Barriers Down: Todoroki x OC

Aubrieta

Chapter 2

be·gin·ning

/bəˈɡiniNG/

noun

the point in time or space at which something starts.

I wake up to the sound of birds chirping. Thin sunlight filters through my curtains, causing the floor to be lit up with the first rays of the morning sun.

For a fleeting moment, the smell of saltwater fills my nose, a delicate ocean breeze flowing across my face as I lay in bed. With my eyes still closed, I relish in the senses, my brain creating a brief period of relief.

After a few seconds, I open my eyes, landing myself in a bleak and uncomfortable room, the only semblance of peace being the bird noises coming from my phone.

Damn alarm.

I slip out of bed and turn it off, the bird noises ceasing. The floor is cold as my feet touch it, and I seethe, bringing my feet back up to my bed to avoid the ice-like temperature of the wood.

Other than the small noises I'm making, the house is quiet. Unusual.

Father and his associates must have passed out last night.

Probably drank too much.

Excellent.

To me, my father is one enigma after another. For almost my entire life, he was someone I knew existed but had never heard anything about. He didn't want to know me, and I accepted that. It wasn't until I moved in that I found out exactly why mother didn't tell me about him. The man is a monster. Once he saw what I could do with my quirk, he became obsessed. He "trains" me every day for hours on end. What he calls training, I call torture.

Once I make it to the bathroom, I take off my pajamas and look at my body in the mirror. I used to have clear, smooth skin, but now it's covered in red scars. Up and down my legs the scars run, climbing up my hips as well. I run my fingers lightly over them, and as I feel the different textures of skin, I boil inside, my fingers shaking with disgust and anger.

Scars serve to remind us of what used to be. Their function is to warn us of dangers past, to keep us in line. My scars, on the other hand, remind me of the present, their discoloration only emphasizing the grief and pain the last few weeks of my life have been consumed with.

The newest scar, one that I got a few days ago, is a different shade of red than the rest and hurts like hell. Stitches hold the skin together, and as I touch it, I flinch.

Infection.

Just what I wanted to deal with on my first day of school.

I grab tweezers and small scissors, cutting the tie at the top of my leg. I use the tweezers to grab and pull the stitches out, my free hand gripping my mouth trying my best to go as quickly as possible. A sharp burning sensation jolts throughout my leg, traveling up through my hips and down through my ankle. My vision swims in front of me, and as I grip the side of the sink I feel warm blood run down my leg. My face contorts from the pain as I bend down to grab bandages from under the sink.

People will notice this for sure, but it's better than them seeing the scars, I think, as I wrap bandages all up and down my legs, the short uniform exposing half of the discolored lines that cover the length of my limbs.

I finish getting ready and walk silently downstairs to leave. As I go, I investigate the side room where I heard talking coming from last night. I see about 5 men sprawled around the room. One of them is my father. The rest I don't recognize. 2 or 3 of them wear hook-like masks on their faces covering their nose and mouth. As I inch ever closer, one of them begins to stir, rubbing his eyes and stretching out his arms and legs.