Cuts and Bruises

Chapter 1: Staring

Anastasia sat in her math class. She gazed, no, stared at the girl across from her, Veronika Willhelm. There was an angry red mark going down her arms, like the ones that covered Anastasia's. It held her stare.

'Maybe it's just a scratch.'

Anya continued to stare at the mark.

'She doesn't look like the type. She's a cheer captain. Maybe she has a cat.'

Veronika catches the stare. She looks at Anya, confusion filling her features. She turns to the two girls next to her, Sydney and Amber. They all laugh and turn away from Anastasia.

She blushes a deep red that is noticed by Mrs. Jones.

"Miss Romanov," she says from behind her book at her desk. Her large reading glasses are sliding down her slender nose. "Do you need to be excused for a moment?" she asks, concern filling her voice.

"I… I don't…. I, no… I…" the whole class is staring at her now. "Bathroom. May I go to the bathroom?" Anya says, gaining a little composure.

"Write out a pass." Mrs. Jones says, returning to her text and standing to write a formula on the board. Anya does this and quickly leaves the class.

In the hallway, Anya sees no one. She wanders in almost unconsciousness, seeming as though she has no destination. She does have one though. Anastasia is heading for her sanctuary at school, the girls bathroom.

She walks through the doorway and into the harsh fluorescents of the pink room. It was empty, perfect.

Anya walks into the middle stall. She locks the door and reaches into her black and red bag. She finds what she needs. She removed a single blade from the stash.

One

She makes a slash against her forearm. Crimson begins to flow over the older cuts that are on their way to healing, to scaring.

Two

She grimaces at the bite of the blade. She lets out little whimpers at the third cut. Pain may be her friend but it still hurt, it left her numb.

When she finished, she took out her antiseptic and cleaned the wound. Infection was not worth all of this pain, it wouldn't be tolerated. Infection was an act of treason that her body always was threatened with. It would tell her brother all about her little activity.

Anya put a bandage on and walked out of the stall. An eerie reflection of herself greeted her in the sitting area of the bathroom.

She looked at herself in the mirror. She was pretty but not gorgeous as her parents had often told her she was. Her red brown hair sat messily atop her head in a pony tail. Years ago, before the accident, she would never go out looking like this. Her locks would be smooth, soft and flowing in either her natural curls or straightened.

Her eyes were slightly sunken. The color, a corn flower blue, was striking, sure to get her all sorts of attention. She remembered all of the compliments she used to get about them.

"Oh Anya! You have such pretty eyes!"

"Anastasia Romanov, I'd recognize you anywhere! Those eyes of yours are stunning!"

She continued to hold her own gaze. It was full of sadness yet there was a spark of life, of happiness, still visible like an apparition.

Her body was a reflection of this. Anya was tiny, tall but to thin. She seemed awkward, like she was too small for her clothes. All she was was skin and bones. She used to be tone and fit but that part of her life was gone now.

She took a final glance at herself and then returned to class.

Her embarrassment from before had been numbed and so was her curiosity to stare.