I immeadiatly knew what was happening. But I didn't know what to do. After biting on a blanket while the pain seared in my leg, I reacted.
I ran to were I hid the letters. I opened the one that said to do so in the event I got a scar. It instructed me to hide it until I could cover it up. Most preferably another scar. To scratch out the freshly burned symbol with a crude scratch. As though I had experienced a bad fall. Just another kid who fell down.
I quickly pulled on pants and said I was going to ride my bike around the block. The women who truly believes she is my mom said to be careful and let me venture outwards.
But what she didn't know was I had hidden a glass bottle in my small backpack. I rode my bike to an area of brush. A place where teens usually go to drink hidden by the trees.
I figured I would stage having fallen off my bike. I would fall off my bike because I had went onto unfamiliar turain and when I fell I landed on broken beer bottles.
So I rode as fast I could and abruptly bracked on the peddles. I let myslef fall on the ground and even tried to hit it harder. I took out the pieces of glass that now layer in my bag and attacked l my leg where the fresh scar was. First through my pants so it looked like they had ripped allowing for a more serious injury.
Then I took the glass right to my skin. I held no mercy. I cut up my legs in a couple different places and made sure to destroy the scar.
Bleeding and in pain I went home. Tried to act hurt but also ensured the two passer by's that I was okay and heading home.
My 'mom' took me to the hospital and they gave me stiches. It hurt so much. But not as much as the realization that number One had been killed. One of my own kind. The one who had been keeping me alive.
Reading through the letter again it said Rupert was going to replicate a form of the spell on the other girl. He said he couldn't make it so it would protect her, but give her too a scar upon One's death. And in result of her death..would produce scars on the other numbers.
I still can't believe it. None of it. I can't believe that I'm not human. That the people who have only ever loved me as their daughter don't know I'm not her.
Despite arguing with her husband, my adoptive mother is an amazing person. Once she got away from what she has explained as a toxic relationship, she got better and happier.
It kills me to know that it's all a lie. Her love for me. My life. My survival. The only truth is a girl is dead. And it's as much my fault as if I had been the one who done it.