uoıʇıɹɐdsıᗡ

ᴄɪɴQᴜᴀɴᴛᴀꜱᴇɪ - ᴘᴀꜱᴛ

The ID of his unconscious, becoming more dominant as each day progressed. Consuming, both in his Ego and Super Ego whole.

The good is still within him, he is still kind, generous and helpful. But, you can see what his grievance is doing to him.

He is exhausted. Drained. Delilah has tried to talk to him, his friends too. But, he is too persistent and strong-wiped to listen.

He comes to me each day, pestering me to confess to him everything about Valentin.

He doesn't understand though, nobody does. I know nothing of Valentin, nothing that he or anybody else isn't already aware of.

He didn't reveal anything to me, other than his wrath.

My scars burned at the mere thought of his hands. His temper.

I didn't like to think about him and what he and I are almost certain that others are sick of hearing about him.

But, I can't control my thoughts. No one can. What occurs within my unconscious is out of my hands?

I can't just switch everything off. It's impossible. The memories are slowly chipping away at my mind. Always reminding me.

The scars, permanent bruises brand as a perpetual remembrance. He did that. He did it so that even if I wanted to forget, I couldn't.

The mirror was now my biggest enemy, always gloating at my imperfect body.

However, it was the only thing that allowed me to witness the truth. Honest.

Thick, protracted and deep scars take residence upon my back, decorating my delicate skin.

It no longer held the smooth texture. It was bumpy, uneven and ugly. It made me cringe away from myself, I hated it.

Veins were visible along each scar, protruding from each one. Red, pink some even blue.

Stemming, like the posture of a rose.

Demonstrating the severity of the damage, in which he is responsible for.

I had to be careful which clothes I wore; the pain was still difficult to manage. Loose tops, is what I now have to resort too.

My wrists were healed; bruises, his fingerprint no longer imprinted upon my arms.

A small scar graces my hairline, but it was barely noticeable. Only if my hair was tied back tight.

Another scar takes habitat upon my thigh, thicker and more noticeable than the one prior. Leaving the essence of the knife behind.

I can't complain about that one, I did stab him first. The saying, don't give something out if you cannot take it back ran circles around my mind.

Do I regret it? Inflicting pain upon another human being. No. He fu*cking deserved it. I will stand by that for the rest of my life. No regrets.

And I would hardly class him as a human. I thought, amused, along with appalled at the minor thought.

Other marks scattered across my blemishes flesh, taunting me. Finding ways each day to remind me of my self-worth.

The petals of my confidence deliberately withering. Smothering.

However, I shouldn't be complaining, at least I am still breathing. That I still have a life left to live. On my terms.

People suffer far worse wraths than me. Surge through tougher wars and battles and they still come out fighting strong.

They have a purpose. Somebody or something to come home to. But, is that accurate?

No. No, it is not, because not everybody has someone or something to return home to.

Some people don't even have a family at all, nor a friend. They have nothing.

So, I should be grateful for what I have and what I have achieved. I survived his hands. I did that.

I am strong. I am not weak. Nor am I ugly for the blemishes that tattoo my skin.

They are battle scars. My battle scars. They show that I have gone through a war. A battle.

I have come out breathing. The slow rise and fall of my chest was evidence. I was still here. Existing.

I have a purpose and maybe it was to help salvage a man titled Valentin Morelli. But, I guess I will never know the truth about why I am here.

But, I know that I am supposed to be alive. Here.

"I like to imagine that the world is one big machine. You know, machines never have any extra parts. They have the exact number and type of parts they need.

So, I figure if the entire world is a big machine, I have to be here for some reason. And that means you have to be here for some reason too." ~ Brian Selznick.

The movie, 'The Invention of Hugo Cabret.' Has always been one of my favourite movies. Iconic. A classic.

It's script noble, along with truthful. A heartfelt motion picture.

Taking a deep breath, I shake myself out my thoughts and drop my shirt.

Turning my back on the root of all evil, that reminds people of their flaws and walk out of the door.

Taking my keys, I turn the lock on my door. Making sure that it is secured before walking down the corridor.

Holding my keys in my hand, I hope my bag and drop them in and go to look up when I slam into something hard and come to an abrupt stop.

I could feel myself falling backwards, so I close my eyes on instinct. However, I never hit the solid floor. Hands caught me before I made the journey downwards.

My eyes snapped open, and I use all of my strength to remove the good in which the person before me had upon me.

Looking up, the orbs belonging to Enzo gorged into my own. I was shocked to the core, to say the least.

Why? I do not know; I was aware that he lived in the same apartment complex as myself. I assume it is due to the sudden collision.

Clearing my throat, the adjusted my posture and voiced.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention." My voice plain, good of emotion.

I didn't want to show him how I was feeling. Vulnerable.

His eyebrows raised in surprise.

Hmm... I guess he wasn't expecting me to reply. I thought, contemplatively.

"It's alright, I wasn't either." He replied, all signs of emotion now non-existent.

I didn't reply. He didn't continue. We stood still. Silent. Not muttering one statement.

A staring match. However, it seems we both don't know why.

I blink. He blinks. It's like a game of copycat. The only difference is that this game is much darker, twisted. Sinister.

"I must go now; I have places that require my presence." I state, flashing him a fake smile, before walking past him.

I could feel his calculative stare scolding into the brace of my back.

I expected a shiver to sliver down my spine, but it never came. Enzo doesn't have the same effect on me as he does. Did.

So, I straighten my back, tilt my head so that it is strong within the air and walk away from my past.

Thinking, I'd rather have a body full of scars and a head full of memories, than a head full of regrets and perfect skin. ~ A T T I C U S.