Silence ♟️

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When they begun to remove the soiled bandages, my eye closed on instinct, awaiting the pain that I was praying to feel. I needed to feel something on my right side.

I rather feel burns covering my entire body again, rather than this cold, nonexistenting pain.

At least then, I would know I actually survived the trauma my body was forced into. I squeezed Eric's hand in anticipation, but he mistaken it for pain before they had time to fully remove the first layer.

"Are you in pain?" Eric's simple question forced the hand of the medics as they stopped their practice to await my answer.

'I wish.' I thought to myself, but shook my head for a 'no' since I knew they wouldn't be able to read my mind.

Once they were reassured that all feeling on my right was absent from the room, they proceeded on. I took a deep breathe, not feeling the last bandage being removed from my neck but having a sort of pressure released.

It's like someone hovering something cold above your flesh, but never making the mistake of touching you. When they finally take the spoon or object away, you still have that ghost feeling biting at you like your nerves knew something was about to touch you.

"Oh my.." A new feminine voice started to say, but caught herself once she remembered that this wasn't the place to freely speak your opinion.

I can't help my injuries.

"Open your eyes, (L/N)". The doctor commanded gently, trying to ignore his assistant's out burst.

Was I truly misfigured to the point it was expected to make people take a step back to collect themselves?

Carefully, I begun to open my eye, half believing my dreams of opening up both my eyes would come true, but unfortunately, it was a simple dream.

Not everything can come true in this life as I opened my left (E/C) eye only. I turned my head slightly to the left, looking over at Eric for his expression.

I've heard the nurse, now I want to see if it's as bad as they make it out to be. I've known Eric for a good bit of this lifetime. I could tell you this man's shoe size and how he slept at night.

Never once has he looked down on me, maybe he has to Four or other initiatives, but never once did he do that pity look with me. His words didn't back up my overwhelming thoughts, but I think his silence only made it worse.

As his eyes scanned my entire, ruined features I noticed his eyebrows lowered just a little bit as if he was disgusted at my new look.

That's when I knew it was true: I was a monster. I looked like a monster and if I could speak, I knew I would sound as such. I let go of the hand that held mine on the left side, the good side, of my body.

I turned my head back straight so his eyes could no longer scream opinions at what was left of Leo.

"Try to talk, (Y/N)." Eric whispered, almost like he was telling me a dirty secret about his thoughts.

Wanting to know if I did sound like a monster, my lips softly cracked as I parted my lips. The words I wanted to cry out refused to come out of the dark, hurting my throat like I did do something.

The metallic taste of blood rumbled like a volcano to my tongue, forcing my mouth shut so no one would see an even more hideous sight. I winced at the taste, not wanting to become accustom to such flavor.

"I was afriad your vocal chords needed more time to heal. Would you like to see the burns?" Doc asked empathetically.

I looked into the corner of my left eye, watching as Eric's eyes never left the sight of my beat up face. I wish it was just beat up. Bruises, busted lips and stitches can heal.

But these burns, these cuts will remain on my face until the day I leave this earth. I will never look the same. I nodded my head softly, feeling like I had gained more strength since two weeks ago.

"I'm here. It's okay." Eric's sweet promise filled my chest with hopes; false hope.

I felt the rough texture of his hand grasp mine, as if he had not noticed he was holding my hand just a moment ago before I took it away.

I watched from the corner of my good eye as he held it close to his chest, his beating heart grounding me for some reason. I actually survived a horrific attack.

I'm laying in a hospital bed right now, because I survived death. Eric's sympathizing expression has finally been replaced by his stoic expression, not wanting to give out too much emotion anymore.

The nurse that had to take a moment to gather herself was the one to hand doc the small mirror, refusing to look at me one more time.

Will I haunt her memories just as Leo haunts mine? I turned my bad side over to the doc, wanting to glance in the mirror for the new me.

In the reflection, I saw a person that I would never be able to love. I saw someone that shouldn't be alive, but here she is. I saw a thing that would scare even the mightest knights away, like a dragon in a old medieval castle.

Yet, I knew it was me. I knew it was me, because when I turned my head further I saw the shining (E/C) eyes of mine that didn't seem to dim an inch. I saw the girl that has a couple bruises on her (S/C) flesh, because she won one of her most challenging battles.

She was the survivor. She was the one that deserved the pat on the back. She was the only hero I wanted to see.

Shaking from all the anxiety I was spilling, my left hand made it's way from Eric's hand to touch the ruined skin of a monster.

Am I even human on this side?

Just as I was about to graze the open wound, the doctor quickly grasped my small wrist in his large hand, "I would advise you not to do that yet. We don't need to risk an infection.'

I'm already ugly, doc. I'm only a centimeter thick from the bone. What could a measly infection do that another human hasn't already?

Softly, he lowered my hand back down to my  side before placing the mirror into the hands of the awaiting lady.

"It'll have to stay covered until it's completely healed." He spoke, handing the mirror back, "I don't want to risk too much exposure to germs with it being so close to your head."

I didn't cry at the newly scarred memory of myself. I don't move to throw a tantrum that I thought about. The words were taken from my throat.

I just stared at the one person who stared right back at me with a less sympathetic expression than any of these people in here, but I knew what he wanted to do.

No one understood how much I wanted to cry, how I wanted to scream. All the built of frustration: why couldn't I have beat him? I'm a fucking leader too.

All the built of sadness: no one will love me with such a horrendous mark gashed onto my face as a daily reminder not to trust humans.

No matter the opposing thoughts of such depression, no matter the will or the power I reminded myself that I still had, it all came back to three things.

I was so weak against a man. I was powerless to someone that I should've been able to bring down to his knees. I was and still am absolutely terrified of someone that has left their personal mark on my skin.

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