Even Heroes Have Scars

[22] Leave Me Numb

Ansley's P.O.V.

Ms. Patrick pulled up to the curb of our apartment building and parked in the spot she's parked in for the past four years.

We'd taken Cody home and I'd hugged him before he went inside his house, which he shared with his boyfriend, Mark. Everything felt numbing, terrible. Perhaps it was because I hadn't really gotten any alone time with Demi today, or the fact that it was obvious I wasn't liked at the party, probably because I wasn't famous, or that nobody had ever met me before besides Marissa and Demi's family, plus Maddie's friends. Or maybe the reason was because I was ugly, and that nobody liked me in general. I had "friends": Cody, Bailey, Isaiah, Chelsea, Marissa, Demi, a few other unmentionable names, but I knew they were all pretending to like me because I lost my family and I was mistreated by Dawson, and I was the only person who could take care of Jacob, but I was a bitch and there was no possible reason for anyone to ever like me. I hated pity. But of course, I was forced into the habit of being used to it, the numbing sensation of never being quite honest enough with anyone, not even myself. I was so tired of people pretending around me. Like, hello, my name was Ansley, and I was a person, not an idiot, I knew when you were faking a friendship. Once, I even tried to tell myself they weren't faking, but never would I believe they weren't. Of course they were faking, I was a walking disaster. A numb, foolish, monstrous, disaster.

Everything was so robotic. The way I thanked Ms. Patrick for the ride and slumped up the stairs, slugging into the apartment and falling on my bed with my eyes closed. On my phone, I played my music on shuffle, turning it up past the halfway point on the volume, and tossing it on the bed above my head as the music played. The first song that played was People Like Us by Kelly Clarkson. I sang along as I pushed myself off the bed and fell into my wooden chair at my desk.

In my desk drawer was a spiral notebook with many blank pages, some of them covered in sketches, but most of them empty. I hadn't looked at it in a while, but occasionally, it would ease my numbness. The clock read ten thirty. I had time. I pulled out a pencil and began drawing. By ten fifty-five, I realized what I had been drawing. It was the outline of a girl leaning up against a brick wall with earbuds in her ears while tears streamed down her face. The drawing seemed like a flashback to when I was in high school, right after the girls taunted me in first period, when I sprinted into the girls bathroom and collapsed onto the floor, listening to all the sad, inspirational music I had on my small iPod. The night before, I had looked up inspirational music, and stumbled across Skyscraper by Demi, utterly falling in love with her voice and her song. I bought the song and listened to it non-stop. I guessed what triggered the memory of that day was, while I was drawing, Skyscraper played on my phone a few songs after People Like Us.

As I had predicted, drawing eased my numbness, but only for a short time. I sighed and got ready for work. By the time I drove up to the store in my old car, it had started to rain, slow at first, but then faster the longer it took for me to find a close spot that wasn't a handicap. I pulled on my raincoat and jogged inside, as I was late, almost knocking someone down when I got inside.

"Whoa! What's the rush, Ansley," Bailey giggled as she steadied me.

"I'm late, I know, I'm sorry," I followed her into a small locker room, no bigger than the one at the diner.

"It's okay. I covered for you. Hurry up and get to the back. You're needed in the men's department," she instructed.

I clipped my name tag onto my shirt and hooked my walkie talkie and price scanner onto my belt, then exited the locker room. When I reached the men's department, I crashed into someone's cart.

"Sorry," I bit the inside of my cheek as I backed up.

"No worries," the boy smiled. He had a British accent, which was extremely attractive, brown hair, and deep blue eyes. He was around Demi's age, possibly older, and his skin was flawless, tan, yet still pale at the same time. All of his features were perfect. I never thought someone would look more built than Cody, but he sure had him beat. Not to mention his t-shirt was tight so his muscles were easily visible, making me weak in the knees. "Excuse me, but I'm new here and I'm not sure where everything is, so can you help me find men's polo shirts? My dad's birthday is in two days and I can't find polo shirts anywhere!"