Hello! It's me again! I'm sorry it took me so long to update! I was in a lack of inspiration for awhile! We get a bit more of the story of Jk in tis chapter, but I promise you'll get more details about what happened as the story unravels. I know it is cliché, but hey! I like them that way. I hope you do too!
Enjoy! And I hope I'll be able to update soon!
P.S: It would really mean the world to me if you left a review! I like to have your diverse perspectives! If there a re somethings you think I should do to improve, go ahead, tell me! I'll be glad!
JK POV
My cheeks were red and warm. Their texture was different too. As I was used to the damp feel of the tears plastered on them, I was glad to try something new for once. The feeling occurring in my body certainly was weird. I actually had no explanation to define it. The best way to put it into words would be to compare it to emptiness. But, somehow, that nothingness felt great, replacing the constant sorrow and bullying I made myself endure.
I tried producing a negative thought in my head as I usually would do. Picturing my distorted face, thinking about the multiple scars that marred it, haunting the children's dream, usually did the thing in no time.
And yet…
I guess I could describe it as a veil. A long translucent sheet fogging the torturous world of my mind.
Closing my eyes, trying to clear a path through this labyrinth, I got lost in its blankness. The sufferance had disappeared entirely.
I started to panic.
Why was it that my brain couldn't produce anything born form my imagination, even though it was meant to hurt me in every way possible?
Why was it that my hands gripping the cold metal of the seesaw, weren't even feeling cold?
What was wrong with me?
Then, as if on cue, I heard a feeble sound coming from far away. The thing was barely audible and yet, the more I concentrated on it, the more it grew louder, invading my whole environment.
In seconds the melody had taken the entirety of my world. It was repetitive and rhythmic, and attractive.
I loved its soft thumping reverberating inside of my whole being, or more precisely concentrated around my sternum.
In search of its provenance, I pressed a hand against my chest randomly, lost in the beauty of the night staring at me from above.
And then I felt it for real.
The thumping of my heart, more real than ever.
As far as I could recall, it was the first time such a phenomenon had taken place in my organism. Such an irrational reaction, from which I couldn't understand the origin, had taken place before my bare eyes, as I thought I was just a simple cold rock.
Somber, empty and untouchable.
Fascinated, I pressed harder against my sternum, begging this song to keep on playing, never to vanish into nothingness.
And yet, she decided not to grant my wish. After a certain amount of time, she was no more, like all the things I had ever loved.
I sighed heavily as I pushed myself from the seesaw, deceived by such young hope, being already crushed.
My frostbitten palms were already gripping the comforting insides of my dark hoodie as the ground crunched under my black converse high.
As I made my way home, images of the blast, my doom, surged through my mind, and in no time, hell was back, just as it used to be.
What had engineered that sudden emptiness?
That short truce which had made me believe, for one second that maybe one day, I would find happiness.
Since I had already given up on love, knowing that my disfiguration would be enough to keep everyone away.
I used to think when I was a kid that having the faculty to make people go away with just one glance was quite cool, mostly when you didn't feel like talking or when they were simply insufferable.
But I never thought my wish would be granted.
Having learnt my lesson, I knew that as long as my face kept under the large cap, I would be away from problems.
But one issue still remained.
Madeleine.
What about her?
She was just a mere annoying girl I had met in a park and yet, a part of me didn't want to lose her.
I knew that the chances of having her as a friend had escalated quite quickly with our previous conversation and I didn't want to risk messing it up when I had nothing left.
But then again, as long as she didn't care about my face, all would be fine.
A friend.
Maybe that was the trigger to that sudden change…
I guessed I would know the answer on our next encounter.
Plus, with luck, she wouldn't have lied and I would get a taste of my favorite instrument played live just for me.
Such a long time since I had last sung… I couldn't believe she had made it so simple for me to do it.
After all the pain this simple action had put me through, all the horrendous memories it had brought up…
I guess her presence was beneficial to me.
Maybe a sort of therapy on how to learn to live.
If I was lucky… Maybe even to love.
Shaking these thoughts away from my mind, I kept on walking until I reached the apartment I had been living in for the past two years.
Its somber stature reminded me of myself, always dressed in black, rotting inside with pessimistic dark thoughts.
Windows were fractured. I had done so as I had bought the whole place for myself, in need of space. The web of cracks marring each of them kept me from encountering my reflection once the sun came up.
The mirrors were too out of the question. I had rid of them in no time.
But my greater material loss was my camera. I remembered the numerous montage I used to arrange on my computer. Sometimes, I even happened to look at the way I used to be.
Once a handsome young man with a brilliant future ahead of him.
The sight of it always made me cry, obviously, but since I was living alone, like a mole, chances of people knowing where quite poor.
Since my accident, tragedy, death, in a way, I minimized going outdoors. I made sure to wear a mask going to the groceries in case the miss would call the cops once glaring at the monstrosity I had become.
I was so accustomed to look into people's eyes when I discussed with them…
It was now dangerous for me to do so.
The lock of black hair covering the left part of my face was starting to itch. As I placed it behind my ear, its length long enough to even be brought up into a ponytail, I shuddered.
Under the street lights, I could only see the path ahead from the perspective of my right eye, the other one, no more part of this world.
The advantage of the somber tint of my hair permitted me to half believed that the reason I couldn't see was because of it obstructing my eyesight.
The mask now taken off, I was facing the reality whether it pleased me or not.
I pressed a hand against the rough scarred tissue surrounding it, stifling a cry as my hand encountered irregularities on my once smooth skin.
The image was imprinted in my mind and would forever haunt my dreams.
In the beginning as I was hopeful that a girl might be foolish enough to fall for me, I used to dream about the perfect encounter where the said female would tell me how she liked my scars and thought it rendered me attractive.
I used to believe in those lies, but not anymore.
After seeing babies cry in horror, women call the cops, thinking I was a serial killer, I understood.
I decided to stop torturing myself with fantasies that relied on utopia.
And I started hurting myself mentally.
I was already physically broken, inflicting even more pain wouldn't have even made a difference.
I sighed heavily and opened the unlocked door of my dump. The whole place was a mess. Drawings where covering the entirety of the floor.
All more morbid than the others, but for one which I had had put in a frame. The portrait of a girl my mind was sometimes summoning.
Weirdly, she didn't have a face.
I could only try to put the face of some person I already knew, but it never felt right.
Sometimes I wanted to rip it to shreds, but it took one glance and I melted, somehow attracted to the idea of the existence of such a wonderful being.
My treacherous heart hadn't lost hope.
Yet.
But it was on the verge of doing so.
I went to bed without even bothering to change.
Nobody would know I was wearing the same clothes.
After all, I had no one.
No one who cared about me, and no one to care about.
I was alone.
But to say I liked it would be a lie that I couldn't convince myself of even with all of my willpower.
I closed my eyes and let my mind drift, not restraining it, somehow hoping she wouldn't torture me.
-X-
There was a brunette standing on a seesaw, her back to me. From her posture, I recognize her as the lady from my drawing.
I had baptized her Made, because she was a creation of my imagination.
My fictional self approached the seesaw, not at all in a hurry to take place by her side, knowing somehow that once I would lock eyes with the face, my orbs would stare at a blank space.
Sitting on the seesaw, I felt a reassuring hand pressed itself against my jaw.
I had been in need of physical touch, affection, therefore, since I couldn't get any in reality, I was ashamed to admit that sometimes my brain made me dream of it.
Her soft skin was brushing against mine, expressionless, I could never identify disgust or whatever emotion she might feel.
Her face was always a wonder to me and an endless frustration.
I finally gave in to her touch and turned my face towards her expecting pure white and emptiness as usual.
But I froze as my eyes landed on a violin resting atop her lap.