A Flaw So Beautiful

by Alora Kate

  Red!

  I feel like I’ve never seen the color red before. But I know I have. I used to watch it bleed out of my body during my cutting days.

  I’m kind of confused right now, and my arm hurt from where it hit the vase.

  “I’m sorry, Ashton.” Mike grabbed my face with both hands. He was always careful of my glasses. “I was worried. I’m not mad.”

  I sucked in a huge amount of air – shit, I didn’t realize I had stopped breathing.

  “Oh fuck,” Lincoln said and then he was at my side. Mike stepped back and Lincoln grabbed my arm.

  “What the fuck, Ashton!” Mike roared.

  I looked down at my arm, the right one that Lincoln held.

  I was bleeding.

  I shook my head. “No, Mike. I didn’t.”

  My heart. It hurt.

  I felt every beat desperately trying to escape my chest.

  I couldn’t breathe as Lincoln took my hand and dragged me down the hallway.

  “Does she have a first aid kit?” Lincoln asked over his shoulder.

  “Under the sink,” Mike replied from behind me. “Jesus Ashton, I thought you were getting better.”

  Gently, Lincoln pushed me down on the toilet seat, grabbed the first aid kit, and set it on the counter.

  “Ashton!”

  I still couldn’t look at him when I whispered, “I didn’t, I swear.”

  Feeling my cheek get wet with tears made me even more embarrassed. My stomach was rolling with nausea, knowing he didn’t believe a word I said.

  “It’s right by the other one,” he pointed out. I looked at my arm resting on my thigh. I saw the old scars, then the clear cut right above one from years ago. He had every right to be worried. I knew what it looked like; hell, I don’t even know if I would believe me after all the shit I put him through.

  This was not good.

  My breathing was short and fast.

  I was getting light headed.

  Black dots clouded my vision.

  My ears were ringing, I felt cool sweat pool on my lower back and forehead.

  The panicked mumbling noise that escaped my lips didn’t make sense to anyone.

  He pulled me off the toilet and sat us both on the floor. My back was to his chest, and Lincoln then sat on the toilet seat and grabbed my arm. He laid it on his leg and finished cleaning my arm.

  “She’s about ready to pass out, Lincoln. Just do your best.” Mike’s voice sounded impossibly far away, but I could hear the hurt in his tone.

  “I got you, Ashton,” Lincoln said and a small smile tugged at his lips.

  I know why Mike freaked out, I know why I’m panicking, but why isn’t Lincoln? How can he be so calm, cool, and collected? Did he not see my other scars and put two and two together? It’s disgusting, just like the others but that one, the one smooth scar that ran from the tip of my palm and up my arm, I did to myself.

  I couldn’t blame the Devil for that scar.

  ###

  There was no way for me to know how long I had been in hell.

  There was no clock to tell the time.

  There was no window to let the sunshine in or let me know when night had fallen.

  I was drugged when they took me, so I wasn’t even sure how long I had been gone. It could have been days or weeks, I had no clue. But it felt like a lifetime.

  The cold metal bedframe was bolted to the floor. It matched the same rusted looking chain that wrapped around my right ankle and was secured to the floor. The chain was only long enough for me to just make it to the toilet and barely let me reach the sink.

  The room was entirely concrete, even the door. The only thing on the walls, besides the dirt, was a small vent in the upper left-hand corner of the room.

  The door was immediately locked every time the Devil left the room.

  I had one pillow, one small blanket that didn’t cover my body, and was only given a t-shirt and panties to wear.

  That was it.

  That was my life.

  There wasn’t even a mirror above the sink.

  Nothing.

  I had nothing.

  I was alone except for my thoughts.

  I was alone except for when a shrouded man would toss unappetizing meals into my room.

  I was alone except for the times he visited me when I silently begged him to go away.

  Alone.

  Alone.

  Alone.

  I gave up after the ninth visit.

  I was waiting for my next meal to execute the only plan I could follow through with. I needed the plastic spoon. It was my only chance. My last hope.

  It would free me.

  The door opened, and the plastic plate was tossed inside just like the other times. The door slammed shut, and I sprang from the bed. My fingertips just brushed the rim of the plate. I steadied my hand and slowed my racing heart so I wouldn’t accidently push it farther away and completely out of my reach. I grabbed the spoon and crawled back onto the bed.

  I was only fifteen, but I wasn’t stupid.

  I broke the spoon in half.

  I had my knees pulled to my chest, and my arm rested on my thigh and stared at my freedom. I knew I had little time because he always came to visit me after I ate.

  I was already in hell, so I figured I had a good chance of going to Heaven after I died.

  I rubbed my finger against the sharpest edge of the broken spoon. It was enough to do what I intended to do.

  I felt nothing. Nothing could hurt worse than what the Devil did to me. I scraped and dug into my arm as fast and hard as I could. I was bleeding, but I kept going. I wanted it to end.

  There was so much blood. The sickly copper smell tickled my nose and it felt slightly warm as it seeped out of my dirty, broken skin.

  I stopped and watched it run down my arm. It fascinated me for the briefest of moments.

  I already felt free.

  I stared at the door; I begged it not to open.

  I begged.

  I begged.

  I begged.

  Right before I passed out, the Devil opened the door.

  Once again he stole my freedom from me.

  ###

  “Ashton, wake up!” I felt someone shake my shoulders.

  I was startled and felt my body jolt. Was I crying? I had not had a dream or flashback for over a year. I hated having them. They always made me feel dirty afterward. I hated the memories and wish I could burn them from my brain. Maybe then it would be easier for me. I would give anything to forget those three years.

  I wiped my tears and realized my glasses were off.

  “My glasses!” I cried out.

  “It’s Mike. Don’t worry.” He squeezed me, and I realized we were in my bed and just how dark it was. I must have been out of it for a while.

  “Mike, I didn’t. I swear it was an accident.” I kept crying. He needed to know I would never do that again. As much as I hated my life and the way I lived, I would never do that again.

  “I know, Ashton. Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m always messing up.”

  I sat up. “What?”

  He sat up. “I keep provoking your panic attacks,” he said softly.

  I shook my head no. “I’m just fucked up, Mike. You know that. It has nothing to do with you.”

  “Yes, Ashton it does.”

  “Stop Mike. It’s not your fault,” I stressed.

  He was quiet for a few minutes, and I wondered where Lincoln was. I didn’t ask, though. I’m sure I’ve scared him away. I felt my arm and it was wrapped in gauze.

  “Can I talk to you about that day?” Mike whispered.

  “Why?”

  “Ashton, it’s my fault. I was supposed to come pick you up that night but I went off drinking instead. I hated you walking at night, remember?” I nodded and he continued, “I was supposed to be there. I fucked up. It’s my fault, Ashton. I’m so sorry
.”

  I pulled him into a hug when he started crying.

  It wasn’t his fault. He had no idea what would happen. No one did.

  “We’ve been through this in therapy, Mike. You can’t blame yourself. It wasn’t your fault. I should have stayed or called Mom and Dad, but I chose to walk home. If it’s anyone’s fault, it's mine. Not yours, not anyone else. Mine. Just mine.”

  “I’m your older brother. It was my job to protect you, and I failed.”

  “Please don’t go down that road again.” My parents along with Mike didn’t like me walking home at night even though we only lived six blocks away from where I had been babysitting. I was saving up for a car. I wanted a nice one and had been saving money for years. I made more money babysitting on the weekends, and that’s what I had been doing that night.

  The night that changed my life.

  I was a little upset that night when Mike answered the phone and it was clear he was drunk. I figured since I was fifteen, I was old enough to walk the six blocks home.

  Worst fucking decision of my life.

  “I’m sorry, Ashton,” he said again.

  “So am I. Please, Mike, don’t blame yourself.”

  He pulled away and wiped his face on his shirt. “I won’t blame myself if you don’t blame yourself.”

  “You got me there, big brother.” I figured I would change the subject and explain about the vase. “When you knocked on the door it scared me so bad that when I spun around, I whacked the vase by accident. I didn’t even know I had cut myself.”

  He shook his head, and the crying had stopped for the both of us. “When you didn’t call at noon, I decided to come check on you. I thought maybe you’d cheat today, that maybe you needed me. I don’t know,” he shrugged a shoulder, “I thought something was wrong.”

  My brother was such a good guy. “Nothing was wrong. I was trying to do something different today. Suzanne wants me to start pushing myself more.”

  “You’re the bravest person I know, Ashton. I’m proud to call you my sister. I love you. You can do anything you want or do nothing at all. Whatever it is, I support you. Always remember that.”

  “Don’t make me cry again,” I warned him nicely.

  “I won’t, little sister.” He hugged me, kissed my forehead, and I followed him out of the room so I could lock up behind him. I needed a shower first, food, and then I would crawl back into bed. I had an hour. It would be plenty of time.

  On his way out, he told me Lincoln left a note on my fridge. I locked up and went to the fridge. Lincoln had written his phone number on the back of the note he had left me earlier that morning and taped it back up on my fridge.

  The note bothered me. I didn’t want nor have I ever had anything on my fridge. I lifted my hand to remove it but I couldn’t. It was only a piece of paper, and it was from Lincoln. I sighed and dropped my hand. Even though he would never know; I felt like it would hurt his feelings if I took it down. And I did not want to hurt his feelings.

  I smiled. Baby steps.

  Chapter 9 - Ashton

  Mike told me yesterday he wanted me to call Lincoln instead of him today, so he programmed Lincoln’s number into my phone. He wanted me to pretend it was Lincoln’s name on the post-it-note and not his. We argued, I had a slight panic attack, and he did not mention it again.

  I never texted or called Lincoln.

  I know I’m a coward.

  I stared at my phone and carried it all weekend thinking that at any moment I would be able to call or text him, but I never did. And the crazy thing is, I wanted to. I wanted to see him again. I wanted to apologize for what had happened and thank him for helping Mike take care of me.

  I was still scared despite how comfortable I felt with him the night he stayed with me, and I still can’t figure out why I let him.

  The dreams! They wouldn’t stop. It was the same one over and over again; me begging him not to leave me.

  So here I was, at therapy, and I haven’t mentioned the dreams to Suzanne yet.

  “I think you need to add Lincoln to one of the post-it-notes.” I heard Suzanne say, pulling me back to the conversation. I sat up on the couch and gave her my best ‘I’m annoyed’ look.

  She didn’t even look at me. “What do you think?”

  “After everything I just told you, this is the response I get?” My leg started to bounce, and I felt the initial twinge of a headache. “Did you not hear the part about us being in bed together? Or the part where Mike thought I tried to commit suicide? Or the fact that Lincoln had to have noticed my bathroom mirror is covered up with cardboard!”

  She smirked at me. Suzanne smirked at me! She was starting to get on my nerves today.

  “Of course I did,” she said. “It was very nice of him to take care of you.”

  “Why do you seem so happy right now?”

  “Do we really need to discuss this?” she asked as she continued to write in her notebook. I hate it when she writes things about me.

  “Yes, let’s discuss this, Suzanne,” I said a bit sarcastically.

  “You liked it, Ashton. What’s to discuss?” she said like it doesn’t matter when it really does.

  I did like it.

  “If he’s my friend then he’ll start asking questions.”

  “You answer what you feel comfortable answering. People do it all the time.”

  “Then we’d have nothing to talk about.”

  “Talk about movies.”

  I shrugged a shoulder.

  “Talk about a book both of you read.”

  I laid against the back of the couch.

  “Pick an article out in the newspaper, read it to each other. Discuss it.” Her voice rose with each word she said, so I sat up and looked at her. “Go for a walk. Buy a coloring book or paint a picture. I mean, the possibilities are endless.”

  “What’s wrong?” I asked and waited for her to stop writing.

  She paused and looked up at me. “What?” she asked innocently.

  “Something seems off? And you’re writing like a mad woman right now.”

  She shrugged her shoulders, closed the notebook, and stood.

  “Let me have it.” I waved at her. “What’s wrong with me now?”

  She tossed the notebook and pen down and sat down at her desk.

  “Just tell me, Suzanne.”

  “There’s nothing to tell, Ashton. A lot happened to you last week, and it was extremely different and difficult for you. But here you are. Nothing’s wrong. You survived. I was excited that you had new things to share and discuss with me. That’s all. Stop being so negative and I was serious, I want you to put Lincoln on a post-it-note and then just drop it to the floor.”

  “That’s cheating!”

  She smirked and relaxed into her chair. “I’m sure by now, you cheat.”

  I huffed and stood from the couch. “Fine.”

  “Why can’t you see that this is good, Ashton! Don’t you want some of that normal you’re always talking about? Having friends is normal. Making decisions for yourself instead of some sticky note is normal,” she paused. “Embrace it.”

  Maybe it’s normal to dream of your friends?

  The dreams made me think of him day and night.

  I couldn’t stop trying to figure out what they meant.

  “Why is this so hard for me?”

  “Trusting people is hard for anyone but for you, it’s going to be difficult. It won’t come overnight, or in a week. It’s going to take time. Lincoln’s been talking to you for over two months now. He’s kept his promise, he kept his distance, and he took care of you on two separate occasions. He cares about you. He respects you.”

  “Maybe he should be your friend,” I muttered.

  She snapped her fingers and pointed at me. “That’s it!”

  “I don’t like the excitement in your voice.”

  “Remember when you had sessions with your brother?�
� She stood up.

  “No.” I knew what she was getting at. I pointed back at her and repeated, “No, Suzanne. No.”

  “Push, Ashton,” she said as she flipped through her calendar. “Push. Push. Push.”

  “He can’t know I’m in therapy!” I sucked in some air. “Am I breathing, Suzanne?”

  “Yes Ashton, you’re breathing. Sit down and take a deep breath. There’s no reason to panic over this.”

  This is not good.

  He’ll know how fucked up I am.

  Suzanne came to sit next to me on the couch and patted my leg. “You’re doing great. One more big breath in and then out.” She breathed with me and smiled. “See, that wasn’t hard. You’re doing so much better.”

  It did feel like it was going away, but the headache was worse. “Why would I want him here?” I started rubbing my temples. “What’s that going to accomplish?”

  “I’ll help you communicate with him. I’ll be able to explain some things you can’t. Like with your brother. It helped your relationship with him.”

  I hate to admit it, but it did help us. It was weird to listen to them talk about me like I wasn’t even in the room, but Suzanne helped him understand me a little more.

  God, I really am a fuck up when I need my therapist’s help to become someone’s friend.

  “I can see it now… ‘Hey Linc, you wanna come with me to therapy and learn about how fucked up I am? You want to know I need help from my therapist making and learning how to be someone’s friend?’” I huffed. “He’ll run away from me. But maybe that’s a good thing. Then I don’t have to bring him with me!”

  “You either want friends or you don’t, Ashton.” She pushed up from the couch and went back to her chair. She sat on the edge and leaned forward. When I didn’t reply, she continued, “Well, what is it? Do you want to move on from your past and get on with your life? Do you even want to have friends? Do you want to find your kind of normal, Ashton? You keep telling me these things, but you’re not doing a damn thing about it!” I snapped my head up to her. She just yelled at me. “You’re the only one that can change your life, Ashton. Get off the road you’re on. Take a turn and go in another direction.”