“Let’s go take a look at that knee.”
I limped to the bathroom where the first aid kit was tucked under the sink. “I can do it, it’s all right.”
“You don’t have to be a doctor to put on a bandage.” She smiled and nodded toward the vanity. “Hop up there.”
I sighed and sat beside the sink, bending my knee to take a look at the damage through the hole in my jeans that was now pretty saturated with blood. “What did I hit?”
“The corner of your trunk. The metal bit.” She placed the kit beside me and took out the alcohol, antibiotic ointment, and a bandage. “You can’t roll them up that high.” She grinned when she caught me trying to pull my pant leg up rather than take them off.
I sighed as I unbuttoned my jeans, sliding them off before sitting back down. “This is embarrassing. I can really do it myself.” I laid my jeans across my lap to hide my thighs.
“So? You get to sew up people’s brains and stuff, let us average folk have a lil’ fun and play doc for a bit.” She rubbed her hands together.
“Fine, go ahead then, average folk.”
Xany cleaned the gash on my knee and watched as it kept on bleeding. I winced as the alcohol touched my wound, causing it to sting. To drown out the pain, I decided to focus on something I could do, something I knew like the back of my hand.
“Want to stitch it? I’ll teach you.”
“Stitch it? Won’t it hurt?” She stared at me, her expression horrified at the suggestion of stitching my body.
“Not anymore than it does now. Put more alcohol on it and then apply pressure, it’s still bleeding too much,” I instructed, and she did just that, holding a clean gauze to my knee and pressing. I smiled at her when she was eye level to me.
“Will stitches leave a scar?” she asked, pushing a bit of my hair from my face.
“It’ll leave a scar anyway. I’ll just add it to my collection of scars.”
“You don’t have any scars on your legs.” She glanced them over again, as if reconfirming her statement.
“The collection is a full-body.” I tried to keep the remark neutral. To make it sound like I didn’t care. Oh, it’s just another scar. No big deal.
Xany smiled sadly at me, brushed a strand of hair off my shoulder, then peeked at my knee. “Is it done bleeding?”
“Yes. Now get the suture kit from the box.” I pointed it out to her, and she took the small hook with black thread-like material out of the packet, and the surgical sutures.
“It’s like a hook! Ewww.” She held it away from her, treating it like a living vermin.
“And now you use the sutures to slip the pointed part through the skin flap, then I’ll teach you how to tie it. Two stitches will be enough.” I laughed at Xany’s squeamishness. “Ew! No way. I can’t sew your skin!” She did the I’m-completely-grossed-out dance and turned in a circle.
I laughed harder at her antics before taking the sutures from her. “Okay then, watch me.” I leaned over and put two small stitches in the gash to close the wound, then tied each stitch slowly so that Xany could see how it was done.
“There, easy. We need to get new tools for the first aid kit now though, we can’t reuse them.”
“Shawnee, that was nasty… But fun! Maybe next time I’ll try.” I realized she’d crept closer to stare at me while I was tying the knots.
“Okay, Xee, next time I injure myself in a flailing incident, you can stitch me up.”
“Cool!” She grinned. “I’ll put the bandage on!” I leaned back against the mirror to let her finish the bandage. “Do you like being a doctor?” she asked.
“Very much.” I tried to fight back the wistful sensation that tugged at me.
“Vanessa thinks you need a break.” She applied the ointment, gauze, and tape to my knee.
I raised an eyebrow at Xany’s words. “Oh, does she now? She told you so?”
“Uh-huh, I heard her say it when she was talking to Caden the other day.” She finished the bandaging and tugged my soiled jeans away from me to toss them into the wash.
“She was talking to Caden?” I frowned now that I was only wearing a T-shirt and my undergarments. “Why?”
“I dunno. She said you worked like a million hours a week in Wyoming and that she thinks you should take a break for a while.” Xany shrugged and rested against the washing machine.
“I’ve taken a month’s break. She has no right to suggest that to Caden. What if he says I’m not allowed to work?” I didn’t like being controlled by anyone. Immediately I was put off, and Xany narrowed her eyes as she seemed to pick up on my fears.
“She has a right to say whatever she wants, Nee, you know that, and Caden won’t make rules like that. Stop being all defensive.” She strode over and poked me in the side.
“Hmph.” I crossed my arms and glared at her.
“’Hmph’ right back at ya.” She grinned, absently rubbing my thighs. It made me cringe and suck in my breath.
“Don’t-don’t touch—” I stopped myself. “Don’t touch too high up,” I corrected and pushed her hands gently back toward my knees.
“What?” she asked, confused until I nudged her hands back down. “Oh.” She giggled and even had the decency to blush a little. “Sorry, you just have soft skin. Why did you draw yourself looking so scary like that?”
Her question bothered me. I didn’t want to talk about it. Not my past, not my father, not the drawing or myself. “I just did. I should get dressed.”
“Do you think you really look like a zombie?” She persisted, leaning her hip casually against the counter where I was sitting. She continued to rub her hand around my knees in a manner that a mother would do to soothe a child who had just fallen and gotten hurt.
“Maybe at one point,” I lied. I still thought I was some sort of monster, but she didn’t have to know that.
“Well… I have to say, for a while there back in Wyoming, you looked like you were wasting away but now you’re back to beautiful, Nee. I know the guys think so.” She wagged her eyebrows. I grew quiet listening to her. I had nothing to say in response to her compliments. Nothing she said could make me feel pretty or beautiful or acceptable in any way.
“And Vanessa too, “ she added in a quiet voice.
“Oh please, you’ve seen Vanessa, she’s gorgeous. How can she think anyone can compare to that?”
“That doesn’t make any sense. Do you really think Vanessa is that conceited?”
“She’s not conceited!” I stopped, realizing I’d gotten caught up in my own words.
“You just said she doesn’t think anyone can compare to her.” Xany tried to hide a smirk. “Or is that your own messed up thinking?”
I grumbled at her.
“C’mere, I wanna show you something.” She grabbed my hand, tugging me from the counter. I was beginning to believe that Xany was going to be tugging me around forever. I imagined that if we were sisters, I’d be the little sister who got bossed around and tricked into taking all the blame for everything.
“Careful! I’m injured.” I took a few wobbly steps before limping alongside her.
Xany giggled and led me to her room. “Good thing the guys aren’t home or they might make something of you walking around without pants.”
“Hush up, I’m uncomfortable enough as it is.”
Xany’s room was set up similar to mine except hers looked more lived in. She had pictures on her bureau of what I imagined to be her parents and a painting someone had done of her name hung on the wall. Her blanket had a flowery pattern, as did the pillowcases and sheets. I smiled because in a way, her room was suiting of her personality. It was bright and cheery, just like Xany.
“We’re not playing dress-up, are we?” I hoped to hell it was something else.
“Nope, not dress-up.” She closed her bedroom door. A full-length mirror hung on the back of her door.
“Is this an in-house kidnapping?” I crossed my arms over my stomach when she shut the door. With effort,
I reminded myself that I was not trapped. Wounded? Yes. Behind a closed door in a room that was not my own? Yes. Trapped? No.
“Um, well, maybe a little bit. But it’s only temporary.” Xany took me by the shoulders and guided me toward the mirror behind the door.
“Don’t freak me out, or I might tackle you again.” I resisted a bit, digging my heels into the carpet.
“Better watch it or I’ll make Vanessa groom you again.” She grinned at me in the mirror, looking over my shoulder.
“Noted.” I couldn’t help but laugh and shove her hand of my shoulder.
“Okay, we’re gonna try something, but you have to trust me okay?” Xany met my gaze in the mirror. My stomach gave a nervous flip-flop.
“Sure, no problem.”
“Easier said than done, I know.” Xany smiled and held her arms out to me. I bit my lip but walked to her cautiously. She wrapped her arms around me.
“It’s weird when you hug me. I don’t usually let that happen.”
“I know. Nee, I know you’ve been through a lot of shit in your life, and it’s okay to get angry and stuff, but there’s one thing that I just can’t sit back and let you believe.”
“What do you mean?” I tilted my head, puzzled by what she could be talking about.
“You walk around here hiding yourself, totally clueless of how everyone really sees you because you’re too caught up in how you see yourself,” she said. When she saw my confusion, she explained further. “I’m gonna show you how the rest of us see you.”
I did not like where this was going. “How?” I tried to keep the cynicism from my voice.
“That’s where the trust comes in.” I avoided actually looking at myself and continued to watch Xany through the mirror.
“If it gets too scary, all you have to say is ‘stop’ and we’ll stop, okay?” Her brow softened, as did her smile.
“Okay, stop.” I glanced at myself before looking back to her.
“You have to say it when you’re really scared, not when you’re scared of getting scared.” She swatted my arm hard enough to leave a small welt.
“But Xany—”
“That’s the rule.” She smiled and nuzzled my cheek. “Now, I want you to look in the mirror…”
“I am.” I was looking in the mirror just at Xany’s greenish eyes, rather than myself.
“At you, not at me.” Her breath puffed against my neck
“Xee, I don’t want to do this…” I started to turn around; the tingle of my panic started to sneak up on me again.
“You can do it, Shawnee, I promise.” She nuzzled me again and wrapped her arms around my middle so that her hands were on my stomach. “Look at yourself in the mirror and watch my hands. Can you do that?”
I chewed the inside of my mouth, nodding through my discomfort. Xany started by running her hands slowly up and down my arms.
At first I was uncomfortable, then I noticed the different tones of our skin. “I’m a little bit darker than you.”
“Mhmm, just a little.” She smiled at me in encouragement.
I watched her hands caress me. In the mirror, I saw a flash of Vanessa’s hands replacing Xany’s and blinked away the weird vision. She then began running her hands over the top of my thighs because they were the next exposed area of skin. I gnawed my lip and drew my eyes away from myself and looked at her in the mirror instead.
“Don’t be afraid,” she whispered. “Watch my hands and feel what they do. No hurting, right?”
“No.”
“Your skin is soft and your muscles are toned from all the walking you do, can you see that?” she asked.
I watched her hands on me and held on to her arms. My heart thumped loudly in my chest but remained at a steady rate rather than escalating. I nodded to answer her question.
“Now it’s going to get a little trickier okay?” Her hands gripped the bottom of my shirt and slowly lifted it up. I made a noise of protest, and she stopped. After a moment to allow me to get used to the idea, she removed my shirt, and I pressed back against her, closing my eyes. She was right; this was trickier. I didn’t like seeing myself naked or even partially naked. Xany dropped my shirt to the floor and left me standing in my bra and panties. She lifted my chin and turned me toward the mirror.
“Open your eyes, NeeNee, and take a look.”
I listened to her and looked at myself; my stomach churned. My beliefs about myself threatened to turn me into a grotesque zombie. My eyes welled with tears, and my thoughts crept up on me, but then Xany spoke.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.” She tilted her head; the soft gesture reminded me of my mother.
“How can you tell I’m thinking?” I focused on her cheekbones. When she made certain expressions, I could see the relation between her and Mal.
“I can feel it. Say it out loud.”
I hesitated. I didn’t want her knowing my private thoughts. I didn’t want anyone to know them. She gave me a nudge, and I gave in, probably a bit too easily. “You’re an ugly good-for-nothing little bitch. I’ll break you. You deserve to die. Let me teach you how.” I whimpered.
“Those aren’t your own thoughts. That is what someone told you once, right?”
I nodded as a few tears ran down my cheeks.
“Look at your stomach, there’s no scars here. Your panties cover the big one. It’s smooth and tight.” She rubbed her hands on my stomach like Vanessa did. “And your softly curved figure and hips.” She traced them. “Most women would kill to have a figure like yours.”
I watched her hands move around my torso. I started to look at myself in the mirror. She was right. I didn’t have any visible scars. Why did I think there were so many? Suddenly I didn’t feel as uncomfortable looking at myself. The image of the mutilated zombie melted away only to be replaced by the body of an average woman. I couldn’t believe it was me.
“And here…” She reached behind me and unhooked my bra, letting it drop to my feet, “Your breasts are soft and supple, not too big or too small.” She spoke quickly before I was able to get too nervous and moved on when she sensed my discomfort. “And your long, soft neck and defined collarbone that makes lovers want to kiss it all night long.” She gave me gentle kiss on my shoulder. “And your sweet-smelling hair. Dark brown but not black, almost black though. The only thing that hints of your mixed ancestry. Your hair always smells sweet like shampoo.” She giggled and ran her fingers through it, which made me smile. “And your beautiful face, the sharp bone structure of a Cherokee woman, prominent cheekbones, long lashes, plump lips, and the most gorgeous amber eyes I think I have ever seen.”
I made eye contact with her through the mirror before looking back at myself. My face looked more filled out than it had the last time I paid attention to myself. I didn’t look like a sunken, grayed shell of a person. I looked…healthy, and my face didn’t have scars either. I reached up to stroke my cheek. I knew there had once been a scar there; I was certain of it. Teachers used to stare at it when I was in school. The most visible scar, it was the biggest source of pity in my life. Where had it gone?
“Can you see yourself yet?” she whispered. I was leaning back against her more fully, in the manner of a shy child. “Only one more piece to the puzzle,” she warned before pushing my panties down my thighs to the floor.
I squeezed her arms, knowing I was going to have to see the hideous scar. She let me hold on to one of her arms while she used the other to trace my scar. It made me jump with the familiar tickling.
“Look at your scar, NeeNee. It’s not as big as you think it is.”
Hesitantly, I listened to her. My scar was a lighter color than the rest of my skin and was not as pronounced as I had thought, not when I was seeing my entire body in the mirror anyway. It was only a tiny percentage of my whole being. I looked at Xany through the mirror again.
“So you see? You have one… err…well, now two scars if you count the soon-to-be-scar on your knee.” She giggled. “And even so, people ha
ve markings, Nee, good and bad.” She poked the glyph below my right shoulder for emphasis. “But they don’t define us. They’re just decorations, like sprinkles on an ice cream cone.” She grinned. “You’re a beautiful woman, and everyone here knows it. Hopefully soon you’ll realize that the way you see yourself isn’t right.” She kissed my shoulder again, hugging me from behind. I could tell she was finished with her demonstration.
Normally I might have been completely freaked out by standing naked in the mirror with a strange woman holding me from behind, but I wasn’t. This was different.
Xany pushed my limits and took a lot of heat from me over the past several weeks, including being an unwilling party in a girl-on-girl wrestling match. She had nothing to gain by telling me this. Why would she lie? What was in it for her? There were no answers for these questions. I was left with the responsibility of accepting the possibility that Xany was telling me the truth.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Xany left me to think about my experience in front of the mirror. I sat alone in my room. An unfamiliar silence surrounded me. The voices, or echoes, I usually heard when I was by myself seemed to have retired for a while. The calmness was foreign. It made sense when Xany said that some of the things I thought about myself aren’t truly my own thoughts but something that someone once told me. It was true. And the voices I heard in my head weren’t my own either. Most of the time it was my father’s voice that said all those things. I guess that’s why I called them echoes sometimes. I used to wonder all the time if I’d gone psychotic and the voices were some sort of symptom. I tried my hardest not to think about that. It was just too scary to take in. I thought about Eloise and some of my other patients who had come into the emergency room while symptomatic. My illness wasn’t like that. I’ve always believed that my illness came from my soul.
I got dressed again in non-bloody clothes and cleaned up the rest of the mess I had left on the floor after Xany and I wrestled over my sketches. I set my laptop on the table by its charger, remembering to glare at it for causing all this trouble to begin with. It was still unbelievable to me that anyone could see me as a whole picture rather than a series of messy divides. If I learned anything at all today, it was that not all injuries create hideous scars and not all scars are on the outside.
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