Lazy Lizzie

Eleven

[Warning: mentions of extreme abuse and self-harm]

"What the...?!"

Lizzie wished she was less hurt by his rejection, but it didn't matter anymore. The fun was over.

Leo was staring at her breasts, thankfully a part of her that Dale liked. And so, he mostly avoided causing permanent damage to them. Lower and softer than in her stripping days, they pointed up, left exposed, moving with her breath, their skin smooth. Except for one bite mark, a perfect outline of imperfect teeth.

The mandala tattoo centered under them had been completely removed, covered in cigarette burns. It looked like she got a tan with a magnifying glass left on her body, causing a circle of what used to be skin to just rot on her until it died. And she had to carry it with her, every day.

Lower, on her stomach and sides, were the cuts, in parallel lines, like a tiger's pattern. Thin and clean at the end, Dale liked knives and sharpening tools. Thicker and angrier where made by Lizzie herself, on her sides. They tanned whiter, surrounding her first-ever tattoo, set on her lower left abdomen: two cherries united by their tails. It didn't mean anything, she was sixteen and she liked the stencil.

As Wide Eyes further examined her on the verge of fainting, he finally resembled his passport photo. When he was done with her upper half, she crossed her arms over her chest.

His gaze moving even lower on her body, he unceremoniously pushed her knee until her legs parted, but he glossed over the hairless, reddened playground he had controlled mere seconds before. He then moved his gaze to her inner thigh to see what had been written there in acid scars. Dale didn't have a lot of imagination, so he just put in his name, leaving no need for explanations.

There it was, full Lizzie. The reason the trailer had no mirrors. She has gotten used to her body, and Dale of course never commented on it. But she always wondered what anyone else would say. Now she knew: nothing.

Silent Shock moved his eyes to hers, making her want to drag the sheet over her and never come out.

He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then closed it back up, his eyes landing somewhere at the end of her legs.

"It's fine, you lost interest," she understood, dragging her feet back to make herself into a ball.

Now he was even more shocked. 

"Did... did I mention I'm just out of prison?" he kept the same joking tone, but it took him a while to get the rhythm right, gaining courage as he reached the end of his sentence. "Show me a woman with three eyes, and I'll grab an eyepatch."

At that, she smiled, although it didn't sound particularly flattering. And he was still looking at her feet instead of looking at her.

"It's not that," he looked away.

Seconds went by, she started dragging the sheet by a corner so that she could cover. Unfortunately, he was on it so his attention went back to her.

"I... I was thinking about how we met," he said, but she was no longer looking at him, busy with her new task. "Me waving my gun around, threatening you."