HeRo (Sⓗort Stⓞrⓘⓔs)

The Embroidered Scars

The Embroidered Scars
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"Kelly?" I called out, peaking into the waiting room. An orange haired woman stood up, grinned at a man who had been sitting beside her, and then made her way toward me with a large smile on her face.

I opened the door wider for her, and then held out my hand when we were safetly in hall away from prying eyes. "Hi, I'm Dr. Martin, and I'll be your psychiatrist."

The woman chuckled and put a piece of hair behind her ears, grasping my hand. "You may already know this, but I'm Kelly Evans. Nice to meet you Dr. Martin."

I nodded and then lead her to the door closest to the right. "Likewise," I murmured, ushering her through the door, and then shutting it. In my office, I had a large couch with a desk, holding all my supplies and computer. The walls were a sea green, and a large brown bookshelf with tattered and worn novels decorated the shelves.

The woman sat herself down on the plush couch, and laughed as she glanced her sweater. "How crazy is that? It blends in! Camouflage at it's finest!"

I chuckled as well and sat myself into my swivel chair, plucking my clipboard from my desk, and pulling the pen out from the crevice between my ear. As I got settled, I studied the woman in front of me. She had short auburn hair, with flush cheeks. Her eyes were an icy grey, but her eye lashes were long and made her look almost jolly. Her smile was large. Her outfit seemed to be something a soccer mom would wear; long, baggy beige sweater, skinny jeans, white flats, and a purse to match her shoes. As I studied her, it seemed she was doing the same.

"Sorry," I said suddenly, breaking the silence. "I just like to get a feel of my patients, how they are as a whole. Did I offend you, Mrs. Evans?"

The woman laughed and flushed a bright red. "Don't call me Mrs. Evans. I feel old. Kelly will do."

"Alright," I grinned. "Kelly it is. Would you mind telling me about yourself? Childhood experiences, adulthood memories, anything would do."

Kelly seemed to lose her smile, and the relaxed posture tensed. She recognized the serious atmosphere, and crossed her legs. I noticed this and mimicked her pose. "It's weird," Kelly said finally. "I'm a retired psychiatrist myself, and to be questioned is a bit strange. Perhaps I should start at the beginning?"

I nodded as encouragement, and willed Kelly to go on. It seemed she had much to talk about.

"My childhood wasn't so happy," she murmured darkly. "My father worked constantly, and my mother was long since dead. Due to this, he constantly wanted me to go out and do boy stuff with my brothers. I had three; I'm the middle child. I'm not sure if you noticed, I'm a transgendered woman, so when my dad wanted me to play soccer, I wanted to dress up and do more girlish stuff."

"It was when I came out in college that my father disowned me. Long story short, I don't see him anymore, but my brothers visit me every once in awhile. That wasn't the hard part of life. No, it was being stuck in a world that isn't as socially accepting. I've been scorned, looked at weirdly, you name it's happened. And actually, I've been jumped quite a few times."

I raised my brows and sat up straighter in my seat. "Really? What happened?"

"A group of guys from my college decided to beat me up."

"We're authorities involved?"

Kelly sighed and looked at me through her lashes. "They weren't done. Apparently, they were some members of the Westboro Baptist Church, and I was a free target. After they beat me to a pulp, one of the guys pulled out a switch blade. He uh- engraved something that I'll never forget."

Kelly looked teary eyes as she cautiously pulled up her sleeve, her fingers trembling. My eyes widened as the words god hates fags engraved on her arm. It was crudely cut, and it seemed like it had been painful the moment it happened. My mind began bending and twisting and turning as my stomach rolled around uncomfortably. It couldn't be. She couldn't be that girl. There's no way.

Kelly pulled her sleeve back instsntly, and my eyes snapped up to her own.

"Are you okay?" Kelly asked me.

I grimaced and felt the urge to throw up. I looked away from her for a second, and felt tears well behind my eyelids. "I'm so sorry," I choked out to her.

"What for? You didn't do anything?" She said comfortingly.

I shook my head and then looked Kelly straight in the eye. I then rolled up my own sleeve, and showed her my own self made battle scar. In bolded words, God Hates Fags was embroidered into my skin as well.

"B-but how could you...?"

I swallowed the bile in my throat. "I was there that night. I did it. I'm so sorry Kelly."

Her eyes turned wide in horror, and her body froze. I couldn't have seen a more mortified woman in my life.

And I didn't blame her.

After all, God hates me more than he will ever hate Kelly.

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"Hell is empty and the Devils are there."

~ William Shakespeare