Chim - Every Mark On My Body

Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

I wake suddenly in the early hours of the morning. The harsh daylight streams in through a crack in the curtains, contradicting the dark tone of the room with its patterned black wallpaper and carpet. Wait, what? I don't have black wallpaper or carpet. I quickly sit up, grabbing me sides as the sharp movement aggrevates me ribs. Me head twists in every direction, confused, flicking beads of perspiration from me forhead. And then I look down, beside us. And I see her. Covers pulled up to the shoulders, eyelids preserving her souful eyes and eyelashes spreading across her cheeks, mousy brown hair fanned out around her glowing face like a halo. Me little angel. Perfect in every way. I relax, remembering yesterday's events. I lie back down on me side next to her, facing her. The right side of her head and shoulders is is the only thing visible from me angle but she's still so beautiful. A dimpled smile creeps its way onto me face as I think about how yesterday played out. I certainly didn't feel as good this time yesterday as I do today. I woke up, feeling and looking like sh!t, and then the rest of the day saw this glorious celestial being taking us under her wing. Singing, cuddling, cooking, laughing and teasing. All day long. Perfect. It the best day I've had in a long time.

And I wonder, once again, what I did to deserve this friend. This girl who, despite what she thinks, could have any guy she wanted and has many wannabes yearning to be her friend. And yet, she chose us. She neglected the many friends I know she has to take an interest in us. To find out what was wrong with us. Why? The question that has been bugging us since she saw us at the warehouse. Why does she want to know? Why does it matter to her? Affect her? What does she see in us to want to 'look after' us and spend time with us?

Because I sure as hell don't see it.

Neither does Tony.

No one does.

That's why I have no friends.

The only person that ever has was me mam. I miss her, like crazy. I miss her beyond any kind of philosophical and analytical explanation that the text in the English dictionary could produce. When I think about her, I feel as though someone has tied a thousand weights to me heartstrings and let them drop, falling into a murky abyss of pain and misfortune. And loss. I lost her too soon. Lost all the unfortold memories that were to be made as we got older together. No child should lose a parent when still a child. She was taken from us too soon. Snatched from me weak, child-like grasp as I tried naively to cling on to the time we had spent together.

But she wasn't snatched from us. I let her go. Made her go? Like in The Lion King. The worst moment in Disney history. Mufasa, Scar and Simba, and the herd of stampeding wildebeast. I knew who Mufasa was. And I knew who the wildebeast were. I know the victim and the weapon. But who was Simba and who was Scar? Two suspects, one criminal. Who was I? Was I Simba? The innocent child who was really too young to do anything? Or was I Scar, like Tony said I was? Not forcing the situation but giving the victim that last little push over the edge? To the end? To their death. This anology is the thing that has been most prominent in me mind for the last 5, almost 6 long years. The years that are supposed to be the best of your life, right? They've been me worst. Pain, lonliness, misguidance. Yearning, longing, hating. Missing. Everthing that has consumed every sinew of me broken anatomy for all these years, oozing from us with every shakey breath.

But, as me mam's brown eyes focus back on the sleeping form beside us, radiating heat, I can't help but think that things might be looking up for us. As long as she stays in me life.   

God, I need to stop thinking like this, its giving us a headache.

Carefully, I get out of bed. Me feet pad quietly along the soft carpet. I can tell it's fairly new as it still feels soft and fluffy beneath me toes. I creep across the room and down the corridor to the bathroom. The cold tile floor is a harsh contrast to the carpet. And I stand in front of the marble sink. Turning the tap on, I splash me face with some cold water in an attempt to wake meself up. I open one damp eye and spot a hand towel hanging next to the sink. I dab me face dry with it. And then I straighten up, looking into the mirror. I try not to look at me eye as I run me fingers through me messy bed hair, sweeping it over one shoulder and flattening the fly aways.