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I stood outside Wyn’s apartment complex for about ten minutes, trying to decide where to go. I needed to talk to my mom. I didn’t know what I would say to her that wouldn’t end in a fight, but I felt so naked and exposed after Wyn’s innocent discovery of my mark.
I made sure my hair covered the right side of my face before I turned my long board in the direction of the bus that would take me into the wealthy district of town. There were still about forty-five minutes until dinner would be served in the LaRue’s dining hall, meaning my mom still had about two hours or more of work. Rather than wait at home, alone, for her to get there, I opted to face the hustle of the big kitchen at dinner time. Spending forty minutes alone on the bus was still better than waiting alone for two or more hours before she would get off.
The bus stopped and I quickly boarded. The neon lights were already on, illuminating the plastic seats and metal floor with a strange, blue glow. I made my way to the middle and sat with my hood up, backpack sitting on my lap and my head leaning against the glass. As the blue sky deepened around me, it felt like everything inside loosened up, calming down and becoming brighter.
Wyn had said I had let the mark ruin my life. At first I wasn’t exactly sure what that meant. To me, my life seemed to be pretty okay. I had a great best friend, a mother who really cared, and I did well in school. On the other hand, I also hated school because it meant that I had to be around other kids—that I had to hide.
I didn’t “have to” do anything, though. I didn’t “have to” cover myself up. I didn’t “have to” pretend to be invisible. Maybe Cynthia only saw something off in me because I made her see me that way.
I had been hiding myself because of the mark, not letting anyone get too close. I wouldn’t let myself make any friends. The only reason I let Ryland in is because he had been persistent. He had held my hand as I got over my insecurities and had promised, from a young age, to always be there. So, without Ry, I was friendless and alone.
My mother worked upwards of sixty hours a week, my best friend wasn’t really allowed to be my friend, and I was picked on at school.
My life did suck, and all because I allowed a stupid mark to destroy me.
I laid my head against the back of the seat and watched as the city lights of old-fashioned neon and new-aged fluorescent blended together in a rainbow blur of colors until the city laid far behind and ever-expanding houses laid before me.
There had been a reason I let the mark control my life, and as much as I rationalized my behavior and my loneliness, the fact still remained that I was broken, that my dad didn’t want me. Mark or no mark, the outcome would be the same.
Their last fight still haunted me. I would still revisit it in monthly nightmares; the screaming more intense, more audible, more of the blame placed on me. I would wake up covered in sweat, only to turn over and cry into my pillow in the desperate hope that my mom wouldn’t hear. She never did.
I exited the bus, grateful for the evening air that swirled around me. My long board clicked loudly as I traveled the last five minutes of alleys and side streets until I arrived at the door to the kitchen.
The click-click of the long board ricocheted around my head as the fight replayed again. It still rattled me, it still hurt, but it wasn’t as bad. And through it all, I realized something. My dad left me; he ran away from me. He ran away because of the mark, and I didn’t want anyone else to run, too. So I hid. I just didn’t want to get hurt anymore. All this time, and I hadn’t realized how broken I was inside.
I arrived in the kitchen of the LaRue’s just as dinner was being served to the family. As I had expected, the kitchen was in a frenzy of activity as the maids and wait-staff rushed around with trays of food and decanters of who knows what. My mom was busy rushing around and yelling different instructions to different staff members.
I dodged and weaved my way through the activity to find my usual barstool. It always surprised me that so many people were needed to serve only Ryland and his father. After a few minutes, the staff disappeared, leaving my mother and Mette to clean and prepare for the dessert course.
“How was your friend’s house?” Mom asked, setting a large bowl of leftover soup in front of me. She looked at me eagerly, excited I had taken her advice so seriously.
“Wyn,” I provided. “It was fun. She likes Styx,” I added, causing Mom’s smile to widen.
“A girl after my own heart,” she said.
“Yeah, I really like her.”
Mom smiled and moved away from me, back to her cleaning. “And the movie?” she asked, spooning a strawberry puree into a crystal dish.
“We didn’t get around to the movie; we mostly just talked.”
“Girl talk? You?” she asked in disbelief.