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The girl clambered her way inside noisily, heart beating noisily in her chest. Her knees ached as she breathed raggedly, eye screwed shut as she tried to will away the dizziness.
She was weak.
A shell of her past self, something hollow and ugly. Disfigured. What was once a point of pride became a symbol of weakness in just an instant. That was all it took to kill the mighty girl she was. An ugly scar and permanently impaired vision.
It was easy for the girl to pretend, to feign her strength– to shrug off and glare at the worried glances shot her way. People didn’t really want to step on her toes, too afraid she might break or something. They treated her like glass, looking right through her as she trained. Yet, she couldn’t tell if they were really staring or if she was imagining it. Second guessing herself, doubting what remained of her.
Well, she wouldn’t break. She is not fragile. She refused to accept their pity even as she broke down, hot tears leaking from her good eye.
She tried to swallow down the loud sob that escaped her throat. She released a shaky breath as she tried to collect herself.
She was one lucky girl, she knew that. But barely escaping death doesn’t count as an accomplishment when she was left crippled, trying to pick up whatever pieces were left of herself.
The young girl had kissed death, fingers interlocked with her maker before she awakened, powers stilted yet mind enlightened. It was like an itch she couldn’t scratch, fingers digging to an ocean that she was locked out of. Her grandmother had told her it’s the trauma holding her back but no, the only person in her way was herself. She was useless, a walking target with nothing more than mangled face and trembling fingers to boot.
She hated it but what she hated more was everyone’s consideration around her. The normalcy in the way they tried to conduct themselves around her as if she wasn’t a walking curse among her peers. Their worry, their patience, and their good will made her feel sick as they trailed behind her. Hearts on their sleeve, standing out the door, fingers too hesitant to knock and ask her if she’s okay. She was not okay. Was she ever going to be okay? There was no point asking pointless questions. Staving away loneliness was a hard task especially for a boy whose soul whispered his pain.
The young man sat there, back against the door as he heard her weep from the other side.
He knocked once.
He knocked twice.
The soft sniffling paused and his name was uttered after a minute of dead silence. The boy stood, the door creaking as he let himself inside.