Captive - FourTris

Fifteen

APRIL 30
8 MONTHS

For two days, I skipped school. Two days I avoided everything. I stayed in bed almost all day, the curtains drawn, the covers pulled up to my chin.

But I know I have to go back to class before I miss too much. Before they call my mom.

I bring a stool into the tiny bathroom in his apartment and sit on it under the harsh light, and stare at the angry blue bruise under my eye.

Gingerly, I touch the darkest spot and wince. It's still tender even though it's been a few days. It's turning a grotesque shade of yellow around the edges.

I dig through a bag of makeup, trying to find the best concealer. I choose the weird green goop and pat it under my eye, then follow it up with foundation and powder. I just need to cover it up so no one will see it. I'll keep my head down and get through class. The bruise will fade and no one will ever know it was there.

I look up after I dab another layer of powder under my eye.

It's not an improvement. I look like I've smacked pancake batter on my face.

I take a washcloth and wipe it off, but the pressure makes my whole face throb.

I look down at the linoleum for a moment and take a few deep breaths to will away the emotions welling up in my chest. This is stupid. I need to just cover it up and get to school.

I can do this.

I grip the sink and stare straight back at my reflection. And I don't recognize myself.

Before I can stop it, my lip starts quivering. A tiny bit at first, then it's shaking and I have to bite it. My vision shimmers, and then I see the big tears brim and roll down my cheeks, dripping off my chin, one after another.

The girl staring back at me is not me.

It is someone else.

It is not me.

Her eyes turn red as I watch her in the mirror. Her boring blue eyes look so hollow.

She's like the zombie version of me. The undead version.

There is no way that is me.

I close my eyes because I can't look at her anymore. School can wait. I can make up another day. It's Friday, anyway. By Monday the bruise will be gone and no one will have to know about it.

I need to go back to bed, where the world doesn't exist.

I swipe my hand across the counter and the makeup crashes to the floor, and then I walk out the door and switch off those ugly bright lights.

I'm going back to bed. And when I wake up maybe that ugly girl will be gone.