Secret Scars

PROLOGUE:

Scars are tricky. They’re terribly ugly. Unlike most ugly things, they don’t ever go away. If you accidentally cut your bangs too short, the hair will grow back. But scars are something you carry all the way until death. “You can never get rid of scars.” That was Katherine O’Dare’s motto. 

Blood slid down the ceiling of a tiny living room, pooling around her feet. A fetid smell came from a paltry, yellow loveseat tucked in the corner. Parallel to the loveseat was a shattered flower pot, a single brown rose amongst a plethora of soil. Only the framed picture of two young girls with pale hair was untouched. One was clearly much older. Yet, they had their arms wrapped around each other like twins, huge grins adorning their faces. 

It sat on a cold fireplace. 

A sunken, rail-thin girl crawled towards her. Her hands were like twigs; so slender and breakable. 

No, not this again. 

“Sssisster,” she rasped. She used to have the loveliest cobalt eyes, the softest hair, the kindest smile. 

“No, stop. Stop.” Katherine whispered, covering her ears. 

A grin spread across the girl’s face. She reached towards Katherine. “Why should I?”

Katherine woke up with a jolt. The hotel bed was soaked in sweat, again. When would it stop? Sighing, she answered her own question: Never. 

“Katherine! Get up! Brenna and I wanna go skiing down the Filili Slopes.” Katherine’s best friend, Kaylie, yelled from the bathroom. 

She’d debated telling them the truth about Incident, but kept silent. Kaylie and Brenna had long, silky hair. Hourglass bodies. Incredibly hot boyfriends. They would abandon her if they knew the truth. 

“Coming!” Katherine answered in the most cheerful voice she could muster. Cool air found safety on Katherine’s bare legs and arms as she shoved her suffocating blankets to the side. Teeth chattering, she nudged a hand under her mattress. At the tiny bottle’s ridgy feel, she sighed. Popping open the lid, she swallowed almost half the morphine bottle. It felt good. 

If the Incident never happened, she wouldn’t have become an addict. She wouldn’t have gone on this trip either. But skiing couldn’t be that bad, could it? At any rate, she needed a distraction - one different from the morphine. 

“Katherine! You have got to go next!” Kaylie shrieked after she’d gotten off the ski-lift. Brenna enthusiastically nodded her agreement. The bright morning sun glared at Katherine, as if knowing her secrets. She ignored it. 

“I’ll give it a try.” She didn’t like the Filili Slopes steep curve, but who’d care if she accidentally cracked her head against one of the dense, edgy rocks? She’d deserve it. 

She fixed her goggles, clenched her ski poles, and took off. Her friends cheered her on. Though she could barely hear them with the force of the wind whipping her hair. “This is actually fun!” Katherine thought, staying upright for most of the ride - until she saw what had to be impossible ahead. 

A black figure stood dead center on the mountain. 

Oh, gods. It’s her. It’s her. It’s her. 

The sunken cheeks and twig-like body would always haunt her. 

Katherine tried to slow down but - damn it! - she was going too fast. She screamed and braced for impact . . . 

It never came. 

All she saw was white. White clouds. White houses. White roads. 

“Kaz.” Maise O’Dare said her name - her nickname. The one only she ever used. “ I told you secrets turn into scars overtime. They rot and fester if they’re kept hidden.”

“W-where are we? I-I want to go home.” she stammered, looking down. Why couldn’t she meet Maise’s eyes? While her eyes were downcast, Katherine noticed her fingers were blue. Her boots in shreds. Her jacket was muddied, brown coating the pockets and sleeves. 

Maise said bluntly, “You can’t keep calling what happened ‘The Incident.’” 

Maise and Kaz ran in the cramped living room. Their mom scolded them not to. 

“Tag!” Maise laughed, her fingers barely brushing Katherine by the shoulder. 

“That doesn’t count!” Katherine complained and made a beeline for her little sister, desperate to tag her. 

Distracted, Maise crashed into the loveseat, the flowerpot shattering with the impact. Maise’s tiny body tumbled onto the broken glass. Katherine screamed-

Katherine gasped, her chest tightened like a screw. The bygone memory burned like a skillet on flesh. She had blocked that memory from her head. Hadn’t visited that particular nightmare since . . . She started taking morphine. 

“It was an accident, Kaz,” emphasized Maise. “Don’t beat yourself up.”

The floodgates that held every drop of her pent up energy burst. “I CAN'T!” Katherine screamed.Her knees buckled and stared up at her little sister. “I killed you.” 

Maise gave her a small smile. Was it sadness? Pity? “You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Kaz.” Maise started to fade, the pink in her cheek paling. In a blink of an eye, she was gone. 

Katherine clutched at the air. “Wait! Wait! Maise!” 

But she was long gone. 

Katherine felt the smooth grip of her ski poles again, the wind in her hair. She could hear her friends’ shouts. The steady thump, thump, thump of her heart.  Somehow, she made it down the rest of the hill without puking. 

Telling Brenna and Kaylie she had a headache (which was true), she rushed back to the hotel. She rammed her key in the door and - without bothering to shut it - she grabbed her stash of morphine. 

A bottle in the bed. One from under the desk. Two in the vents. 

She dumped them all down the toilet. 

It was time to say goodbye to her secret scars. 

EPILOGUE:

Katherine O’Dare had to make amendments to her previous motto. It was no longer “You can never get rid of scars.” She’d proven that wrong. It was now, “The past cannot be changed, forgotten, edited or erased, it can only be accepted.” 

THE END. 

This is my first story. Any constructive criticism will be much appreciated! 

(The quote at the end was from Quote Master, not me.)