The Scars in Our Hearts.

Surprise Surprise.

         I woke up with another gash today; it seems to have started from my right shoulder, and ends in my chest. No more camis for me, I think as I breathe a sigh of frustration.  I’m starting to look like Frankenstein’s monster. Whatever is happening to my body is screwing with my appearance.

It all started two weeks before my eighteenth birthday. I began noticing some random bruises on my body but I just thought they were from bumping into things since I’m so clumsy. One morning, I woke up with a bruise on my jawline. I figured I probably bumped my chin on my nightstand while I was asleep. On the morning of my birthday, I woke up as usual and started my morning routine with my shower. When I stepped out and cleared the steam from my mirror, I immediately started to panic. Starting from my hairline at the top of my left eye all the way to my ear, on my gorgeous face was a hideous scar. As I reached up to touch it I noticed a second scar running down my arm from the tip of my finger all the way to my elbow. So of course like any sane person, I screamed. “OH GOD! What do I do?! You see, at that time I was all about my image like any stereotypical eighteen year old. I was miss popular so I had a reputation to uphold. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not one of those super annoying preppy twats that walk around acting superior to everyone. I earned my popularity by my stunning smile and my sarcastic sense of humor. (Also, my parents are traveling business men so I’m home alone a lot. Unsupervised.) To hide the scars for the day I had to change my whole outfit. Instead of wearing a mini skirt and a tank top with my hair in a big poof, I changed it to a bandana with a messy bun to hide the scar on my face and kept the mini skirt but put on a long sleeve shirt. That whole day was spent worrying about someone noticing something different and wondering what the hell was going on with me. Just to be safe, I even avoided my equally gorgeous boyfriend Dean who wouldn’t put to rest the idea of having people over that night. I had to tell him that my parents came home early and wanted “quality time”. That was the day that I promised myself I would figure out what caused those huge scars.

And that brings us back to today. Two month later and a week away from winter break. I still haven’t come any closer to figuring out why and how I am getting all these scars. Since my 18th birthday 13 random scars have appeared over my body. The only explanation I have are simply too crazy to be even considered. For example I have this theory that while I sleep, little evil sour patch kids come to my room and they somehow figure out how to make these scars without excruciating pain and not even dropping a single drop of blood; but that’s too gruesome to be real. Oh, my other theory, is that somehow I’m connected to another person, and these are the scars that they have because they are being tortured and I get to be the badass that save their ass.. but no that’s too Indiana Jonesy for it to be real.

All I know about the scars on my body is that if I’m lucky, none will show up down the middle of my face. What I also know, is that this complete wannabe bad boy who I believe is called Jamie (how the heck should I know) has the same scar I got that first day on his forearm. How? I have no idea and there is no way in hell that I would ever ask him. He irks me in the way that every time I hear his cocky voice I just want to stuff his mouth with a dirty old gym sock so that I never have to hear his voice again. Plus my boyfriend Dean hates him so it would be bad if I started talking to whats-his-face. Plus, how would I even start that conversation..

I mentally shake myself as I try to get rid of the disturbing image of me trying to talk to Jamie about scars. As I lean in to my reflection in the bathroom mirror I can hear my mother pounding on my bedroom door.

“Cammy! You’re going to be late for school. Hurry up!” She yelled as if I was a mile away instead of 10 ft. from the door.

“Alright mom I’m coming!” I yell back, “Don’t get your panties in a twist.” I mumble under my voice.

“I heard that young lady! Just put your shoes on in the car.” Was the response I got a couple seconds later. I swear, nothing ever gets past her, how did she know I was even putting my shoes on? Whatever, off to school I go.