Her name is Ugly
Chapter 3David pushes the pills around on her desk, absently picking one up before dropping it back down. She shoves all the pills into a container and hides them in the pocket of her hoody, the slight jangle of the pills giving her hope for an endless sleep.
She turns back to her open “art.”
“David.” She looks up from her notebook of “art”, her skill-less drawings smooshed into a mess of black scribbles.
She didn’t draw because she was good at it.
She drew because it was something more ugly than her face.
Her eyes met the woman’s calling her name, most would refer to her as “mom” or “mama” or, perhaps, “mother.”
No, not David. She refers to her a Woman.
Woman smiles timidly at her daughter, wondering when her firstborn will snap out of her depressing gloom.
But then, Woman remembers.
She remembers as soon as David turns her head to the right.
The hideous, pink flesh stretching down her face, leaving a trail of unintentional memory and days that would go faster if only David could find the courage to do away with herself.
To let Woman, her gone-one-day-here-the-next dad, and her little sister have the life they should be able to live.
She traces the scar down her face, letting her take the time to remember that night.
“David?” Woman asks again, crossing her arms over his chest. “Lily and Declan are coming over for dinner,” she pauses, pursing her lips. “It would be nice for you to eat with us.”
“I don’t even know who your talking about, “ David grunts in reply, knowing that she feels no remorse for her usual lack of attendance during dinner.
Woman doesn’t know that she just hopes they get used to it.
It will be so much easier when David is gone.
The doorbell rings, Woman hadn’t moved from her spot, gazing intently at her daughter. It rings again and Woman leaves reluctantly, not wanting this time to be the last time she sees her David.
The stairs seems steeper than they were before as she makes her way downstairs, her guests waiting anxiously at the door. The double doors open rather grandly, giving the house an appearance that it could not longer live up to.
The once shining marble floor was now dull and in need of a furious scrub, the elegant winding stair case was now more treacherous and the rooms now shone with less brightness than they had before.
Woman greets her friends, allowing Lily to hug her before making her way to the dining room as she had done every Thursday night for the past three months.
Her son, Declan, stands in the doorway. His broad shoulders tower over Woman’s tiny stature as he bends down to hug her tiny five foot two frame. Declan grins from ear to ear and looks over her shoulder.
“What do you need, Declan? I have refreshme-“ Woman said, following Declan’s gaze past her.
He quickly shakes his head, his dark hair falling on his forehead. “No, no! I was just looking to see if I would meet your daughter this time.”
“But you already have, Declan, Abby-“
“Your other daughter, Mrs. Montgomery.” Declan deadpans.
Flustered and embarrassed of her self, Woman starts fussing with her shirt. “I… um... I didn’t realize you would...” she trails off.
Declan only shrugs and takes a step towards the staircase, assuming her daughter was upstairs. Woman doesn’t say anything, just continues to fuss with her shirt and the worry lines between her eyes continues to darken.
Declan takes that as an OK and trots up the stairs.
Opening the first door he sees, he finds a beautiful girl slumped against her desk, her breathing oddly erratic.
An open container of pills lay by her hands, spilled over and scattered amongst her journal.
Two pills sit on her open palm.
The rest are gone.
Ever so gently, Declan shakes the girls slumped shoulders, her head bobbing back and forth.
It was the first glimpse of the scar that made him stop and stare.
He brushed her hair away from the scar, tucking it behind her ear.
He didn’t gasp or point fingers or apologize for the mass of dead skin lining her cheek.
Instead, he stood there mesmerized by the complete irony of it.
The beautiful girl plagued by the ugly trail of scar left behind.
He traced it from top to bottom, letting his finger linger.
As his finger stayed at the base of her jaw, he trailed down an even fainter scar to her pulse.
Her eyes flitted open before quickly closing once more.