Pain wakes me up the next morning. I cut too deep last night, the blood has stopped but the wound is still deep and clear. I am scared my mom might notice.
I pour running cold water on it and the pain is amazing. My nerves go numb and it is the best feeling ever.
The albums still lie open on my study table and I shove it aside in my cupboard, taking a vow to never ever open it in my life.
At 8: 15, I am all ready to go out, but the wound is still very clear. I open my cupboard and pull out a sweater - the sleeves are long. I put it on and look in the mirror.
I look like Maxon. I shut my eyes tight and turn away from it.
Downstairs, my mother is surprised to see me in long-sleeves, "Aid, it's so hot outside, you seriously wearing this?"
I have already thought of my answer, "It was Max's. I need it."
That shuts her up because that's what she does, her room has his dark sunglasses put on the table like a show-piece, and Mom has abandoned her laptop, she now uses his. Not that she uses it often, she has quit her job.
I walk out with a banana clutched in my hand.
The sun is really burning; I can already feel sweat slipping down my neck.
But that is not my priority.
Hiding the wounds is.