(edited)
I stand in front of the mirror in my room, just as I do every day, and count. My limbs, my ears, eyes, teeth, freckles, dimples, and scars. Scars. Scars. I had never expected to adorn so many of them. My first scar, right shoulder, 2.7 inches in length.
My heart pounded in my ears and each breath he took landed on my neck, burning my skin. I could not cry. I could not scream. I could not protest. Any of those actions would cost me a boyfriend. Each kiss that landed on my body felt like a knife.
"You like that?" He cockily whispered.
"Yes." I lied.
Once he decided he was finished, I left the bedroom so he could sleep. Walking to the bathroom, I grabbed a knife. Remembering what his kisses felt like, I took the blade to my shoulder as a reminder.
Guilty.
'You're pathetic'
"I'm not."
'Tell me something, Tyler. Do successful people cry when they forget to open and close the door three times before they leave? Do non-pathetic people tear their hair out at the sight of a number that doesn't land on five or ten?'
Point made.
"I'm pathetic."
'When have I ever been wrong, sweetheart?'
---
I arrive at the hospital, anxious to see my father. Walking in the doors, I am blinded with grating lights and unpleasant smells. My head feels light and I stumble. Making my way to the front desk, I choose the words I would say to the man at the front desk. Making sure I would not stutter.
"Excuse me, I'm here to see my father, Chris Joseph." Success.
'You're still a failure.' I shake my head as a silent response. The receptionist continues to tap away on his keyboard, not offering me a reply.
Seconds pass and my stomach turns itself inside out, my ears get hot and I can't breathe.
He looks up from his desk, unpleased. His eyes pierce me questioningly.
"I-I said I'm here t-to see my father, Chris J-Joseph." Shit.
He turns his eyes back to his screen, hitting a few more keys, then looking to me.
"Room three zero five on floor three." He speaks, annoyedly.
I turn on my feet and drop my head. Walking slowly to where I assume the elevators are.
'Like I said. A fucking failure.' He spits at me.
"I know."
---
Upon entering my fathers room, I see my brother, his eyes are rimmed with a dark purple and red. I don't see my father in the bed.
"Hi Tyler." His voice is raw when he speaks.
"Where's dad?" I shove out of my throat.
"Surgery." A one word reply.
I sit across from him and let my eyes wonder the room and it's features. Uneven stripes ran up the walls. A picture whose frame lay crooked. The tag on the sheets was in the top left corner. I shut my eyes, already exhausted.
---
(495 words)
