Painless

Chapter Nine

I pushed the pink box of baked goods into Benji’s hands as if the contents were poisonous. A girl showing up at a door with a batch of yummy goodies was so cliché, I could barely stand it. I was almost afraid that the girliness of it would somehow rub off on me.

            Nah. It’d never happen.

            Instead, I led the way up the path, my jacket swishing behind me like a cape. With my rainbow of scars, and fresh cuts and bruises from the night before, there was no way anyone would mistake me for the neighborhood welcoming committee.

            “Now, let me do the talking,” I warned as I stepped forward and pressed the doorbell. As it rang inside, I looked back at the car, where Agent Carson was waiting for us. Or rather, where he was busy reading a copy of Rolling Stone. I’d been expecting a bigger fight when I’d told him to wait in the car, but he’d surprised me by pulling out the magazine and turning off the engine. Now, as I looked over at him, I could see that he was still engrossed in his reading material and “chilling out” as I’d suggested.

            So the kid can take orders. Who’d of thunk it? I guess there was still more to learn about Agent Goody-Goody after all.

            The front door creaked as it opened, and I spun around in time to see a plump lady peek her face out of the entryway of the house. She looked at the two of us quizzically, as if she’d been expecting company, but it hadn’t been us. Her confusion gave way to polite curiosity as she opened her door the rest of the way.

            “Well, hello there,” she said, pleasantly.

            “Hi, Mrs. Corbin? We’re sorry to show up like this, but I’m Bliss and this is Benji. We’re friends of Joanie’s,” I said, my voice soft and friendly.

            I watched as recognition played across her face and she visibly relaxed.

            “Of course! Benji, how are you dear? You’ve gotten so tall since last summer! And you said it was Bliss? I’m sorry, but I don’t remember you from when I picked Joanie up…” she said sheepishly. Then, her face changed to one of surprise as if she was finally noticing my rough appearance. She didn’t recognize me from CC, because I hadn’t been there. But my scars identified me as being like Joanie. Even if Mrs. Corbin didn’t know me personally, she could tell I was a part of the club.

            “Mrs. Corbin, we came all the way here because we were hoping to talk to you about what happened to Joanie,” Benji said, taking a step forward and touching Mrs. Corbin’s arm lightly. I watched her face soften and her eyes began to tear up. You’d think I’d be used to it by now—people crying when they were emotional—but I was still intrigued by the act every time it happened. Tears were such a dead giveaway of how people were feeling. I was always so perplexed as to why people let them out so freely. And in public, too. If I had the ability to produce tears, I wasn’t sure I’d do it. It was like showing your hand during a game of cards. It made you vulnerable around others.

            But still, I wondered what it would actually feel like to cry. People always said they felt better after a good cry. But did they mean that literally? How could that one little release of liquid actually feel good? Or was it just the emotional side of things? It was frustrating to know that I was once again missing out on a simple human function that others utilized with abandon. Just one more thing to set me apart from everyone else in the world.

            You’d think I’d be used to being different by now, but that pang of loneliness still dug into me every once in a while. Not that I wanted to cry over it or anything. It’d just be nice to have the option.