My face hurts, a lot. I don't remember anything besides the red shiny car in front of us. Then ? Nothing. I woke up in a hospital bed. My face hurts. But everything else is ok, I guess. I cannot move. I cannot talk. My mother is asleep next to me. I won't dare bother her during a nap. So I wait, and wait, for a nurse to see that my face hurts, but I am awake. Finally someone came to break the silence. A nurse and a doctor I think. They ask me how I feel. My face hurts. So they take off what I've got on my face and they frown as they were sharing the same. I sat there quiet, stoïc, in disbelief when, I saw my reflection : half of my jaw, broken, no more cheekbone, red, infected skin. My eyebrows, gone. The cherry on top ? A large scar making its way from my forehead to my non-existent jaw. I am ugly AF.
Fast forward two months later, three surgeries later, back to school with my everlasting scar and my resting stitched face. It doesn't hurt much anymore, but all the looks hurt a lot more. Friends, classmates, teachers, lunchladies, only pity in their face is what I see. But my girlfirend is here to cheer me up, to give love to my funny face.
One day, she's not in class, I cannot contact her, cannot talk to her, nor her friends, no one seems to know what happened to her. She finally messaged me to tell me that she wants to break up. I let her go, breaking my heart, my soul, breaking my already broken jaw.
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Promenades
Short StoryRecueil de divers textes courts écrits au fil de l'inspiration. (publications de trois nouvelles par semaine, lancement le dimanche)
