The Things We Do (Under Editing)

Traces of the Past

Apparently, my mother didn't understand the whole "leave" thing, or the "I never want to talk to you" thing for that matter. Then again, the woman who gave birth to me couldn't even figure out that the date she'd sent me a birthday card on for the last four years wasn't actually my birthday.

She was only off by like five months.

Oh, and every card had my name spelled wrong. Not that I'm complaining... wait, yes I am. My mother sucks.

I walked out of my room to find my mother sitting at the table, drinking coffee. Now, don't get me wrong, I love my roommate, but she needs to be a little less nice sometimes. Of course, if my mom knocks on the door, Mel has to invite her in. Screw being nice.

"Leave." Was I a bit blunt? Yes. Yes I was. Did I care? Not particularly.

"Now honey-"

"No." I broke her off. It was already later than I should have left for class, and I really didn't want her here when I got back. "Nothing you say will ever change my mind. So how about we stop pretending to care about each other and you get as far away from me as possible?"

I didn't wait for an answer before leaving the apartment, making sure to slam the door as hard as I could behind me. I'd apologize to the neighbors later if necessary.

If I wasn't on my way to class, I'd have pushed my mother out the door and slammed it directly in her face. Hopefully she wouldn't stick around long enough for me to do that. I didn't have the energy to deal with her, and even if I did I would probably still just physically tossed her out.

I was ready to be done with her.

"Kill me now."

I sat on the floor of my apartment with my head resting on the coffee table. Elliot sat across from my on the sofa, telling me everything wrong with the work I'd just done.

"I'll die during finals anyway. Might as well get it over with."

"It's not that bad, actually." Elliot waved the few pages of paper with my work on them at me.

My head lifted just enough for me to glare at Elliot. How dare he lie so blatantly?

He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, putting my notebook on the table. "You confused these two numbers here," he told me, pointing at the page, "but other than that, you did it right."

Ok, so maybe it wasn't a lie.

Mel snorted at him from where she stood at the stove. "Yeah, but because she confused the numbers, she got the whole thing wrong."

"I don't want to hear that from someone who never passed a math class higher than algebra," I groaned more at the table than at my roommate, but chucked an eraser in her general direction over my shoulder.

She responded to my challenge with a slice of carrot she had plucked from the pan she was stirring. While her math skills weren't great, her aim was spot on. Her attack hit the back of my head and slid down my shirt. In an instant, I was on my feet, pulling my top away from my skin so that the vegetable could fall to the ground. Finally safe from the heat, I glared at the overly cheerful cook.

I turned back to Elliot just in time to see the last of his smile before he wiped it off his face. "She's right. The slightest mistake can prevent your product from functioning properly."

"What happened to 'it's not that bad'? I liked that better."

"Wrong is still wrong," he reiterated.

"Wow. Thanks for the confidence, guys. I'll be sure to thank you when I accept my first award."

Mel propped her hand on her hip and pointed her spatula at me threateningly. "You'd better. After all the work I've put into keeping you alive and sane, I want acknowledgement."

"I know, and I love you for your kindness. If it weren't for you, I would have died of Ramen overdose a long time ago."

Elliot snorted and I turned on him, pointing my pencil at him much the same way Mel had been pointing her spatula at me. "Oh, you think that's funny? I should show you the struggles of pretty much every college student that isn't you."

He threw his hands up in mock surrender. "Oh no. The horror."

"Real world lesson will have to wait." Mel grabbed the back of my shirt, despite my pretend attempts to attack Elliot, and dragged me towards the table. "Dinner's ready."

How often had I found myself standing in front of my mirror over the last week? Ever since I'd thrown my mask away, I hadn't been able to stop myself from surveying the damage my actions had brought to my own body. How many of my scars meant a dozen or so more on someone else?

7 deep wounds that would forever mar my skin; 4 burns that may or may not fade; and countless cuts, scrapes, and bruises that were already vanishing were my reminders of the people I'd hurt. Not that the scars were necessary, I'd make sure I'd never forget, but it felt odd to care so deeply.

Parading around as Phantom Banshee wasn't the first thing to give me a set of scars, and, honestly, the only reason I knew which scars came from what was that I remembered getting every single one of them. Every single scar was its own memory, etched into my brain just as much as my skin.

Sure several of my scars had already been there, including one of the worst, but most of the fading old ones were less obvious among the mess of fresher marks. I preferred seeing the new ones.

I'd spent years imagining marking the people who'd marked me. As Phantom Banshee, I did, but I also hurt so many others. I'd never liked strangers, and more recently, I couldn't bring myself to care about people in general, yet here I was, regretting everything I'd done. Well, almost everything.

I saved a little girl. Not that that made up for everything else, and it was pretty much my fault that she was in danger, but at least I'd tried to do better.

I finally sighed and pulled a shirt on. No matter how long I stared at the old wounds that latticed my body, they would never go away. I'd just have to live with the memories that I'd created for myself along with all the others.