comes. A boy who scares her and draw her
in, a boy with green eyes that she doesn’t even see for the
first three months. And, damn her, she falls in love with him.
Another month, and he knows. Despite her fears (and her hopes),
“nothing” changes. They begin to talk more than
before, and her love for him grows. He works past her shields,
fights for and earns her trust, and begins, unknowingly, to mend
the heart that his predecessor utterly destroyed. He sees the
worst she can allow to escape her mask, but he doesn’t run.
And she knows, deep within the darkness of her soul, that she is
doomed. The whispers start, two months before school is to end.
She isn’t good enough, he deserves better. She voices them
once, and he denies them. But she whispers them to herself over
and over, knowing within herself that they are true, if only to
her. Summer draws closer, break is about to begin. She braces her
heart, preparing for his departure from her life. They always
leave, always, usually six months after they appear. But he
isn’t like the rest. a part of her whispers. She shuts it
down, knowing from past experience how much hope hurts. She
begins to shut herself away, trying to hide from those eyes,
those green, green eyes that can pierce through her shields and
see into the blackest parts of her soul. “What’s
wrong,” he asks. “Nothing,” she answers. Lies.
All lies. He knows she lies, and she knows that he knows she
lies. But she lies all the same. And, whether out of defeat or
respect for her desire to hide, she doesn’t know, he lets
it sit for the time being. Within her now-crumbling mask, she
screams for him to corner her, to force the truth out of her. All
she wants, more than anything material, is for him to pull her
close, for him to whisper it’s ok, it’s alright in
her ear, for him to love her as she loves him, so maybe she can
start putting herself back
together....