The Scars She Hides

Part 4 - Little Bird

HOLDEN

Charlotte was a flighty little thing.

At first this was just about getting that extra hour to do work, while she skipped P.E. But then the little things about her didn't add up. Sure, you could claim that she was shy.. But I didn't buy it. Even shy girls aren't immune to heat stroke. Which she well proved when she collapsed in front of the library. I swear my heart had never stopped in my chest like when I saw her eyes roll back into her head. I could still hear the sickening thwak of her skull clipping the concrete.

Thinking back, that was were my curiosity started.

The scar.

When I had slipped into the nurses office that day, I had only caught a glimps of it, before Charlotte snatched the privacy curtain around them. It was a gnarly looking thing, twisting from her hairline, just below her temple, and curving down to her throat, making a rounded L looking line. Raised and a deep irritated red, I knew that it wasn't an old injury. That had been recent. Along with the conversation I overheard about her history of head trauma, I couldn't help but be intrigued.

Who was this little bird of a girl? And what was she hiding?

Even if I was the outcast among my prep school peers, I was no assehole. Well, not a total asshole. I could tell Charlotte was working hard to hide her scar, so I decided to keep its discovery to myself for the time being. Wearing the awful sweaters to hide her scar made more sense now, but her other behaviours were still a mystery. Why was she so flighty and timid? Why despite being fairly easy to get along with, did she seem to have no friends? No life outside of school?

It had all started to fall into place when she had edited my paper, I knew it was the perfect opportunity to satisfy my curiosity, as well as mutually benefit both of us. So when I had crossed into her side of the room to ask her for help, I couldn't help but notice the shift. It was easy to read her fidgeting and refusal to make eye contact as a shy demeanour. If you didn't look too hard, you could pin her with the 'shy girl' tag and move on with your day. I had almost done so.

When I had reached out to stop her from mangaling her fingers with her bag strap, I saw genuine panic flash through her eyes. The way that the blood left her face, and her body tensed up as I had moved forward to simply touch her hand, made my stomach churn. I immediately stepped away.

This wasn't some quiet high school kid.

This was something else entirely. And I wasn't sure I wanted to know what made her react that way.

I watched as she struggled with that panic now, perched on the very back of the bike, as far away as she could get from me. Whatever had made her so afraid to walk home in the dark was scarier than her aversion to touching me (or me touching her).

"It's your choice." I told her softly. I would get off the bike and walk her to her dorms if that is what needed to happen. It would suck, and I would have to walk back to campus to get my bike before going home, but if that is what she needed then so be it. Even if I wasn't curious about her secrets, I would never make a girl walk home in the dark.

I watched those three words sink into Charlotte's mind, and stop the anxious twisting of her fingers. For some reason, I wanted her to reach out and chose touching me over walking back to her dorm. A little part of me was chanting, cheering for her as I saw her struggle with the decision in her head.

You can do it little bird. It seemed to be saying over and over again. Slowly, she uncurled her fingers, and stretched them towards me. I stopped breathing, stopped moving, stopped chanting in my head. Too afraid to scare away the little bird that was moving in my direction.