DISCLAIMER: Roses are red, violets are blue. I no own Haven, so you no sue.
The Many Scars of Nathan Wournos
Nathans body was no stranger to the small disfigurements etched forever on the surface of his skin. Under his long sleeved plaid shirt there was a mess of accidents that created an unseen insecurity towards his own body. Many times Nathan would avoid looking in mirrors so as not to see his own mistakes made during the time his affliction cursed him. On occasion he would deeply observe every inch of his body, sometimes peeling away dried blood off a scab, sometimes to scold himself for another deep gash he didn't feel. Idiopathic neuropathy they called it. Was that supposed to bring him comfort and normality? As if putting a name to the strange, unnatural occurrence would make him feel more human.
In school, Nathan was bullied by the kids that didn't understand. They called him awful names that made him cry. Ones that he wanted to forget, but couldn't. Even after so many years he had vivid dreams of the bullying that went along with his naïve schoolboy days. Once, some boys had a contest during the lunch hour to see who could jump the farthest out of a tree rooted at the back of the school. Nathan had been challenged by one of the older boys and to prove his bravery he climbed as fast as he could up the tree. When he got into a crouching position the boys cheered him on. He was holding the tree branch as tightly as his hands could bear. He thrust himself forward and was only airborne for a few seconds. With his arms flailing and a deep yell he landed knees first on the ground. He skidded forward on the side of his stomach and something crunched as his face hit the grass with an audible thud. The kids around him started cheering but as Nathan turned around all the children who were laughing and cheering turned away and started to scream. Little did Nathan know that his mouth began filling with blood because he bit hard down onto his tongue. Paralysed by embarrassment, Nathan had no clue what was happening. He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong but the remaining kids screamed more when they saw the exposed blood in his mouth. Nathan quickly turned around and ran in the opposite direction. He ran all the way home before realizing his mouth was bloody. In shock he stuffed some Kleenex in his mouth and for waited on the couch by the window until his father came home from the police station. He cried tears of embarrassment and once again scolded himself at how stupid he must have looked. It hadn't taken his father too long to reach the house after he got a call from the principal at the school. He got a few stitches in his mouth when his father rushed him to the hospital. All the way there his father carefully lectured Nathan on why he should have paid more attention. Nathans mind was somewhere else. He stared out the window with the wad of Kleenex hanging out the side. He wasn't thinking of anything in particular except that he wanted to run away so no one could see him. Once they entered the quiet hospital, a newly hired doctor rushed him to the chair and was dumbfounded by Nathans father remark about the freezing being unnecessary. Of course Nathan didn't flinch at the stitches. Chief knew better than to explain something as complicated as Nathans condition to the doctor. Later on in the almost silent car ride home, Nathans father remarked how he better not pull anything stupid like that again because he didn't want to be pulled away from work.
Many other scars came along with sad, sometimes gruesome stories. Some of the cuts were self-inflicted. A sort of test in hopes of finding any part of his body that could remotely have a sense of feeling. Mostly Nathan tried cutting little incisions along his torso and upper arms. On his upper legs he made longer, deeper gashes at his own accord but his conclusion was always the same. No matter what he did, he could not feel anything.
Nathan grew to accept there was no difference between soft and hard and there was no difference between hot and cold. He seldom found other pleasures to fill his time because everything had become so lacklustre. The food he ate tasted different but was the same in his mouth. His bed was neither comfortable nor unbearable. He would not feel the internal aches from sleeping the wrong way and the weather was hard dress for if he didn't watch the weather channel first. Still, he lived in hope that one day his sense of touch would be restored.