To Save a Life

The Scars They Leave

Okay, just let me rant for a second. WHY WATTPAD?! WHY DON'T YOU TRANSFER ITALICS?!?! (If you guys see a part and go "Hmm, this part would be so much better with italics," ITS NOT MY FAULT. I reaallly don't want to go through and find all the stuff I put in italics... KAY DONE.

ENJOY!!!

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"We'll send her as soon as she's better." The words resonated in my brain, following me into unconsciousness. If only I could stay that way-- in blissful oblivion.

When I awoke, her face was the first I saw, staring at me from a corner of the hospital room, a snake in sheep's clothing. In seconds I was swarmed with doctors-- asking me questions, taking me temperature.

But when I opened my mouth to respond to the onslaught, I couldn't produce even a squeak. All I could hear were those words. "We'll send her." I felt betrayed. Why did I ever think that they cared for me, that anyone ever would.

It's not like anyone at school ever did. I couldn't trust anyone.

Everyone was pretending. The only ones I could ever trust in my life were my parents, and they would never be there for me again.

I didn't speak during my entire recovery, and in a week, I was well enough to leave. My uncle wasted no time. As soon as I stepped out of the hospital doors, I was swept off to my house to pack.

* ** ** ** ** *

Crash. I winced. That didn’t sound good at all. I opened my mouth to say something, but once again, nothing came out. My fists balled in anger. This was ridiculous… it’s not like I didn’t want to talk, but something always stopped me before I got anything out.

My relatives thought I was faking, or was just crazy, neither of which helped my case. Ann was the only one who didn’t agree, at this point, that I should go to an orphanage. But once, she came up to me, tears in her eyes.

She just stared, shaking her head, finally saying, “I get why you don’t want to talk to everyone else, but why not me, of all people? I’m on your side.”

“Believe me,” I shouted in my thoughts, “I would if I could.”

But the fact was that I couldn’t, no matter how hard I tried. This… Everything… It had left me scarred, so deeply, I was afraid I would never recover.

And now I would have to leave.

I shoved my belongings into my assortment of suitcases. To tell the truth, it was mostly full of things from my parents that I didn’t want to give away. That I didn’t want those people rampaging through my house to touch. Ever.

In my smallest suitcase, I had some of my own possessions, my laptop in it’s own little bag, and a knapsack full of art supplies, my phone and endless assortment of headphones slung across my back.

“I may not be able to speak,” I thought to myself, “But I will stay myself.”

One by one, I dragged each of my suitcases down the stairs, ignoring the whispers about the amount of luggage. “How about you try shoving your entire lives into three suitcases and get back to me?” I wanted to shout. Insensitive jerks.

Then it was time for goodbyes. As I pulled my stuff outside, near the van the orphanage supplied for me, the onlookers fidgeted nervously.

In a swift movement, Ann stepped forward, struggling out of her father’s strong grip and disapproving look to give me a quick hug. She leaned towards my ear. “I’ll email you and stuff. All the time. Stay in touch.” The last part was choked. I think we both knew that it may be best for me to forget about the rest of my family, even if it meant letting go of her.

I nodded and turned away, heading for the van. I didn’t expect anyone else to say anything. I didn’t want anyone to. Especially not her.

“Wait, Rin.” A warm hand touched my arm, just above my elbow. I was overcome with anger, my throat tightening alarmingly.

I turned around, trying to no avail to keep my face from twisting in pain. She stared at me with pity. Pity. Of all thing, that was what set me off.

I could have screamed. Could have yelled. I could slammed her with a freaking frying pan.

I bet it would’ve made me feel better.

But I didn’t, although I don’t even understand why. Instead, I violently jerked out of her grasp. I looked up at her, feeling a mixture of denial, betrayal, and finally, defiance.

“I… I hate you.”

The words hung in the air, my voice sounding foreign after not using it for so long. The wind blew around us, whispering in it’s own foreign language, blowing my aunt’s blood-red bangs, so like my own, over her eyes, obscuring her expression.

Good. I didn’t want to see how she took the words. No matter how she did, it would have haunted me forever, and that was the last thing I needed.

I needed to leave. To move on.

To forget.

Without another word, I swung the van’s passenger-side door open and ducked inside. She made no move to call out, not even to move.

And as I looked up at my house, the site of so many memories, I saw her red hair waving in the wind, dancing like fire.

I shook my head. I didn’t need them, and they obviously didn’t need me.

“I’m ready,” I said to the driver, not looking at him. “We can go.”

We pulled off in silence, and I made a resolution.

They would never hear my voice again.

Never.