FACELESS

Chapter 20

After the nurse left, my wound throbbed angrily with pain. The numbing, cooling sensation was gone; its effects vanquished along with them. All I can feel is stinging, hot pain. It made me irritated, even angry. I felt the stinging deep underneath my skin, and I sat up on my bed, hissing when my finger twitched and the wound reopened.

I turned over in my bed, grabbing my phone from the edge of the bed. Was I going to–

Before I knew, my fingers were clicking away at the number pad. I swore at myself, staring at the familiar number I had remembered in my mind.

The dial tone rang once, twice.

"Hello?"

I felt my lungs give way, and I gripped my hair, pulling it from my scalp to anchor myself back into the world. Her voice. Her voice.

"Hey."

"Who is this?"

Icy, hot, pain ringing in my ears. And then I let out a laugh, holding back hot tears.

"It's me. You sent me flowers."

"Oh." Silence. Then, a soft murmur. "Yeah, I did."

"You remember." I whispered.

"Yeah."

Awkward silence between us. How funny to think that before, our silence was a form of closeness and friendship and love. But now, silence is the only thing we know. I realise that she never reacted to my voice. She didn't remember my voice. I did. How funny that after all this, knowing that the whole relationship was one sided; I still love her.

"Are you coming over to the hospital?"

"What?"

"Are you coming over? Can you come over to the hospital?" I paused, then bit my lips. "Please?"

"You know my parents wouldn't let me go out... now, I mean. I'm busy. The graduation things, you know."

"I'm in the hospital. Can't you just see me for once?"

"Sorry, I– " Static movement from the phone, and then, a voice from somewhere in the background.

"Who are you talking to?"

Her voice struck me, a flaming, hot anger inside of me rises. I want to squeeze her neck, squeeze out everything inside of her, make her feel how alone and how much pain I'm in. Why the fuck is she with her? Her?

"I fucking get it, you're busy." I hissed out. "Then maybe you shouldn't have sent me the fucking flowers if you're not going to come see me. I could had forgotten you but you made me remember."

"I sent it to as a courtesy. Anyways, I got to go, now."

"As a courtesy?" I laughed, the fuming anger inside of me escaped out of my eyes. "A fucking courtesy? That's what I am to you? I'm a–"

The call cuts off.

I slammed the phone down at the cabinet beside my bed, and I dig my fingers into my wound, letting the pain eat me from inside. I felt the sharp pain, pulling and tugging and at the same time, hissing at my hand. Blood oozed out of my wounds, and I started to sob. Heavy sobs, and shaky shoulders, the sadness inside of me emerging out.

When I am done, the bandage is soaked with blood.

This is not self harming, I thought to myself. It's coping.

I sit for a while on my bed, the anger and sadness and pain inside of me driving me driving me insane.

I dragged myself out of the bed, and then, I walked with a desperate clinging to know, to know. To know if there is anything to hold on afterall, or if I should had dug deeper into the vase in the morning, and let myself bleed to death. 

I opened the bathroom door in my ward, and walked in. Standing in front of the mirror, I glanced up at the reflection staring back at me. A girl, with her messy and untidy black hair, only maintained by dry shampoo for the last few months. Her face covered completely in bandages, thinner than the ones she used to wear a few months ago, when she was still healing. 

She was ugly before. Now she is going to be uglier. She knew it, and the bitterness inside of her dug deep. What did I do to deserve this? 

I grabbed the edge of the bandages, pulling at it, and felt it loosened at my cheek. Then, I unwrapped the bandage, slowly, twirling my one good hand around my head as the the bandage is untangled into a single piece of white cloth. I stared at the mirror the whole time, locking my gaze with my own eyes. 

When I'm done, I let go. And the bandage ribboned itself at my feet. 

A large, red patch of skin at my left cheek, still healing. It dragged from the left jawline to the inner corner of my cheeks, stopping and scrapping just past the bottom of my dark circles. The wound was still not done healing, the first layer of my skin is gone, and there's a indent to where the burn was located.

Not as bad as you think it is, I recalled the words from the nurse. 

Not as bad. 

I lifted my good hand, touching the skin gently, then flinched at the feeling of my cold fingers on the still healing wound. I thought it was my whole face, gone. 

I stared at my face in the mirror. 

For how long, I don't remember. 

But I haven't seen myself in the mirror for so long, I almost forgot how I looked like. 

And then I started to cry.

Staring at myself in the mirror, I cried. 

I will never see the old me again.