I touch the fire
And it freezes me
I look into it and it's black
Why can't I feel?
My skin should crack and peel
I want the fire back
- Buffy, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Droplets of rain streaked the windshield as the car hurled around another corner. Simone always was a horrible driver. Kay lay her head on the window, ignoring the constant jolting rhythm of the car. She curled her legs up on the seat, both as a method of self preservation and for comfort. She was always sore after a car ride with Simone, it was more of a vomit- inducing roller coaster ride than a journey down a country road. She stared out the window, tuning out the blaring pop trash polluting the air waves. Simone also had horrible taste in music. As she ran her slender fingers around the contours of her reflection, she thought of herself as a picture in a frame. Once full of life and vivid colour she was slowly fading away. Her image was peeled and sallow, trapped behind still glass. Her reflection was a crude distortion of the girl that once was.
"Kay you look tired, are you alright?" Simone whispered with obvious concern. "You don't seem like yourself."
Everyone was always saying that lately, that she looked tired or sick. Sometimes they stared at her like she had just wandered out of Aushwitz. She had long felt oblivious towards her appearance. There was a time where the simple act of going to the movies would require meticulous preparation of clothes, hair and makeup. She remembered lacing her hair with streaks of amber, styling it to a perfect sheen. It was all for him, always for him. She would have jumped through fire for him. But she could never match his golden girl, with her starry eyes and winning smile. Kay peered into the rearview mirror and watched them, locked tight in a warm embrace. She was nuzzling the nape of his neck like a newborn fawn, those shining orbs framed by rows of innocent lashes. Kay's own eyes seemed like two firm, black marbles, lacking sparkle and shine. She kept her mousy, chestnut hair swept in a bun at the nape of her neck, a few loose strands lining her temples. There was no bold outfit tonight, with dipping necklines and fabric that hugged her curves. She wore her usually uniform, draped in baggy cotton and worn denim.
Her eyes drifted to the back seat again, where her sister's fingers fidgeted nervously on her lap, and eyes met those framed by wire rims. Kay sighed at the sound of nervous giggles and shy whispers.
"So Reese, what did you think of the movie?"
"Oh well there were obviously a great many historical inaccuracies. For one, it would have been far messier if a cannon ball had really struck that soldier in the head. Plus, ever notice that actors play French people with English accents? It's really quite bizarre..."
They both chuckled at Reese's attempt at a joke. Well, Reese snorted in that annoying way that Kay always hated. Jessica seemed to find it endearing though. She edged closer to him and let her hand slide onto his knee. Kay, on the other hand would have given her patented eye roll and done her best to inch away while Reese shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose and continued to moon over her. She couldn't say she was surprised, she knew he would have moved on eventually. She was also happy for her sister, being able to reciprocate feelings that she herself was never able to. He had stopped worshipping his goddess, finding he couldn't warm a heart made of stone.
As their soft hands intertwined with each other, Kay fiddled with the frayed ends of her sweatshirt. Pulling back her shirt sleeve, she ran a fingernail down several raised, parallel marks running along the surface of her wrists. The scars were pale and white, hardly noticable to anyone who wasn't looking for them. She remembered a night similar to this one, when the thunder rolled across the sky. She had waited until everyone had left for the evening, and snuck up to the bathroom. Death by a pink Lady Shiek seemed so glamorous that night, when her tears streaked her cheeks like torrents of vicious raindrops that pounded on the window pane. She remembered eyeing the network of blue veins on her wrists carefully before closing her eyes and striking the first blow. She had been stupid, careless. Maybe even a bit insane. Ribbons of crisp and tender crimson had flowed in deltas down her arm before the tiled floor came hurling towards her face. She recalled waking up in the hospital, her temple swathed in heavy gauze and her arms bandaged. Apparently she didn't do well when exposed to blood. She also remembered the pain. That was something that would stay with her. Not only physically, but the hurt she felt when her family stepped into her hospital room. Concerned faces surrounded her, shaking their heads and wondering where they had gone wrong. For weeks her mother had barely let Kay out of her sight, grabbing her arms and feverishly pushing her shirt sleeves past her elbows to look for evidence of more mutilation. Like a sickness Kay liked the attention, craved it. It was like a sudden rush of adrenaline, to finally be thrust into center ring. Perhaps that is what she sought all along.
Soon the concern faded and everyone stopped checking. They stopped being concerned for poor, psychotic Kay and returned to coddling poor, psychotic Charity. Only occasionally they would notice her unlively expression and ask her what was wrong. But how soon they could forget, how quickly they returned to their blissful lives of ignorance.
Now she would sit in her room, watching the flames lick her hands. She hid the burns well, under layers of cotton and wool. Everytime she watched the orange light rise to touch her, she waited for the heat. Waited to feel the fire burn. But the fire never touched her, she never felt its warmth caress her. She was frozen, and she couldn't seem to find a way to thaw her frigid heart.
And it freezes me
I look into it and it's black
Why can't I feel?
My skin should crack and peel
I want the fire back
- Buffy, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Droplets of rain streaked the windshield as the car hurled around another corner. Simone always was a horrible driver. Kay lay her head on the window, ignoring the constant jolting rhythm of the car. She curled her legs up on the seat, both as a method of self preservation and for comfort. She was always sore after a car ride with Simone, it was more of a vomit- inducing roller coaster ride than a journey down a country road. She stared out the window, tuning out the blaring pop trash polluting the air waves. Simone also had horrible taste in music. As she ran her slender fingers around the contours of her reflection, she thought of herself as a picture in a frame. Once full of life and vivid colour she was slowly fading away. Her image was peeled and sallow, trapped behind still glass. Her reflection was a crude distortion of the girl that once was.
"Kay you look tired, are you alright?" Simone whispered with obvious concern. "You don't seem like yourself."
Everyone was always saying that lately, that she looked tired or sick. Sometimes they stared at her like she had just wandered out of Aushwitz. She had long felt oblivious towards her appearance. There was a time where the simple act of going to the movies would require meticulous preparation of clothes, hair and makeup. She remembered lacing her hair with streaks of amber, styling it to a perfect sheen. It was all for him, always for him. She would have jumped through fire for him. But she could never match his golden girl, with her starry eyes and winning smile. Kay peered into the rearview mirror and watched them, locked tight in a warm embrace. She was nuzzling the nape of his neck like a newborn fawn, those shining orbs framed by rows of innocent lashes. Kay's own eyes seemed like two firm, black marbles, lacking sparkle and shine. She kept her mousy, chestnut hair swept in a bun at the nape of her neck, a few loose strands lining her temples. There was no bold outfit tonight, with dipping necklines and fabric that hugged her curves. She wore her usually uniform, draped in baggy cotton and worn denim.
Her eyes drifted to the back seat again, where her sister's fingers fidgeted nervously on her lap, and eyes met those framed by wire rims. Kay sighed at the sound of nervous giggles and shy whispers.
"So Reese, what did you think of the movie?"
"Oh well there were obviously a great many historical inaccuracies. For one, it would have been far messier if a cannon ball had really struck that soldier in the head. Plus, ever notice that actors play French people with English accents? It's really quite bizarre..."
They both chuckled at Reese's attempt at a joke. Well, Reese snorted in that annoying way that Kay always hated. Jessica seemed to find it endearing though. She edged closer to him and let her hand slide onto his knee. Kay, on the other hand would have given her patented eye roll and done her best to inch away while Reese shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose and continued to moon over her. She couldn't say she was surprised, she knew he would have moved on eventually. She was also happy for her sister, being able to reciprocate feelings that she herself was never able to. He had stopped worshipping his goddess, finding he couldn't warm a heart made of stone.
As their soft hands intertwined with each other, Kay fiddled with the frayed ends of her sweatshirt. Pulling back her shirt sleeve, she ran a fingernail down several raised, parallel marks running along the surface of her wrists. The scars were pale and white, hardly noticable to anyone who wasn't looking for them. She remembered a night similar to this one, when the thunder rolled across the sky. She had waited until everyone had left for the evening, and snuck up to the bathroom. Death by a pink Lady Shiek seemed so glamorous that night, when her tears streaked her cheeks like torrents of vicious raindrops that pounded on the window pane. She remembered eyeing the network of blue veins on her wrists carefully before closing her eyes and striking the first blow. She had been stupid, careless. Maybe even a bit insane. Ribbons of crisp and tender crimson had flowed in deltas down her arm before the tiled floor came hurling towards her face. She recalled waking up in the hospital, her temple swathed in heavy gauze and her arms bandaged. Apparently she didn't do well when exposed to blood. She also remembered the pain. That was something that would stay with her. Not only physically, but the hurt she felt when her family stepped into her hospital room. Concerned faces surrounded her, shaking their heads and wondering where they had gone wrong. For weeks her mother had barely let Kay out of her sight, grabbing her arms and feverishly pushing her shirt sleeves past her elbows to look for evidence of more mutilation. Like a sickness Kay liked the attention, craved it. It was like a sudden rush of adrenaline, to finally be thrust into center ring. Perhaps that is what she sought all along.
Soon the concern faded and everyone stopped checking. They stopped being concerned for poor, psychotic Kay and returned to coddling poor, psychotic Charity. Only occasionally they would notice her unlively expression and ask her what was wrong. But how soon they could forget, how quickly they returned to their blissful lives of ignorance.
Now she would sit in her room, watching the flames lick her hands. She hid the burns well, under layers of cotton and wool. Everytime she watched the orange light rise to touch her, she waited for the heat. Waited to feel the fire burn. But the fire never touched her, she never felt its warmth caress her. She was frozen, and she couldn't seem to find a way to thaw her frigid heart.