All Six Strings

Through fresh eyes.

Aurora used a hand towel to clear the mirror. Steam wafted about them like the bathroom were some stage on opening night. They stood there in the horrible light of the bathroom and glared at their reflection. The numerous scars that bookended the binder spread across their chest for once were as washed out as their face was. They screwtinized them, running their hands over their midsection, over their arms and over their upper legs and feeling the many ridges and bumps under their fingers. They looked down at their left arm and studied the livid thick, puckered line, still segmented by suture marks. They shuddered as the smell of the blood hit their nostrils, yet nothing was bleeding. They eyes hadn't landed on it since they'd had the sutures removed. It was the only livid scar on their body. On some level, at the very bottom of their soul they hoped it too would eventually fade to the same shade of beige as the rest of them. Somewhere deep in the very backstreets of their brain, they hoped never to feel that itchy, that much hatred again.
They knew they would likely never see mum again and they'd be lying if they ever said this didn't hurt, but they also knew that eventually they would be okay with this. They thought about Michael, the kid who still needed his mother. The little sweetheart had warned them hadn't they? And they'd stumbled dazed and confused right into the line of fire. The very person they are, and always had been had infuriated and offended their mother so much, that Aurora no longer had a safe place to live. How long had it really taken them to realise the bleak reality they'd been in for weeks now. Aurora grasped the edge of the sink for support as they fought to regain control of their breathing, alone in the steamy maelstrom of the bathroom, alone in the world.
'You'll be marked up for life, you'll never attract a man if you continue at this rate' resounded their mothers shrill voice from the back rows of their mind. Like some noxious heckler who can never be satisfied.  'For god's sake smile will you. I didn't raise a resting bitch face. Lighten up!'.
Aurora turned their back on their reflection and wrapped themselves in a small flimsy hospital issue towel. They glanced at the doorway just in time to see Vivians head pop up in the small window and lock eyes with them. Once she was gone they started to pile on the layers. A tank top tucked into a pair of flanel hospital issue pants, a shirt over a windcheater and a flannel over this as well. They held up a hoodie that Blake had learnt them but decided against it. After all, four layers had to be enough. They pulled at their sleeves and adjusted their collar compulsively.  They pulled their shock of unkempt red waves up into some semblance of a ponytail, though it more closely resembled a puff or some living furry creature nestled at the back of their head and left.

As they emerged into the communal space, which was already busy with the activity of the ward and its full capacity of patients, the thought of traversing it, of dodging the eyes and the attempts at small-talk made their brain itch. Vivian caught sight of them and made a beeline for the large buzzing mobile hotbox in the corner. They withdrew a tray with Auroras breakfast on it.
They made their way to one of the tables, wishing they could disappear as the eyes of more and more people in the space fell on them like spotlights. They were starting to regret foregoing the hoodie as Vivian placed the tray in front of them and they screwtinized it.
An apple, a small plastic bowl containing two weetabix, a small bottle of lite milk and a cup containing two sugar packets, a teabag and a spoon. Aurora picked up the cup and put together a cup of tea and left the rest of the tray untouched.
"Ha hah! What the hell are you wearing?" asked a snide, amused voice from behind them. Aurora couldn't help but whip their head about to see who had spoken but was instantly hit with another intrusive internal voice.
'I'm not the only one in the room who's wearing their trauma' it said in Jason's coy, knowing tone. They let their eyes rove about the room, cradling their tea as though it were their lifeblood but they soon let their eyes loose focus, let the people blur together, the walls swallow them. The speaker had already moved on.
The vague and slight shape of Jason wandered into their line of sight and sank slowly into a chair slightly to their left. His demeanor, even through the haze of inattention was a far cry from the quiet bravado of the previous late afternoon. He was washed out, hollow and truly sick. His hands shook as he ran their hand over his head, temporarily flattening his hair which was curly, though flat and lifeless. Auroras eyes zeroed in on him, widening despite themselves.
What had Jason meant? They thought to themselves. Their heart rate began to quicken again. His judgmental tone had struck a doesn't nerve last night and they were only now noticing the sting. But was it really an offensive thing to say? Or had Jason early made an observation? And if it was just an observation, what was it. After all, trauma didn't strike them as wearable. They looked over at Jason who sat at a table across the dining area, nibbling reluctantly at a plain bit of toast under the watchful eyes of his own nurse. He looked at it as though it were poisonous as he chewed and swallowed. It was almost as painful to see as looking at their own reflection. They wanted answers, but Jason looked like he was in as much pain as they were. But anger and confusion made a toxic mix. His words repeated themselves inside their head like a mimicking, teasing child. It was infuriating. What did he mean to tell them? Why couldn't he just talk straight?
They took several long pulls from the cup of rapidly cooling tea and set it down roughly. They stood without pushing back the chair and darted over to his table.