The scar winds it’s way down, thick and ugly.
Sometimes, tracing my finger over it’s rough, jagged skin is serene. My fingers glide over the lone scar that runs from my throat to my chest, squiggly and puffed up, like the shed skin of a snake. My pulse beats beneath my finger as the tip drags over every inch.
The room fades into the background, secluded at the rear of the trailer. A lone, grey sheet hangs over the cracked window and a twin mattress lies on the floor beside a dirty box fan with a dead mouse trapped inside.
I startle at a noise from my side, my gaze snapping into focus and narrowing in on the person in the mirror in front of me. I see myself, Jamie, dressed up in tight bluejeans and a red tank top. My make up is done, bright red lipstick, dark eyeliner… my hair is even
pulled up into a perfect messy ponytail. None of this detracts from the horror screaming from my chest. Not even the cross necklace that frames it.
My mom stares at me with dark brown eyes and a frown etched into her face. “I thought you were getting better. It’s been two years.” I can hear the reproach in her voice, and look away.
I want to tell her that there’s no such thing as better. I blink and try to block out the flashes that come and go, reminiscent of memory, still very real for me. Flashes of a dark leather seat, leather gloves, and a leather strapped knife…
“I’m fine,” I say, putting on my best fake smile; it spreads across my face and I imagine my red lipstick dripping like blood.
“Then why were you messing with your scar?” Her face is wrinkled and old, aged from agitation and fear; weariness.
This time a hint of anger seeps from my voice. “Because it’s a part of me. I wear it wherever I go.”
Discover the rest of Jamie’s horrific past and the horrors that follow in this new short story, with parts I and II. Now available on Amazon as an ebook for 2.99 and in paperback for 3.99.