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Picture Perfect

I sat quietly at dinner, my parents discussing world events. I mostly pushed around food, unable to open my mouth far enough to get food inside without the stitches hurting me. I think I even ripped part of my lip... This didn't stop Mom from lecturing me when she saw, however.

"Honey, don't play with you food it'll get cold." She scolded softly. I attempted to gesture to the stitches across my mouth, to which she promptly ignored. Then I noticed... A steak knife, to which I quietly grabbed an made my attempt to cut them without anybody noticing. If I could just, get away with this. Right then. It would've been way easier to convey my thoughts. Even though I still have trouble relaying my thoughts from back then.

They noticed right away. I had no time to even cut part of them. It was like they were trained to keep looking at me in case I tried.

"Sweetie don't do that! Those stitches look so nice on you, I don't understand why you want rid of them so badly." Mom started, tsking and taking away the knife. How would she know? What does nice qualify as?

"Maybe we should just take all sharp things away from them, reduce temptations. That'll make them see that the Creator made them this way! And you should never change what the Creator made you as. They know best after all." Dad interjected, trying include himself in this equation. Why is their choice and not mine?

"I think its just a trend! Smith's little school friends are probably going through a similar phase, I'll ring up Sally and see if her kid is doing similar things. These kids see things and copy them, don't cha know? We just gotta make sure our little Smith doesn't do anything like that." Mom continued on. Why is it only their opinions being exchanged? Why aren't they asking me mine?

I looked around at my friends' for help, but Sullivan was awkwardly smiling and eating her food, and McCoy wasn't hearing a word of this.

"Besides, you'll learn to love that part of yourself eventually." Mom told me, messing with her hair. Is everyone entitled to tell me how to feel?

I felt woozy, and my mouth tasted like blood. I shakily grabbed my fork, trying to force myself to eat mash potatoes through the stitches. Lack of food was making me feel this way, yeah? Right?

It hurt worse with each tiny bite I managed to get through, and I think the taste of blood was getting worse. I think it's from the stitches tearing my mouth.

I was in tears, shakily reaching out for something to cut these stitches once again, trying not be noticed. McCoy finally took notice, quickly trying to aid me, grabbing a knife to cut the stitches too.

Dad slammed him back into his seat, lecturing him in sign language about how rude that was. How not to help me. That I would learn to love this.

It felt like fire, tracing my mouth. I let out muffled cries as I failed to get another knife, settling for setting my head against the table.

Sullivan put a hand on my shoulder. "I need to use the bathroom, come with me Smith!" She said, her smile looking forced.

Mom looked at us sternly, hesitantly nodding. "Sullivan, help your younger sibling pull it together while you're up there, won't you?" She asked with a sickly sweet voice. Sullivan just nodded, pulling me up from my seat. I quietly led her to bathroom, only to be pulled in the bathroom by her, and have the door locked behind me.

"Alright. I got a knife, they're full of bullshit." She quietly said, showing me the knife she snuck with her. I hesitantly took it, thinking it was too good to be true. Too easy.

I pressed the knife against the stitches, slowly cutting them. My mouth still tasted of blood, even moreso when I fully took them out, laughing a bit.

Sullivan grinned, throwing her arms around me. "Shhh, don't say anything." She whispered. "Draw them back on in the mirror. Maybe the robots won't notice."

I paused, having forgot Mom and Dad weren't actually out parents, and that we weren't a family.

"I-" I started, Sullivan quickly slamming her hand across my mouth and shaking her head. It kind of clicked, and I quietly drew the stitches back on with eyeliner in the mirror. They probably would've heard me, and used that against me at dinner when came back down. But dang if being smacked against fresh wounds didn't hurt severely....

My mouth still had ghostly aches of pain, and I could still feel my mouth bleeding for some reason. Maybe it was normal for having recently tore out stitches, I didn't know....

I sat back down with Sullivan downstairs, now happily eating dinner, despite being stared down by the robots. I was starving, okay? Tiny tiny bites of food didn't count. They weren't filling!

They continued talking about boring stuff. I didn't care. I just kept eating and eating until no food was left on my plate. I was full and happy about not having stitches stopping me from talking.

But. Then I got a weird tingle in the back of my throat. I ignored it at first. Then it went from tingly to itchy.... And itchy. To pain. Soon I was coughing and coughing- and then I couldn't cough- the pain wrapping around my mouth again. The...

The stitches came back. And I felt myself smiling against my will. And the robots voices, felt calming.

Sullivan and McCoy were yelling but I couldn't hear them. Their voices were fading into the background. The pain overtook me for a moment. It felt like something warm had crawled it's way into my head and wouldn't leave, forcing me to move and act in such a weird, uncomfortable way.

The next thing I knew, McCoy was slamming Mom's against the table, incoherently yelling about how he needed to know how to leave.

I couldn't force myself to pay attention, my eyes unwilling staring at a family picture. The glass was broken. The picture was torn at the edges. It wasn't burnt or torn in half but by god did it feel like it. My vision went blurry and the edges of it went white.

I think that was when I passed out. I still can't be entirely sure, my memory gets hazy from that point until I woke up. Speaking of which...