Under My Skin

Bruise

I did everything in my power to present my best that day. I spent an hour perfecting my hair, I covered every single scar on my body that I'd left from scratching and picking. She doesn't need to know about that. I have enough on my plate. Metaphorically, of course. I could hardly eat my breakfast, I was so nervous. When I heard that knock on my door, my heart stopped. Before you ask, yes. I do wish Connor was here. He has a way of always making me feel better. And God, I needed it right about now.

Nonetheless, I opened the front door, holding my breath as my aunt stood there, lavish purse on her arm, blondish-gray hair tucked into a loose ponytail, and large sunglasses covering her wrinkles that she so notoriously despised

"Kevin! How's my boy?" She stretched out her arms for a hug, which I dodged like my life depended on it.

"Uh- good.. um... I don't-" I stammered, trying to avoid her touch

"I see you're still going through that phase" she huffed, letting her arms down and removing her sunglasses

"Yes.. uh... c-come in.. don't touch things..."

She rolled her eyes

"You really need to get over this little phase of yours, Kevin. You're a grown man, act like it. I taught you better than that."

"I-I'm sorry.."

I quickly abandoned my resolution not to engage in any of my more problematic habits in front of her. I couldn't help it anymore, I just grabbed my wrist and started scratching, frantic for relief

"Cut that out, you look like a junkie"

"I can't- I can't help it"

"You look ridiculous, you're embarrassing yourself."

"I'm sorry- it's a coping mechanism, i-it's how I deal with stress!"

"Oh, I'm stressing you out?"

"Of course not-"

"Well I'm so sorry my presence is an inconvenience to you. I pay nine thousand dollars a year for your therapy and this is how I'm repaid"

"I-It's not you, I promise!"

"Then who is it?" She frowned disapprovingly, everything but her lips staying exactly in place due to the years of plastic surgeries

"It's nobody- it's me, this just happens sometimes, I'm sorry"

"You know the rules."

"Auntie, please don't make me.."

"Negative reenforcement seems to be the only way you'll learn."

"Please- I'll talk to the doctor about it, please don't make me...!"

"....fine. But you'd better solve this with him"

"Yes, ma'am! Thank you- thank you! I love you- I love you so much" I scrambled to thank her, just grateful for narrowly avoiding punishment.

Punishment was sort of her thing, even when she babysat me as a kid. She's always been strict. Well, so have my parents, but strict in a different way. They had rules and values, and I was expected to follow them. If I broke a rule, they'd just sit down and talk with me. Tell me why we follow what we follow, and ask why I did what I did. They always had respect for me in those situations. It wasn't scolding, it was a genuine conversation.
Not that it happened often. I was always a rule follower. I wanted to make my parents proud. And they always seemed so proud of me.