The Healer

Melody

I wake up the next morning and the sun is beaming through the window. Damn I thought to myself I slept on the window sill all night? I sat up rubbing my eyes from sleepiness. It was late August school was starting again tomorrow and all I could think about is how grateful I am that this is my last year at ridgemont high. I walk to my room and open my closet. It's the first time in months my scars are healed enough for me to wear something more fitting to the current hot humid weather. I didn't have much summer clothes which is ironic cause summer is the only time in the year where my body is free from pain and my exterior is almost normal. I grab a T-shirt and some ripped jeans cause I had no shorts and ran out the door on an empty stomach to catch the subway heading to Manhattan. I hold onto the railing pulling a joint and a lighter out of my back pocket with my other hand to spark before I reached work. "Do you mind?" A lady who had managed to bag a seat on the subway said as she shielded her son from the horrible sight of me smoking. I laughed and responded "my mother never did". And with that I took my last hit before smashing the joint on the ground beneath me. I let go of the railing got off the subway and headed to the bakery. I pushed through the glass doors as Linda approached me. "Here" she said handing me a small makeup bag, "go to the bathroom and clean up". I grabbed the bag reluctantly, Linda's the manager of the bakery, she gave me a job when i needed it most. Not that I don't need the job now cause I do, but Linda is the one person I'm ever willing to listen to cause without her I'd really have nothing. I opened the door to the bathroom and unzipped the makeup bag, inside were some eye drops a small perfume and deodorant. I grabbed the eye drops and looked myself in the mirror. I don't look at myself a lot. My dark brown burgundy tinted hair was thin but long, my build was petite but I was especially thin. My clothes hung on me. I never really seemed to wear them like they wore me. But the worst part of looking at myself was looking at my eyes. My dark almost black eyes. I hated looking at them. Why? You may wonder, well who would want to look at sad eyes?