Internal Organs

Just Another Morning

It's a rainy morning at the time Ryan awakes, though it takes her a few minutes to collect what's going on around her as the numbness of a restless sleep sways over her. She lays motionless in the jumbled mess of blankets strewn around her. She couldn't bring herself to move to the large bed in the master bedroom where she and her non-existant spouse should lie. She felt as if she didn't deserve it.

She moved her stiff limbs and rolled herself onto the floor, lying between the identical twin bed on the opposite site of the room underneath the window. She stared up at the perfectly made bed. She could almost smell the stench of disappointment that lingered on her skin. Slowly the numbness subsided and she pulled herself up to her feet and reached for her alarm clock just as the loud alarm wailed. She hit it off before dragging her sorry rear to the bathroom across the hall and entered, closing the door out of habit before switching the water on. Leaning herself against her sink she slowly looked up.Her eyes lingered on t he thick, colorless scars on her arms. The large ones on the inside of her forearms that ran from wrist to elbow were especially hard to look at but her gaze remained. Soon her eyelashes tried to bat away the salty tears forming in her eyes. She rubbed her face, trying to collect herself before she paused, the long scar that ran through her right eyebrow, over the bridge of her nose, under her left eye, over her cheek, and under her ear was under her fingertips. She swallowed the choking feeling she had before tearing open the medicine cabinet and downing two of her depression pills.

Upon tucking the fastened bottle back in its respectful place she stripped from her ex's shirt and panties before easing herself into the shower. She scrubbed the stench of disappointment and the smell of defeat off as quickly as she could, turning her caramel skin red. The hundreds of scars on her legs, arms, and torso turned a tomato color. The blade that hung from her neck on a chain seemed tempting. She looked at is as she took it in her hand, studying the droplets of water and her pained reflection in the metal. The sharp double end made it more tempting, a numbness ran over her body in a coolness even as the scalding water burned her skin. She could almost hear the blade calling for her. One more cut can't hurt anymore than the others, could it?

She was ripped from her blade at the sound of another alarm. Letting the blade fall back to its place around her neck she turned off the water, standing naked as the cool air nipped at her skin. Automatically she stepped out and wrapped a towel around her body, ignoring the water droplets that clung to her face before switching the alarm off. Walking next door back to her room she made her way to her closet and pulled her black flannel and binder from the rack and laid it gently on the made bed. From her dressers she pulled a red tie and a pair of red skinny jeans that she had turned into short along with her panties and bra. She slowly got dressed making sure to keep everything unwrinkled. Pulling on her binder was always a challenge yet she could always accomplish getting it on without too much of a struggle. Rolling up her sleeves , her scars were white again she noticed. She sighed and fixed herself in the mirror, tugging on the tie to make it look right. Tucking in her flannel she checked herself again before pulling on her silver studded belt and knee high socks. Only a few scars poked at her knee but mostly they were from skateboarding incidents. She thought a little before digging through her drawer for her suspenders and put them on, allowing them to hang down her shorts. Checking herself again she ran her hand through the mohawk on her head. She stood her dark brown hair up and formed it to the center to stand. 

Satisfied she walked the bedroom down her stairs to her kitchen. Lazily she poured herself a bowl of multi-grain cheerios with milk and made her way back up stairs to the third floor landing where the stairs to the attic were already pulled down. Carefully she climbed them to a room where skateboard decks hung on the walls, art supplied strewn everywhere. There was a bookcase of sketchbooks and piles of shirts and canvases. Pressed against a wall filled with drawings and shelves of stuffed animals, fabrics, and sculpture was a desk filled with papers with designs and handwriting that could only be described as chicken scratch. There was paint and a half painted drop-through longboard deck with a rough sketch of the deck next to it. Placing the now empty bowl on end table the artist sat and picked up where she left off merely 6 hours before. She looked to the clock, 6:30 a.m. the arms read. I have to an hour, she thought before picking up the turquoise blue she had been using and squirted a decent amount onto her mixing plate along with white and a neon green. She had been working on a painting of the mystical beast The Kraken destroying a ship for over three days as a commission piece for someone who ordered it at the shop. He was looking for a new board to ride with and was reccomended to the shop by a buddy. Even though he was spending close to $300 on the board, trucks, bearings, and wheels included, he seemed excited to see how it turned out.