Their Marred Boy

Prologue

Twisting the faucet to turn off the steaming water, Harper slid the doors of his narrow shower open and reached for his towel. He wrapped the rough fabric across his waist, cold air blew onto his face as he stepped out of the shower.

Not bothering to wipe the steam off his mirror, knowing he appreciated the coverage, he dried his body. Having already picked out his clothes, Harper quickly stepped into them.

Running his brush through his wet locks he felt the chunks that abandoned his scalp and stuck to his brush. His heart dropped just a little at the loss but he didn't dwell much on it, he'd become used to it.

By the time Harper had dried his hair and put lotion on his body, the steam adorning the mirror had cleared up, giving him an immediate view of himself. Harper couldn't help the way his stomach lurched at the sight, he wanted so much to look away but his focus was fixed, he unintentionally started examining himself.

His hair, which was meant to be full and voluminous, instead, laid scattered and in wisps, instead of a shiny black, a dulled ugly ashy color was in place, leaving no room for healthy-looking hair. Lowering his eyes, he made eye contact with his image on the mirror, his right eye, a dull dark brown color that could pass as black, blended in with his pupils, concealing them from others. His left eye was another story, the blind organ had frosted over the years making his brown iris drenched in white, the brown now a gentle wisp of color reminding him of its previous state.

His lips, which hadn't stretched in a smile in so long, that looked as if they had been cemented in his usual frown, became a hint as to why he avoided mirrors as much as he could. The raised scars that ran from the corners of his mouth towards his cheeks grew redder from the hot water. He quickly switched his gaze from his face, the sight never failing to nauseate him.

He moved from his bathroom to his small, crowded bedroom. The room was cramped, his single bed was pushed into one corner of his bedroom, the lilac sheets slipping slightly off it. A small wildcard was placed next to his bed, standing on top of it was the night light that illuminated the entire room and his phone that was charging. His walls were plain white however he'd decorated them with his framed paintings of various flowers, brightening his room considerably.

On one wall he'd placed his small, double door closet. A large window which's yellow curtains had been drawn stood on the wall across his bed. Different types of indoor plants that sought sunlight were carefully set on the window sill. Harper took absolute pride and joy in his healthily flourished babies that he'd taken precise care of.

A small and crowded desk was on the wall across his closet, his stationery was messy yet everything was scattered in a way that made them the most accessible to him. Underneath his desk, his books were stacked on top of each other, given there was no space to place them on his desk.

Pulling the top drawer of his wildcard, Harper pulled out a thin gray glove. Slipping the fabric over his left hand he concealed the marred limb. Almost the entirety of his hand was composed of scar tissue, carelessly stitched wounds butchering his small hands, crooked fingers that had been broken nth times and had healed wrong. The phalange that his ring finger's nail was nestled into had been chopped off when he was much younger, yet had failed to look better over all the time it had had to heal.

He flexed his gloved hand, feeling uncomfortable at the woolen fabric scratching at his sensitive skin, however, it was necessary. Even in the slightest cold, the scarred skin would tighten, painting the pinched skin with all the hues of purple, creating an eruption of painful burning feelings.

One other reason, one that was more important to Harper, was the coverage. Even to him, the disfigured organ looked grotesque, excruciatingly difficult to look at without feeling ill.

Harper couldn't remember a time when he looked normal, unblemished. From his earliest memories to his very last, he'd had his signature marks. Never had he been able to touch his skin and feel a soft, smooth surface. Always rough, always ugly.

He'd been born into pain and abuse, later sold to tenfold of the pain he couldn't even remember he'd endured. His heart ached for himself, for the person he could've been if not for the way he'd been treated his entire life, for the lack of love and affection in his life. But for the most, his heart ached for the hatred he had towards his very own self.

For he hated himself more than anyone ever could. He was such a person that even the most loving person couldn't lend an ounce of their affection to, it was fine though, he knew how difficult loving his scarred self was.

Today was a bad day, worse than others so Harper just sighed and tried to will the bad thoughts away.

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Although walking around the park and taking pictures of flowers was always a joy to Harper, he often resented going outside. The immense strength that required just for him to stuff the emptiness where his pinky toe should've been, to comfortably wear his shoes, for such an effortless task was ridiculously embarrassing.

He hated the types of people he'd encounter once he was outside the confines of his home. Types of people who didn't outwardly stare but sent him pitying glances, thinking they were being discreet. But most of all he hated when children would point in his direction with curious stares, their parents scolding them to not look at him, as if he carried a contagious disease

To avoid situations like these that'd never disappoint in making him miserable, he'd go out when the park was the most vacant. Today, however, he had no choice but to leave his home, he'd run out of his medication.

Dreading every second of it he put on his shoes, having to fill the void of his missing toes beforehand, pulling his maroon beanie over his wispy hair, he covered his lost hair. Dark shades covering his milky, blind eye, he grabbed his tote bag containing his wallet, phone, and a water bottle.

Leaving his home with a last hopeless stare, he trudged down the narrow stairs.

A/N

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Hello lovelies,

So, that was the prologue, I hope you guys liked it.

And I'm so excited for this story. I've had this idea for a while now and I'm glad I finally started writing it.

I'm thinking weekly updates? We'll see though

Please vote, comment and maybe follow if you liked it.