PINK

13

'You left your mark on me

Your dirty, dirty marks.'

Iara creeps into her room after washing for nearly over an hour. It was a meticulous process since her hand was still burning with pain. What she craved was a nice hot shower, then she would tell Stephen about her resignation. But the latter was for tomorrow.

She wraps herself in a comfy white towel, she folded earlier. Iara loves the way the towel's coarse but soft lumps rest against her wet skin. The towel only reached just above the middle of her thighs. She gaits into her white room and closes the door. When everyone is sleeping she feels relaxed. No one to bother her. She takes a deep breath in, just a slight sting in her lungs disrupts her tranquility but she exhales with no difficulty. Feeling good she lets herself fall onto the bed, mid-fall she remembers its hard surface.

She gasps and quickly steps away. Luckily she can balance herself. Her eyelids become heavy and this spreads to the back of her eyeballs and to her forehead. When she succumbs to the heaviness, her eyelids stay closed, like magnets. But she can't fall asleep in a wet towel naked, especially not in this house.

After inspecting her closet all she sees are white clothes. It's dreadful. She picks out a silk dressing gown to wear to bed. As she slips it on, literally, it feels like she is wearing nothing at all. The silk slides smoothly over her bruised skin and gives her a weightless quality. Iara has never worn such attire, silk is beautiful though. She adores the way it makes her look like a model. The full length mirror in the corner reflects this sexy person she has never met. One leg over the other she recalls poses she has seen from movies, and these simple combinations of a limb's position, changes one's view of themselves.

One pose though, arms up, hands falling behind her slightly tilted head, expose the abrasions still fresh on her clavicle. Way to spoil her mood. She sighs and realises how unattractive the cuts are. Lifting up the hem of the short gown, dark, purple and green blotches litter her upper thighs.

"Bruised blood vessels." She whispers to herself. That's how bruises occur, at least that how she thinks. She learnt it in her earlier years of school.

Iara presses her finger lightly on the discoloured patch. Feeling no pain she increases the pressure of her finger in tiny increments. Then it happens, the bomb. An explosion of pain blossoms on the area then disappears. She winces.

If she took off the gown, red contusions would greet her. They would intimidate her tremendously maybe make her ill. She hopes they don't become infected. How does an infection start anyway? As long as she keeps clean, nothing should happen.

Iara steps over to her bed, but cannot sleep onto top of it.

The image of the clothes inside the closet appear in her mind. She steps to it and takes off a dozen clothes from their white plastic coat hangers. She places them, strategically, around the hard surface over the thin bed sheet already there. Iara carefully lowers herself into the bed. It's not soft, but better than before. It's a hot night so she leaves herself uncovered.

---

Three knocks on the door, each one louder then the one before it. Iara lifts her weighty eyelids and a strong pink light quickly invades her vision. She blinks multiple times to steady herself.

"Good morning Iara. It's me Addy." The slender contour of Addy loiters at the entrance of Iara's room.

"Morning." Iara gets up and stretches, her arms and legs feel compressed. Addy eyes widen as she gasps, her hand flying up to her mouth. Iara quickly recoils and realises she has shown Addy all her bruises.

"I'm fine. Trust me." Iara adds quickly. Addy, though, is doubtful. She runs to Iara's side and lifts up the hem of her gown. Iara feels invaded and pulls it back down, keeping her hands there.

"Let me see Iara, I will tell Stephen." The sound of his name immediately made Iara change her mind. She loosens her tight grip of the dress' end and Addy pushes it back up again. It's the roughness in Addy's force that stirs Iara. Just like Braden.

"We need to get you to a hospital." Addy says before her expression changes. Like a switch was turned on.

"No, we can't do that. I have a medic kit." Addy leaves to get her said kit but Iara gets up and grabs her, impulsively.

"Can I tell you something Addy?" Staring straight into Addy's eyes. Iara notices a certain cloudiness around the brim of her green iris.

Addy waits for a reply.

"I'm insecure about it, but they are my birthmarks. I've never shown anyone, please don't tell." Iara lies, feeling sick but good that now, Addy won't prod around her thighs trying to heal what she can't. Addy nods with sincerity.

"Of course. Come to the dining table when you are ready." She walks away.

Iara closes the door and leans up against it, she is sure she is dealing with a family of maniacs, Dante included. It's a shame. She pulls her gown over her head but slumps afterwards. The bruises are just there. They just exist. For a moment she misses Braden. He will forever be on her. These cuts are scars, these scars are him.