Year Four/Week Ten – Present
The first time I sliced my skin was three months after Dad died.
I’m surprised I didn’t do it sooner.
It resembled euphoric bliss every time I took a blade to my flesh and felt something other than mental drought.
The second time was when my first boyfriend, Zac, threw the gold watch I’d gifted him at my eye. I had hugged another boy. It was my mistake.
The third time was after Kyle had gotten too drunk and forgot the meaning of consent.
And the last and final time was a year ago, when I realized I’d gained twenty-two pounds and couldn’t fit into my Rag & Bone jeans.
I realized after I stopped self-harming that directing my pain to the parts of my body that did nothing wrong was fucked. Why would I damage my beautiful skin when my heart was already bristled and stone? One ugly thing was enough.
When I turned eighteen, I got a rose tattoo on my wrist to cover up the pain my father left behind. Then, butterflies on my forearms to stamp the spots I wrecked in his wake.
The words “Rise Again” were written on my inner bicep, right where Zac had gripped my arm so hard it bruised. He’d punctured a piece of my soul that day. I’d never let myself forget it.
After Kyle had violated me, I got a heart tattoo to remind myself that I still had one.
Then the weight came and I made a small incision on my lower stomach, just above my hip. Maybe the fat would have dripped out of me like honey, that was my first thought.
It didn’t.
I got a bumblebee tattoo instead.
The rest of my patchwork were meaningless tattoos. I’d only gotten them so that I could stop hyper-fixating on the reasons why I inked my skin in the first place.
Jace knew I had them now. My only hope was that he was too wasted to remember what he saw. Maybe he just assumed they were for the aesthetic, I mean, I could always lie and say that was the case.
But ever since Halloween, I avoided interactions with him at all costs. I skipped the classes I had with him last week to catch up on school work, only attending my Tuesday seminar which was environmental media. Paying attention for the first time in two months was a blessing because the content wasn’t actually half bad.
Prof. Barnaby was a wholesome old man who pronounced every syllable and wore colourful suspenders. Today was no different.
I sat down next to the printers at the back of the class, scrolling through a Pinterest board of photography ideas when the chair pulled out next to me.
“This seat taken?” the voice asked.
Before I even decided to look up, I rolled my eyes. “That’s such a line.”
“It was an honest question.”
Huh. My interest was piqued because the mystery stranger still hadn’t sat down.
I was met with a set of leaf-green eyes, a tallish man with brown hair, a plaid overcoat and a varsity tee underneath. His curls were covered underneath a black ballcap and a key chain hung around his neck.
“Sit,” I smiled, wondering why I’d never seen him before. Oh wait, it’s because my mind has been consumed by Jace Boland for the past sixty days.
“I’m Vince, by the way.” He opened up his laptop, an Asus covered in random stickers, and turned to me. “Blu, right?”
“Everyone seems to know me before I know them,” I stuck out my hand to shake his. “Blu Henderson, yeah.”
His palm was soft against mine. “With a name like Blu, it’s kind of hard to forget.”
“And the hair,” I twirled a cobalt lock around my finger. “Don’t forget the hair.”
He placed a hand over his heart as if he were wounded. It made me chuckle.
“I could never,” he said. His smile was cute, no dimples though. Not like Jace.
“I’m glad I finally got the chance to talk to you. You always sit alone.”
“Well, I was sitting alone before you came along so nothing’s really different.”
He leaned back, taking off his cap and flipping it backwards. “Touché. Was it wrong of me to sit here?”
“It’s a free country, love. Sit where you want.”
“Love,” he smiled. I knew he’d like that.
Prof. Barnaby finally decided he was ready to teach and switched on the PowerPoint slideshow. “Right class, who’s presenting today?”
A girl raised her hand and shuffled to the front, setting up her project. I stared at her trying to assign a name that fit because I had zero clue what it was.
“She looks like an Abigail,” I whispered to my new friend. “Doesn’t she?”
He squinted as if he were looking through a magnifying glass. “I can see it. Her name’s Liz, though.”
“She doesn’t look like a Liz.”
“Do I look like a Vince?” he queried, forcing me to stare at his features.
I shook my head. “No, you look like a Caden or a Cory. Something C.”
“Cunt?” he jested.
I hated that word. But when he said it, it sounded more like a pre-teen who just discovered Urban Dictionary so I let it slide.
“Do I look like a Blu?”
His eyes travelled from my forehead to my cheeks, my chin and then hair. “I think it suits you perfectly.”
The rest of class, Vince and I played Google games and competed in Solitaire matches behind our laptop screens. He won the first few rounds but I made a comeback eventually. I always did.
A part of me wondered what his motives were. I was sure I’d find out soon enough whether he wanted to sleep with me or if I was just something to look at. But for now, I relished in the idea that someone of the opposite sex could actually enjoy my company.
When class ended and he walked me out, the first sentence that left his lips was, “Want to grab a bite to eat tomorrow?”
“I have class at four but I can meet you after that?”
His grin was bright. “Sounds good. Can I get your number, Blu?”
I plugged it in without hesitation. Maybe Vince could be a good distraction. He was decently tall, rather plain style but it wasn’t horrible. He was kind of cute, in a nerdy, soft-boy way.
Yeah, I could learn to like him.
He could learn to like me.
Everyone did.
Everyone but Jace.
