"But in the end one needs more courage to live than to kill himself."
Albert Camus
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The screams don't end. I can hear- no feel- her nails scratching the bed room door. My eyes shut tightly as I wrap my bleeding arms around myself.
I didn't know me coming home a few minutes later would end up in three long knife cuts.
I didn't know, mama.
"Mayi, honey, open the door." Her voice sounds sick. I don't recognize my own mothers voice,the same person who sang me to sleep. Her once blonde, lively hair has now turned thin and falls off often. She's balding. Her eyes are bloodshot and lifeless and her skin pales each day.
But she's still my mama.
My mama who worked three jobs to get me through high school. My mama who cut my hair and gave me bear hugs.
But that all changed when papa died. She blames me. I blame me too. Papa worked in the military and suffered brain damage due to a blast in his district area. When he came back home, he wasn't the same. He was diagnosed with severe Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and couldn't function mentally. Doing the simplest of things would frustrate him.
He had nightmares and manic episodes. That was the worst of it. Especially when he drove a knife in his heart right in front of me.
Mama knows I didn't do it but she blames me for not doing anything to stop it.
"Honey? Are you there? I'm sorry, honey. Mayi, I didn't mean to hurt you. I thought you were going to leave me. You always come home at ten but you didn't and I- you can't leave me. You won't leave me, Mayi. My sweet, sweet baby. Please open the door." Her meek voice whispers hauntingly on the other side of my bedroom door and I push the chair further under the doorknob to make sure it doesn't let her in.
I look down at my arms and cry harder with my face stuffed on top of my knees. The two, long jagged lines of red leak with fresh blood.
Normally, I try to run. But she caught me off guard this time. It's always on my thighs, the cuts. But she had straddled me , clad in a dirty white night suit that she has been wearing for weeks. She always used the knife that papa had used. Always. It was my fault.
My cheeks are warm with trails of tears and I try to stop the bleeding but I fail to find any disinfectants.
The scratching stops and I hear soft, dragged footsteps make their way down the hallway. I have no doubt that she'll drink herself to sleep. That's where most of my paycheck goes anyways, to keep her sane so she doesn't hurt me.
I try to control my sobs and slowly get off the floor by dragging my back against the door since it hurts too much. My thigh has the same jagged scar except deeper.
I never did well with pain or blood. And the pool of red liquid in front of me does not help. I try and muffle my screams of pain using a cloth as my hands reek of dried blood that has slid along my arm.
It hurts so much.
I drag myself across the floor and make my way towards the bathroom, careful not to touch my wounds.
Stripping myself out of the bloody clothes. I sigh as I look at the Linkin Park tee. It's stained with both blood and beer now. I don't know when my breaking point will be. I just need someone to tell me what I did wrong. Maybe then the pain will stop. Maybe then I can go through the day without worrying how deep the knife will go this time.
Each wound stings as the hot water hits it. I try to use my loofah to scrub the grime off my body but every time it scrapes the wound, I squeeze the rubber duck papa had got me for my 7th birthday.
My stomach, for once, doesn't growl as I lay down on my bed in clean clothes and a white gauze bandage wrapped around both arms and my right thigh. It hurts less now and I can walk properly which means I can go to school tomorrow and work, hopefully.
I don't want to admit that the Mcdonald's did me good. I feel amazing with the food in my stomach and sleep comes to me much easier than usual. Maybe if I see Mr. Pretty again, I'll get to thank him.
꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂
I groan for the umpteenth time as I look at my skirt. A fricking skirt.
My only pair of black jeans had visible drops of blood, something I failed to consider yesterday.
Darn it.
The skirt is black and reaches just above my knees. One of my hands grips the sides so it doesn't fly up and uncover my bandaged thigh.
It's also fricking cold today and even though I love the winter breeze, it doesn't do well with skirts. I smile at the Sum 41 shirt, one of my all time favorites, that weirdly goes well with my uncomfortable skirt. It's full sleeve and over sized so it also covers my wounds.
I enter the front gates of the school and thankfully don't see Shay. I'm not entirely surprised by the fact that she left me in an unknown space to hangout with her friends. She's the only friend I manage to keep around so I shouldn't complain.
We have english literature first and my professor is the kindest person. He visits the café quite often and lets me borrow books too.
I smile at Mr. Gnawshire as I take a seat in the front row. Joshua, as usual, takes the seat next to me. I don't turn to face him afraid that i'll lead him on and give him a chance to talk.
"You look hot in that skirt, Maya. It's a distraction." He tries to huskily whisper in my ear. His smile looks weird and creepy.
He looks constipated.
I try to move my chair away from him but my arm scrapes the side of the table and I let out a small whimper. Joshua doesn't care to notice and thankfully pays attention to the essay we have to write.
Mr. Gnawshire smiles warmly at me, his brown skin wrinkling slightly. He always tells us stories about his days in Pakistan and sometimes teaches me things about the culture. The rest of the class mocks his accent sometimes and I hate it.
"Have you eaten your daily biryani, Sir?" One of the students taunts him in an hyperboloïdes accent to which he sighs and continues writing on the board.
"You're being offensive." I say to the boy sitting behind me.
"No, I'm not." He scoffs immaturely.
"What would you say if your dad was being mocked like this just because he's Korean, hm?"
The boy furrows his brows and scoffs again.
"My dad left me when I was a kid." He says with a twinge of sadness.
"I'm sorry about that. That might be why you were raised without morals and manners towards teachers. Your dad leaving is not an excuse for you to treat your teacher- who basically works for you to have a future- disrespectfully. South Asians are one of the many groups that are discriminated against- in all categories of life, including jobs. Please stop and don't be the reason for a man's sadness. Learn to empathize."
The boy frowns and doesn't look me in the eye. "I-It wasn't supposed to be disrespectful. I'm sorry."
"I'm not the one you should be apologizing to." I nod towards Mr. Gnawshire who's passing out our previous essays.
The boy nods again and sits up straighter.
I give him a nod of encouragement and he pokes Mr. Gnawshire on the shoulder to get his attention. Something I would do.
"I'm sorry, sir." Mr.Gnawshire ruffles the boys hair, even though he's eighteen. and gives him a warm smile, earning one from both of us.
"It's alright, kid. Good job on the essay." The boy smiles wider in response, satisfied with the teacherly affection.
I turn back in my seat and Joshua gives me a weird look probably surprised that I went out of my comfort zone to defend someone.
Yes, I literally sweat when talking to people but I don't tolerate discriminatory disrespect. Or disrespect to other people in general. Never will.
By the time the class ends, there's a slight frown on my face. Darn it. Firstly, I got a B on my essay which I spent four hours on which means i have to spend the weekend reviewing it and trying to spot where I went wrong. And why I'm so dumb.
And secondly, Jim says I can't come in for work since he has some errands to run and has closed it for the day. That means no bear hugs. No bear hugs means a bad day.
- -
It's the end of the day now and I'm still upset that I might have to go home earlier than usual and mama might be awake.
I bite my nails as I feel an arm sling around my shoulders. I turn to see an ecstatic Shay grinning at me with a look that says 'please don't be mad at me'. I sigh and smile at her after which she hugs me.
Owie. My arm.
"Don't have work today?" I shake my head at her question."Great because I'm taking you to a party at this very moment. You look-" She looks me over with scrutinizing eyes and smiles proudly as she sees i'm wearing a skirt. "-better than usual. Let's go."
There's really no point in arguing with her. She makes me feel really guilty and gets sad.
We walk towards her car and buckle up. She plays some loud pop song that doesn't have any meaning. What the frick is dance monkey.
Shay rambles on about her eventful life while i just nod and laugh when necessary. She doesn't really like it when I talk.
We stop at a huge mansion that has glass windows. The party is clearly at its peak and people walk in and out of the door.
Who throws a party in the afternoon?
"Landon's house is so cool, right?"
Oh.
"Yeah, it's nice." I smile and throw up a peace sign for no reason at all.
We walk inside and she instantly leaves my side to go and find Landon. I hang around the living room where a couple people play beer pong. The dance monkey song is on at full blast. Ewie.
My bladder is literally going to erupt at any moment so I rush up these transparent glass stairs where you can see the bottom and I try to keep my legs closed. Why would you make glass stairs?
I walk towards a room at the end and open it only to find the whole crew there already. Shay is nowhere to be found but she's probably getting drunk.
"Um- I'm sorry. I was just looking for the bathroom. I'll go."
Before I could leave though, a male hand slams the door and traps me in the room where Mikey and Matt sit on a couch. Mikey is smoking some sort of green stick and Matt is staring at the bottle of beer in his hands.
I gulp as I look up at Landon who's smirking at me and trapping me between the door and himself.
"H-Hi, Landon. How do you do?" He doesn't answer but uses his finger to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His blonde hair looks greasy and messy.
"Better now that i've seen you in a skirt. It's too long, in my opinion."
He grins mischievously as grips my waist. I try to push him off but he grips it even harder, definitely leaving bruises to match the ones I already have.
"Stop. Please, just stop. Plea-Please." He lowers the hand from my waist to my right thigh. He reaches my bandage and sneaks his hand under my skirt. I finally let out a sob and push him back but he grips my arm and pulls me forward which ends up with me on the floor.
Landons eyes widen and Matt and Mikey look towards my legs. My thigh pains uncontrollably and tears leak incessantly from my eyes.
I look down at where they're staring and notice that my bandage has come off and they can see the wound.
"This bitch cuts herself too? Aren't you just sad?" Mikey laughs and Matt glares at her which shuts her up.
Landon continues laughing and kicks me on the side of my thigh.
It's really embarrassing to sob like a baby and the laughter doesn't stop.
I get up as quickly as I can and leave the room to find a washroom where I can wrap it again.
What did I ever do to him? I look at myself in the mirror and only cry harder as because I'm a really ugly crier.
My bandage is torn and I limp towards another room in hopes of finding a first aid kit.
I try a door but it's locked.
I try again and knock repeatedly until it opens and I almost fall forward.
A pair of warm arms catch me mid air while my incessant sobbing continues.
It just hurts so much.
The person lifts me up and sits me at the edge of a bed. My sniffles only increase as I see that my wound is staining the white sheets beneath my thigh.
A warm, rough hand makes its way behind my neck and massages slightly. I furrow my brows and immediately sigh in relief as my sniffles die down and I feel like falling asleep right there.
I rub my eyes aggressively and open them only to find magical eyes staring right back at me.
"H-Hi Dalaric. How do-do you do?" For a second, his blank expression morphs into one of shock but he soon recovers and crouches down to my eye level. He's still taller than me.
He removes his hand from my neck and I almost embarrassingly whimper. Dalaric looks at my thigh and his brows crease slightly. I poke the crease since I don't like it.
He shakes his head and walks towards the dresser to grab a white box. I only then take in his attire. Wowie. He wears a dark grey turtle neck this time and black slacks with an expensive looking belt. His hair is in cornrows and a leather jacket lies on the side of the bed. The room is extremely small and-
Wait, what is he doing in Landon's house?
Dalaric walks over to my side and sits on his knees. He looks at me for permission to which I nod. I find it extremely easy to communicate with him without any words.
He takes my right thigh and I worry that he thinks i'm too fat. His touch does things to my belly and it feels like a whole zoo in there. I just don't like not knowing what people think of me. I know it's low of me to do so but when people look- they judge and my thoughts run wild at each possibility.
His expression doesn't waver as he cleans the wound softly while I bite on my hand to control my screams of pain. I notice his hands are still bandaged but the gauze is old and weary.
He soon wraps it and puts my thigh down. He seems to be expert at this and I worry how many times he's had to do it.
He gets up but I grab his bandages hands before he does so. l try not to hurt the hands more and softly clasp them.
"What about you?"
"No." His deep voice rumbles and I slightly sigh at the pleasure it brings me. Hopefully he didn't hear that.
"No. Sit down." I try pull him down but he doesn't budge. I try again after which he lets out a sigh and shakes his head. His jaw is tense and clenched.
I know I'm pathetic.
He sits down again, this time one leg perched up and the other spread out on the wooden floor.
I softly unwrap the bandages and gasp audibly. He tries to pull away his hands but I grasp them firmer this time. His tanned light brown hands are littered with minuscule scars. Some are deep and white while other are dark purple scratches. Some look recent as well. I softly skim the tips of my fingers around each scar. I can't seem to find one empty, scar free spot on both his hands.
A tear leaves my eye. How much pain has he been through?
I use my shirt sleeve to wipe my eyes and try to look for an open wound that he tried to cover. But I find none. Does he cover them because he thinks they're- ugly?
I search my skirt pockets for the hand cream that I always carry around for my dry hands and squirt some onto each of his hands after rolling his sleeves up a bit. I catch a glimpse of some very apparent viens and clear my throat.
His brows furrow at the sight of the cream but he stays still, his hands tense. I slowly massage each finger and hand and watch as the muscles relax as well as his jaw before his closes his beautiful eyes. The cream smells like fresh strawberries, I hope he doesn't mind.
After I'm done, his hands seem much better and feel amazing. He looks at the gauze but I shake my head and throw it at the other side of the room. Oops.
"It's finished, sorry." I smile sheepishly, nervous as he scans my flushed face. I don't want him to cover what makes him human. Those scars look like art. Proof that he makes everything and anything look good.
The corner of his mouth lifts just a millimeter and he gets up while clenching his hands as if I've given him new ones.
I get up and try to keep my skirt down, a small whimper escaping as I do so. This catches his attention and he stares at me as he leans against the wall in front of the bed, his arms crossed making the muscles more apparent. Holy.
I take small steps while trying to lower my uncomfortable skirt as he walks towards the side of the bed."No, please, it's yours." He holds his jacket out to me and I shake my head. He rolls his eyes and I'm taken aback at the sudden display of emotion. Even if it's annoyance.
"Mayella." He sighs again and pulls me towards him. I suddenly love my name even more. Thanks papa for the wonderful choice, miss you.
I squeal as I crash into him. He takes both my arms carefully and holds them outward in both directions. He puts the jacket on me like i'm a baby. I pout slightly as he bends down to zip the jacket up. His hair looks so soft. I distractedly run my fingers on the perfect rows of hair and smooth some flyaways down. He looks up at me and continues zipping me up.
The jacket literally engulfs me and ends mid thigh which keeps the skirt in place and covers the bandaged area as well. Oh, it also smells like heaven and I don't plan on giving it back any time soon.
A loud knock startles me while Dalaric's blank expression doesn't waver one bit. A dreadful voice sounds out from the other side of the door and I hold my breath. Landon.
"Mayaaaa! I know you're in there. Open up and let's finish what we started. I really wanna see what's under that skirt of yours. This juicy fat-" Before a very drink landon could finish, Dalaric opens the door and shoots a silent shot that hits him straight in the neck.
"Oh no."
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Word Count : 3340 Words
Hey y'all ! Howdy ! Hope you're having an amazing day :).
Please feel free to criticize my work ! I need opinions and comments lmao😭😭
Thank you for reading.
As always,
Love you.
-Aj.