Information

Bruise
Legacy Name: Bruise

The

Bloodred Legeica
Owner:

scout

Age: 9 years, 1 week, 6 days

Born: April 17th, 2015

Adopted: 9 years, 1 week, 6 days ago

Adopted: April 17th, 2015

Statistics

Level: 1
Strength: 10
Defense: 10
Speed: 10
Health: 10
HP: 10/10
Intelligence: 0
Books Read: 0
Food Eaten: 0
Job: Unemployed

My condition first appeared when I was twelve. I was your typical child, obsessed with pink lip gloss, horseback riding, and giggling over glossy magazine photos of cute boys. Carlie and I pinky-swore that we'd be best friends until we were old ladies in rocking chairs.

No person can imagine the struggles of puberty until they go through it.

It's not my fault that Carlie's parents were short or that she couldn't get her curls to straighten no matter what she did. Maybe she would have forgiven me for looking better if it weren't for the Thatcher Junior High Talent Show.

I've always had a good singing voice. When I got up in front of the beaming moms and dads of all the kids I'd grown up with, golden words poured from my mouth. I'd been an anonymous face in many tired Christmas and Easter productions but I'd never had the spotlight to myself. I shined.

I couldn't stop smiling as I held the plastic golden cup with "1st Place" engraved on the face.

Carlie caught me behind the gymnasium when I was coming out of the bathroom. "Where's your stupid plastic cup, Rayne?"

I froze. Plenty of girls had tried to gang up on us over the years and we'd sent them away crying. Sometimes I think all girls are born with a cruelty instinct, one they either learn to master or learn to use. I'd never heard my best friend speak in that tone of voice to me. "Don't be mad, Car. Your gymnastics routine was awesome and second place is still better than one of those stupid participation medals."

"Shut up, Rayne. You've always thought you were better than me. I've seen the way the popular kids look at you and the way you look back."

So maybe I had gone over to Angela's a few times and accepted Brooke's invitation to a youth soccer group meet. So what? Why couldn't I have other friends? "Maybe if you spent less time playing on your computer, you'd get invited too."

It was a stupid thing to say. I wish I could take it back. It's been ten years since that day and I still wish I could take it back.

"Piss off, Rayne. I'm done with you. I don't care if I never see you again."

I could've wrapped an arm around her shoulders and said I was an idiot. A couple sundaes down at the ice cream shop would've made it all better but my heart felt hollow. I didn't say a word. I just turned and left her standing there. I didn't even flinch when she picked up the mock-silver cup and flung it at me.

Stabbing pains worked their way up my side, the kind you get when you run really long and hard, only these settled into a dull ache that never quite went away. That night when I was putting on my pajamas, I found a line of bruises stretching from my forming breasts to just above my left knee.

*****

Making friends was tough after that. People could tell I was faking when I tried to laugh at their jokes and when I went to see the latest horror flicks, rather than shuddering and covering my eyes, I just stared blankly as zombies ripped people apart and began to eat the pieces.

Then I met Rudy.

He started sitting at my lonely lunch table, the one teachers would visit because they felt sorry for the lonely girl. Rudy was an average boy, not one of the best athletes but far from the worst. He was in band but could easily hide his trumpet case, unlike poor Joe on the tuba. His brown hair was pain and he had more freckles than he needed but he was far from ugly.

It all started the day we had tacos in a bag. He swore to be my faithful servant if I would sacrifice just one tortilla chip with a little ground meat and cheese smeared on top. I didn't know what to make of him. Other boys avoided me because they thought I was stuck up. Or maybe I just wasn't pretty enough to star in their nightly fantasies. Teenage boys make no sense more often than not.

Rudy laughed so hard at his own jokes that he never complained about my silence. He would wink and say he liked the strong silent type. He made it a point to get the desk next to mine in study hall and beg for help with his essays and math problems. One time he even took me up to lookout point over Peach Stone Beach and traced patterns in the stars for me. He said his grandpa taught him all about the constellations when he was little. He grabbed my hand to show me how to trace Orion the Hunter's bow. It was while he held my hand that he was able to steal his first kiss.

I was glad that the darkness hid the look on my face. I liked the warmth of his lips against mine but I could not feel the hot excitement I'd read about so many times. His arm was shaky as he slid it around my shoulders, guiding me back to his car.

He was fumbling with the buttons on my blouse when his phone alarm sounded. I can't say what my face showed in that moment but his frustration was plain enough. Not even teenage hormones could convince Rudy to miss his curfew, though. His mother's tongue could curl the wallpaper right off a wall.

We'd been together a little over three months when I decided to surprise him on his way out of band practice. I hid behind a row of lockers in the hallway, practicing my smile in a little compact mirror I always carried with me. Just because I couldn't feel joy at seeing him didn't mean he had to think I was a void. I was getting pretty god at faking smiles. Dad had even complimented my school photo that year.

Rudy was in the middle of a group of guys. I could hear him joking with them as they got closer. His light, teasing tone was gone. There was a hardness to his words, a bitterness he never showed to me.

"So did you really make out with her behind the old theater, Red?"

Rudy elbowed the speaker in the chest. "I don't have to put on an exhibit like you, Chuck."

"Aw, come on man! Gives us the deets!"

"There's not much to tell. It's like the universe is conspiring against me. Every time she's putty in my hands, the toll of the cruel clock recalls me to my mother's steel embrace."

"Dude, you have got to stop reading those crappy poems. You're starting to sound like Mrs. Gibson when she's got the hots for Shakespeare."

"Fine. We made it to third base and then Mom called. Happy?"

The one named Chuck snorted. Paul from my third hour Biology class rolled his eyes.

"I don't know why you waste time hanging out with her. There's got to be at least three girls in Phys Ed alone that would rock your world if you used a couple of your signature crap lines."

"You uncultured clunks don't get it. I want my first time to be with someone clean. You know a girl like that isn't going to be sleeping around and she'll be so grateful. I'll have plenty of time to sample other sweets after I've had a good taste of honey."

I ducked through the door in front of me before they could spot me, not even noticing that I was in the janitor's supply closet. I curled up in a ball as the bruises spread over my back, my middle, and my legs. For five hours I lay huddled in a ball, rocking gently back and forth. I didn't ever want to go home.

My parents didn't know about my condition because I was very careful to hide it. The bruises rarely appeared on my face and when they did, I could apply makeup. The ones on my arms and legs were easy enough to pass off as mishaps on the soccer field. Despite my lack of friends, I was good enough to hold a place on the school team. I never got to take the winning shot, but when the ball came my way I could pass as well as anybody.

I couldn't hide my hurts as I limped home. The sky was overcast, promising a summer storm that would douse the whole city with rain. My mother cried over me and my father swore he would call the police.

I couldn't face the thought of seeing Rudy again. Just looking at his face would cause more bruises to erupt as my battered body took the punishment of a heart gone cold. I filled a little backpack with snacks and a toothbrush, setting off down the tree-lined avenue that had been home for seventeen years.

The clouds never lifted. It was as if a gray filter had fallen over my eyes, sapping my life of color even on the sunniest summer day.

*****

I didn't do so bad on my own. A month of hitch-hiking led me to a roadside diner where I could scrub floors, wash dishes and stock shelves without much human interaction. The occasional barb from a trucker who commented on a ratty blond who looked like she'd been run over would cause the occasional dime-sized bruise to pop up on my neck or the back of my hand but mostly I just kept to myself and earned enough to keep from starving.

The owner was a guy named Bob who had given up his parental rights to his daughter almost fifteen years ago. Maybe he felt sorry for me or maybe he hoped that if his little girl was ever in my place, that she'd be treated just as well. He let me stay in the loft of his old shed where he stored auto parts and an old griddle with the hood missing. There were plenty of nights when his cook Simon would press a bag of leftovers on me when I headed out. They weren't family, but they were almost as good.

Then I met Harry.

The first time he spoke to me, he was just passing through. The red paint on his car couldn't quite hide the strip of rust that was eating its way up the passenger side door. He was on his way to St. Louis for a job interview, one he wasn't at all sure he would get. He didn't laugh when I lost my grip on a box of tomatoes. He jumped out of his car and helped me pick up every one. He even used the edge of his shirt to wipe away the dirt. When Bob came walking outside to see what was going on, Harry tried to slip him a ten dollar bill.

"I didn't mean to startle her. I was just looking for a sandwich and a cup of coffee but I'm more than glad to cover the damages."

Bob looked at the fruit, waving the money away. "These have less bruises than the ones I get from upstate. Don't worry about it. I'm not going to punish Rayne when she's the best worker I've got on staff." He winked at me and shuffled back inside, hands tucked into the pockets of his apron.

Harry smiled. "I guess I should let you get back to work. Your name is beautiful, you know."

The next time I saw him, he was dressed in a fine gray suit. Not only had he gotten the job but he was rising quickly in the ranks. He asked me when I'd last had a steak dinner then took me to his place to cook it.

We went on movie dates and he never frowned over my lack of tears when the hero held his dying lover for the last time. When he convinced me to take a dance class, he wasn't upset that I showed no fear as I stumbled through the steps. He didn't pull away in disgust when the desire of my lips didn't show on my face as he kissed me.

He was gentle and patient the first time we made love. For once in my life, I felt bruised in a good way as I walked into his kitchen dressed in nothing but his maroon robe and ready to help him devour the everything omeletes he'd learned to make from a cooking show.

It was just two weeks ago that he convinced me to move to his place. Over the past six months he's been helping me to earn my GED. He's even encouraging me to start classes at the local community college in the fall.

Tonight I'm going to tell him my secret.

*****

Harry is there at the end of my shift, walking right into the kitchen to kiss my neck as I pull the hairnet free and toss it into the laundry bin. I can't laugh at his antics or flirt but I can press my body up against his in my best gesture of affection.

I return Bob's wave as we walk to Harry's new car. He's traded up for a sleek and shiny black monster. I couldn't tell you make and model but I do know it purrs, even on the highway.

I let him talk about his day at the office for a while, doing my best to nod in all the right places. Harry is used to my lack of emotions by now. He knows me well enough to realize this mood is strange even for me.

"You know you can tell me anything, Rayne."

I swallow hard. I know most girls would probably kill to have dry palms in a moment like this but I wish mine could sweat. I wish I could bring tears to my eyes so he would know how hard this is for me. ALl I get is a dry prickle as I do my best to gather my thoughts.

"This is hard for me to talk about so please don't interrupt. It all started when I was twelve. My best friend left me and it was like she took my heart with her. When I don't laugh at your jokes or cry with you during a sad song, it's not because I'm some robot. I just...I can't feel things like most people do."

He's smiling in that comforting way so I try a different angle.

"You remember at the Chinese restaurant the other night how that one jerk made a comment on my dress?"

He nods, flexing his hands on the steering wheel. "I wanted to punch him in the nose for you but I wasn't going to let a loser like that land me in jail and apart from you."

A ghost of a smile comes to my lips. "I know you think I was being cool when I didn't react. I wasn't. His words hurt me, but not in the way you'd expect." I pull back the sleeve of my blouse to show him a half-faded bruise. "Whenever somebody says something to hurt my feelings, I get a bruise, like this one. This is the lo mein noodle man's mark, just like the one on my knee is from that woman at the movie theater who cut in front of me in line."

I can see that he doesn't believe me. He wants to say that people get bruises all the time without knowing where they came from. A bruise the size of a quarter erupts on my shoulder.

"You don't have to make excuses for being emotionally closed off, Rayne. Not everybody wears their heart on their sleeve and I'm okay with that. I love the way you are." His fingers drum the leather cover of the wheel for a few minutes, which is odd. Harry never fidgets. "I was sort of thinking there would be something else you wanted to talk about. I saw the test. When I went to throw away my razor blade, it was sticking out of the paper in the bathroom garbage."

I'd been so careful to hide every hint of packaging. Clearly I hadn't been careful enough.

"I was waiting for a better time to tell you. You're up for that promotion and I'll be through my first semester before we really have to think serious about making any changes to the apartment..." I trail off at his thoughtful look. "What is it?"

"You know I love you, Rayne. Maybe we'll even get married someday, but this is too soon. If I don't get that promotion, I'll be stuck where I'm at for a year and you may not even finish your program with a baby to take care of."

I take the bag of groceries he hands me with numb fingers, walking up the little brick path to our building as he rummages in the trunk for another bag. I can feel the bruises starting on my feet and creeping up my legs.

He doesn't want our child but I do.

Every step hurts by the time I make it to the fourth floor to unlock the door to our unit. I lock it from the inside, not even noticing the jars of jelly and applesauce that shatter as I lose my grip on the bag. The bruises are growing up my sides now, a fresh line appearing on each arm between shoulder and elbow.

I can hear him knocking as I go to stand in front of the mirror hanging opposite our bedroom door. I undress slowly, fascinated by the repulsive ripple of color on my skin as my chest and shoulders take on a purple hue. My many bruises complain when I hit the floor. I can feel the last wave creeping over my cheeks. Somehow I find the strength to raise my eyes as Harry gives up on knocking and forces the door. I'm looking at a monster, a horrible creature from some murky purple world as the enormity of my pain finishes its terrible work on my body.

Harry hovers over me, a sound of horror and grief scratching its way out of his throat. I cannot speak. I can only lie there and wait to see if a broken heart is enough to relieve me of my pain.