Banish Me

Like Die

I woke up to someone saying my name softly and shaking my shoulder even softer. From what I could remember, I’d made it maybe fifteen minutes into Battle: Los Angeles before passing out. Gwen’s last words rang in my head and my eyes snapped open.

“Oh crap!”

I made to get up but I was shoved gently back where I was.

“It’s just me.”

I blinked, the room going from a nice fuzzy glow to a crisp, bright…annoyance.

“Ugh…” I clicked my tongue against the roof of my mouth, “Dad? What time is it?”

His gentle grin filled my line of sight. “It’s…early.”

I yawned. “How early?” I blinked and that’s when I noticed he was dirty and there was a cut across his cheek. “Oh my god. What happened to your face?”

The last part came out as a shriek and he quickly shooshed me. “You’re going to wake everyone up. Get untangled from Peter and come into the kitchen.”

He patted my hand and stood up, exiting the room quietly. I noticed a slight tear in the back of his shirt which really freaked me out. I tried to move away from Peter who was squished in behind me but he just resituated himself so he was even closer.

This was going to be fun to get out of.

“Peter…I have to pee.”

He groaned and let me go. I chuckled quietly to myself and got up. I stretched and noticed I had a little cramp in my neck. I turned back to look at him and smiled. He was perfectly situated now, all except the blanket that followed me off the couch.

I tucked him back in and brushed a strand of hair off his face. He was completely dead to the world. I grinned.

“I love you,” I whispered.

“I love you too.” He picked up my hand and kissed my palm before rolling over and going back to sleep.

I just chuckled and headed for the kitchen. I grabbed my discarded sweater from the night before, finding the house completely freezing now that I didn’t have my personal heater wrapped around me.

He was pretty much the perfect accessory for the winter. It made me worry just a tad about the summer…

I headed for the kitchen, running fingers through my hair to work out the knots. That’s when I caught a glimpse of the back of my hands. Crudely done loops circled the back of both of my hands, tendrils running up my arms with various dots, smiley faces, and stars to make the pattern look like a middle school girl did it.

I prayed to god she didn’t touch my face or I’d find that Sharpie and play with her…

“Good morning, lass,” Alma said as I stumbled into the kitchen. “I see Ms. Gwen took liberties with her black marker again.”

“It’s Sharpie and there better not be any on my face.”

She chuckled and put a mug of steaming, fresh coffee in front of me.

“She didn’t. It comes off with a little hand sanitizer and rubbing alcohol,” she said, a smile still gracing her face. “At least she didn’t take the kool-aid to your hair.”

“What does that do?”

I poured the precise amount of milk into my cup.

“Dyes your hair. She did it to Peter once. He had to go to school with purple streaks.”

My father chuckled. “That was eighth grade, wasn’t it? And the next week Chase got phone calls from half a dozen parents because their children went home and tried to do it to their own hair.”