BEASTLY

xii. scars

Just to clarify, the Naomi in the story was accidentally named after Naomi Samilton. She looks like her, but has no characteristics like our actual beloved Naomi. :) By the way, she was the literal sweetest at PentaCon.

Mitch Grassi

It's already been a few weeks since my change and these scars have officially become a part of me. They didn't feel as rough as they used to; in fact, they kind of felt nice. It was almost like I had my tattoos back. My tattoos defined me... and now, these scars defined me. Whenever I found myself idle, which tended to be quite a lot these days, I'd trace each scar. It reminded me of how my mother used to gently rub my back while I fell asleep as a kid. It brought back good memories while I lived my life on in a never-ending nightmare.

The scarring was more prominent on my face and my chest. In fact, I barely had any on the rest of my body. It was just the parts that I let the world see: my upper extremities, my face, and torso. There's a scar on the right side of my head that was the most defined one in my eyes. There were three dark semi circles, a row of black dots resting right above the top one. Each semi circle got thicker as they got bigger and closer to the dots. It was a cool idea for a tattoo, honestly; though, I wished the bit--excuse me, witch, had just given me a large arrow on my forehead. Then I could have cosplayed til the day I died.

But these scars truly marked up these most viewed parts of my skin. These used to be my favorite parts of my body. I admittedly felt beautiful. Intimidating, really. That's why I added my tattoos, to make me look appealing. People would come up and touch my skin, asking why I got these tattoos. These permanent scars. Now, if someone did that, they'd feel the crevices in my skin. They'd ask why I had these. They weren't appealing. They were disgusting. Though disgusting, they made me feel rugged.

I'd already broken all of the mirrors in this new condo... minus one. I didn't pass the small mirror in the foyer often, if at all. I didn't ever leave the house. I'd left maybe a few times, but that was before the sun was anywhere near awake. I'd gone on walks every single morning to get my body going before my change. It had become a regular thing. And, so, I figured I'd push my walk back a little earlier. It didn't effect my sleep cycle, considering I didn't sleep well, or much.

I've noticed that it doesn't phase Avi when he sees me like this because, well, he can't see me; however, I think I scare Naomi just a bit, though. For some reason she looks at me the way she looks at Mike: fear and intimidation trapped behind a semi-confident smile. I don't want to be thought of as Mike Grassi's kid. I'm my own damn person, for fuck's sake. I'd wondered how I could possibly get her to see me in a new light. I had to show her that I wasn't a horrible person.

I'm not a horrible person, right?

-.-.-.-.-

I hadn't realized that I wasn't even looking down at the book we were studying. I had it opened on whatever chapter we were studying, but my mind was elsewhere. For starters, Avi hadn't sat down all morning. I don't think he was nervous, though. It was like he was memorizing all of the places in the floor that creaked. He was pacing back and forth on the carpet as he was helping me grasp the deeper meaning behind Maya Angelou's I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. I just hoped I could get over school quick. I wouldn't need this with my future career. I wanted to be on Broadway. Or sing somewhere. Or maybe be a DJ. I didn't need this... but I needed to focus so I could at least get it over with. 

But I couldn't stop thinking about this. It clouded my thoughts. So, maybe if I brought it to Avi that he could help me. I feared his answer. I mean, I kind of had been a bit snarky with him the past few weeks, but he was growing on me a bit. "Avi, do you think I'm a horrible person?"