Hush

Chapter three

 Wounds that have healed can always be reopened.

My hand reached up and turned the shower nozzle toward myself. I closed my eyes as the water heated, listening to the rhythmic sound of deep even breaths, and water falling and splashing against  my shoulders. Streaming down my back.

Running my hand across the scars. I can hear their screams pounding, ringing in my ears. Desperation showing in my quivering hands, gasping for breath. Crippled by my fear, drowning in my blood. beyond feeling, beyond pain. As it reaches for the knife.

I awaken from my trance shaking my head violently, as if hitting it against the wall will make the thoughts fall out of my ears, empty my head, leave the memories in the dust, those memories I no longer need or want.

My scars are the only evidence of what happened to me I want to cut them off, the very sight of them sickens me, but that would only make more scars. They are the reminder of the pain, the reminisce of torture, the essence of death, and the art of a mad man.

Mutilated flesh torn and bleeding, clothed by ripped broken skin, stitched and mended by the skill of surgeons. They don't give me character, or make me a better person, they're just ugly, and that is all.

I hear the family car  drive over the gravel rode and the doors slam shut. I turn the water off and grab  the towel of the rack. I wince as I put weight on my right foot and limp out of the bathroom. Not a limp that is slight, and unnoticeable, but obvious and painful.

Mark, Sophia and Dad are home, Mark would normally be home a lot latter but his old, smelly truck is in the shop. I was nearly half way down the stairs when the telephone rang.

Mark raced to answer it, a grin of excitement spreading across his face. He must have thought it was his girl friend, Desire.

"Um hi" his face fell when he discovered otherwise.

"Sure man, just a sec."

He held out the phone to me

"Its  Shawn, he wants to talk to you."

How had he gotten our number? I wondered, not that it mattered I couldn't talk to him anyway. We weren't even very good friends before it happened. I don't know why he expected us to be afterwards. I wish he would stop pretending he cared. I walked past Mark ignoring the phone in his extended hand. He frowned,

"Come on take it"

I shook my head.

"Why not?"

I paused in my efforts to get past the living room, did he realy expect me to answer?

"Your such a freak man, you make us all look like freaks."

He balled up his fists in frustration weeks of anger and annoyance boiling under his skin flowing over, spilling out. Most,  although I had not been the cause of his torment and stress, aimed at me.

"Take it!"

"Just take it!"

I shook my head again, wondering how many times I would have to to get my point across, I wasn't going to talk, not to him, not to anyone. why is that so hard to understand?

He lifted the phone back to his ear sighing,

"He cant come to phone right now" he glared in my general direction for making him lie the trace of wrath still evident on his face, but gone from his voice .

"Okay.

Yeah.

See you latter man." 

he hung up.

 and scowled at me,

"You are so weird"

Dad looked up, formally oblivious to the one sided conversation. He finished helping Sophia with the fourth coat she was wearing and frowned

" Calm down Mark, its not a big deal."

the door knob turned and opened, Mom came in dragging several grocery  bags that were to heavy for her. She looked around the room first at dad who returned the confused stare, than at Mark, running his hands through his short even hair cut, still glaring, she looked  over to Sophia doing her hyper active dance around dad, at the pathetic, mess that was left of me. It had been a while since we were gathered in the same room, at the same time.

We're just one big happy family.

Silence is unnatural, you can almost hear it, in the stillest of nights, creeping up behind you, masking predators in the darkness, and that night was silent, dead silent. 

My eyes wandered around my room, I reach for the nearest object I can find, a pencil.

I pressed the lead tip  and my other hand against the wall I wasn't planning to do so but silence was driving me even more insane. I started to draw, blindly scrawling abstracted patterns across the paint job, The pencil ran into my other hand. I paused, ready to move it to another place. Then changed my mind, I had already started, why stop there?

I continued the pattern The lead broke my skin and crimson droplets formed before, running through the creases in my palm. I could not stop there, the pattern was'nt finished.

With out warning the door creaks open, startled I jump as if an electric shock has gone through me. Mom stands in the doorway, Their room is on the other side of the wall.

I guess I broke their silence. She flicked on the light rubbing her eyes and groaning softly

"Levi?"

"Stop making that scratching noise, some people are trying to sleep!"

She opened her eyes and her jaw dropped open.

"What are you doing?"

As if it wasn't completely obvious.

she walked over, shakily, and unsure takes my hand of the wall, and drops the wet pencil on the floor. I hope shes not upset about the wall. I studied the pattern carefully.

"You need help", she whispered her voice soft, with compasion. yet harsh with a edge of anger.

I bowed my head avoiding eye contact. Was she mad? I couldnt tell I hope she wasnt I did'nt mean to upset her I was just curious.

I just wanted to know, how it felt.

She took my hand, opening the palm and staring in disbelief, fussing and holding back tears of horror and queit sobs, running distruaght fingers through her wavy brown hair. She couldnt belive what I had done, she didnt know what to do. 

But I don't cry, this is nothing to be afraid of, nothing to worry about.

I know pain, and this isn't it.