Scars

I walk into the coffee shop on Fifth Street with my beanie on and my head down. My hands grip the scarf tied around my neck and mouth tightly. I don't want them to ask how it happened, how I got it. Why is it so important to them to know? It's my face, not their's. They don't have to live with it. 

As I walk up to the counter to order, the barista gives me a strange look. Her hand flies under the counter quickly. There must be an alarm there. She thinks I am going to rob the shop. Sadly, I am used to this assumption.

"Coffee, please. Black," I order. She nods slowly and lets out the breath she was holding. It's so warm in here that I think of removing my scarf. I touch the side of it and bring my fingers back wet with sweat. I unwrap the scarf and hope I can leave before anyone asks me about it. I step to the left as a woman stands next to me. She doesn't even acknowledge that I'm here. I wish more people did that. I'm tired of sticking out.

The barista asks her what she wants as she hands me my coffee. The woman whips her head around and her long, blond hair catches my neck. It glides over the newly formed skin, sending a shiver down my entire body. 

The yelling starts again and I head towards my room. They don't know that I put up sound-proof padding in my closet. I can't hear them shouting curses at each other in their. It's become my new safe room. 

"Boy, get in here!" my father yells. I flinch but obey his order. I walk back into the living room. My mother is crying and my father is sitting in the chair opposite her. He motions for me to sit down with his hand that's not holding the vodka bottle.

"Oh, leave him alone! You've been hard enough on him! He doesn't need to hear this!" my mother begs from across the room. She uses her index finger to wipe the tears from her eyes. Her face used to radiate beauty, now it projects sadness and distress. Her once joyful expression has left and fear has taken its place.

"Shut up!" my father yells at her. He raises the bottle and as it leaves his hand, I stand up to shield my mother. I hear the bottle break against my neck before I feel it. I feel each piece of glass enter my neck. I scream and fall to the floor, looking up at just the right time to see my father storm out the door. My mother grabs her scarf and ties it around my neck in an attempt to stop the bleeding. She picks up her phone and dials 911.

"Sir, are you alright? ... Sir?" I follow the voice, place down a ten dollar bill, and run out the door, not bothering to get the change for my coffee.

Reviews

[William Liston]

This story really grabbed my attention. I like how at the begininng, you leave the reader questioning what's going on before finally revealing what the scarf is hiding at the end. After the flashback, that realization hit me in an instant, similar to what the character would've felt. Nice work.

- William Liston

[Alicia Cubatoso]

I liked this short, intriguing, I liked your story.