Battle Scars

Chapter Two

Scarlet's POV

Writing is one of the only things that keeps me going. Whenever I am having a rough day the first thing I do is open my notebook. It's become something I rely on, a necessity almost. If I don't have it the world seems to close around me. My writing is a way to get away, it's a way to forget all of my problems. When I write I'm not just some depressed freak. On paper I'm a person with a voice. I'm in a place where what I say actually matters. I mean sure, no one is actually ever going to read the shit I write in here, but the thought that someone will exhilarates me. It excites me yet horrifies me at the same time. Knowing someone could know my deepest darkest secrets, my thoughts, my feelings. I wish it was that simple. I wish I could talk like how I write, but I can't. I'm not going to let myself look like a freak; as if I don't look like one already. I'm not crazy. I swear, I. Am. Not. Crazy.
No matter what people say.

I look up from my notebook and look around. I'm sitting in my room and it is scary quiet, it's almost eerie. my parents are either asleep, not talking to each other, or out. silence in my house is rare, but when it happens, I cherish it as much as I can. I sigh and lean back against my bed. I spent a good few hours in the park with that wolf thing before finally going home once the sun set only to be met with a dead quiet house.

I still can't believe that thing was real. It was so big and beautiful but it seemed so intelligent. it made me want to tell it everything about my life because I felt as though it were actually listening to me; like it was going to talk back to me or something... You know, maybe I am going crazy. I mean, a wolf? That's practically unheard of where I live. I mean, sure they exist but what are really the odds of running into one and not getting mauled to death?

"I'm going insane," I mumbled to myself as I ran a hand through my hair.

I got off my bed, deciding to take a shower while I still had the chance to relax and not have to deal with my parents screaming at each other all the goddamn time. As much as I loved them, they just make everything worse. I know they love me and they think that being together is helping me or whatever, but honestly they would be better off just leaving each other.

Walking into the bathroom I sigh as I glance at myself in the mirror. I look like death; my hair was sticking up in crazy directions and my eye makeup was smeared all over my too pale face. I was sweating slightly due to the fact that I am wearing both a long sleeve shirt and a sweater in June. My clothes seemed to be falling off of me and I rolled my eyes at my reflection before quickly pulling both layers off of me and sliding my pants off straight after.

Scars. Scars everywhere. my shoulders, my back, my stomach, my arms, my legs, not a single spot on my body was clear. Old scars and new ones littered what seemed to be every inch of me. Some were from the accident, seeing as I wasn't completely out of the way when the car had caught on fire. My back and legs had been severely burned and the doctors said that the scars would never go away. They did seem to heal rather well, seeing as they were very bad burns, but it was something that I wanted no one to see. To me they were disgusting. They are nothing but reminders that I did nothing to save my brother. Lucas died because of me, and those scars are Gods sick way of reminding me so.

I glanced down at the newest burns that I had created. The ones that I did only mere hours ago. As I looked at my skin I nearly passed out. They were gone. My eyebrows furrowed as I touched the skin, only feeling a slight raise of my skin where just three hours ago it was broken open and bleeding profusely. I couldn't believe my eyes. How does something like this happen? it just doesn't make sense at all. I pressed down to see if I could feel any pain but nothing happened. it was as if they had healed years and years ago.

How does something like this happen? I think back to the wolf in the woods that I named Forrest. He was licking my burns while I talked to him. Could he have had something to do with it? Could his licking my wounds have healed them so quickly? No, that would be impossible.