Lexi
The friends we have as children shape us. Some of them we keep forever, some of them we lose along the way... but all of them leave something behind... or in his case, take something as they leave.
Mason Jennings held my heart in his hands at...
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"Wakey wakey sleeping beauty." is softly whispered over me as I start coming to.
"Come on sweetcheeks, you have approximately 30 seconds to come back to the land of the living before Sophia drags your ass to the ER."
"Threatening me is not a nice wake up call Lia." I mumble into my pillow.
"Yeah well neither was you passing out last night so suck it up buttercup." Kate replies snarkily.
I attempt to glare at her as I open my eyes but the pressure in my head is uncomfortable to say the least.
"How are you feeling?" Soph asks attentively.
"Like I got thrown around like a rag doll." I grumble.
"I will happily trade you for that experience." Lia sighs.
"Feeling horny today Ophelia?" Sophia taunts.
"Not all of us have regular access to dick Sophia." Lia groans in response.
"Could we maybe do this when Lexi looks less like a zombie?" Kate chides.
"I know that was for my benefit but did you really have to compare me to the walking dead?" I ask, sitting up slowly so that my covers fall down to my waist, "It's that bad huh?"
Their silence and side glances at each other were all too telling.
I swing my legs out of bed and stand on shaky legs, gratefully grabbing onto Kate as she offered her arm out to me for support. We walked at my pace over to the full length mirror stood between our bedroom and bathroom doors.
I look down as we walk, under the pretence I'm concentrating on my footing when in realty I'm trying to delay seeing my reflection.
I can feel the bruising on my cheek every time I blink and my body is sore all over but not seeing it allows me to be in denial that I'm back in this situation - the morning after, wondering how much ice and make up I'll need to fix myself.
Rip the band-aid off Lexi. You have to see it sooner or later.
I lift my head in a single swift motion and run my eyes over the injuries that are visible.
The sleeves of my sweatshirt must've been pushed up in my sleep because I can see the bandage covering my right forearm, a thin red tinge showing that I bled through at the centre of the cut. The bruise on my cheekbone surrounds the small cut made my Derrick's ring and is a sinister looking mix of purple and blue. The colors are mirrored on my wrist where Derrick had manhandled me and I have no doubt my torso will look just as bad judging from the discomfort that come with each breath I take.
I suppose the appropriate response would be to turn away from my reflection or to cry as I take it all in. But no tears form and I simply sigh at the damage because I don't feel sad looking at the mess in the mirror. I feel disappointed because it seems I'm great at holding up my end of a promise to everyone but myself.
