Torn

Chapter 1 - To Keep Quiet

Chapter 1
To Keep Quiet

A/N - The picture on the side is of Willow (: Thank you for reading!

The daily routine in front of my bathroom mirror had become so tiring at this point. The heavy amounts of makeup, the cringes, and the scars. I don’t believe there’s ever been a day in which I woke up and looked in the mirror with some faith. If there even was an inch of faith, it was hidden somewhere way deep down inside, where I couldn’t reach it.

I’d personally grown tired of the long sleeves and skinny jeans after the first week of Operation Cover-up. There was only so many times you could feel beautiful while wearing a certain outfit before you needed to retire it and dress up in a new one. But in order for this secret to stay with its holder, I needed to keep going with the winter clothes in the warm weather, and stop whining.

I gently poured some liquid foundation on the upside of my hand, leaving a small, pale colored puddle on the skin. I started from the neck up, hiding every inch of discolored bumps and questioning scars. The bruise on the right side of my cheek wasn’t healing at the rate I’d wanted it to, so that took more makeup than I usually caked on. I slowly spread it over the black and blue skin with nimble fingers and couldn’t help but flinch at the contact. I cursed myself for making him angry the night before. It was my fault, after all, that he reacted in the ways that he did. There was no one else to blame but myself and my big mouth.

After rolling down my sleeves and checking for missing spots, I washed my hands of the caked mess imprinted on my fingers and glanced at the mirror one last time. I frowned at the girl before me, the one with the worry lines already developing in her forehead and the multitude of different colored shapes lying against her skin. My hair was lying in gentle, blonde curls down my back, hair that I knew most girls would kill for. But no matter what, whenever I looked beneath the surface to the girl that was staring back, the feeling of being beautiful just never occurred.

How could someone be beautiful with so many imperfections on physical display for the world to see?

*~*~*~*~*

The night before had been a mess I’d created for myself.

I came home late from school that night, as the sun was setting behind the horizon and everything was turning dark. I remembered racing home as the street lights lit up one by one. My bag was slipping from my shoulders, the books almost falling to the ground beneath me. I had to get home quickly, before he woke up and realized who wasn’t home to take care of it all.

I had the distant memory of seeing a moving van in the driveway next door, only merely glancing at it before thrusting my key in the lock at the front door. The heavy weight from my full bag was resting against my forearm, sliding further and further down as I fumbled with the tiny metal in my hands. When the door finally opened, revealing an eerie silence, my breathing rate increased. I placed my bag gently on the floor by the doorway, making sure the wooden floorboards wouldn’t creak beneath my feet. My eyes shifted from his usual place on the living room couch, to the dining room entryway, and up the stairs.

He was nowhere to be seen.

I slowly made my way towards the kitchen, hoping to make myself a quick sandwich before disappearing into my room before he found out I’d been late to come home. I fumbled with the bag of bread, my fingers noticeably shaking with a quiet fear. As I’d picked up the knife to spread the peanut butter in front of me, I froze. Heavy footsteps, so distinct and gut-clenching, were becoming louder and louder as he made his way to the kitchen. I quickly spread the peanut butter and dropped the knife with a soft clink into the sink before turning around with my plate in my hands.