Twenty Seven Tasks (On Hold)

Chapter Three

        

Scars.

They show that you made it through another fight. When I see someone's scar I never judge them, I don't look at them with pity or sadness. I feel proud of them for making it through another battle, even if they are total strangers. When I was little I used to wonder why scars were so imperfect, then I realized. Everyone has their imperfections, and scars prove the battle was won. So they aren't imperfect, they are a symbol to show your true strength.

But the scars that run over my knuckles and the small zig-zags running down my legs aren't the same. I truly don't mind them, but they are a painful reminder of that night. The burning flames and his dashing lips turned downwards, his back facing me seconds later.

I shake away the heaviness that weighs my heart down. I run my hands through my drenched hair, the musky smell of dust and cop webs covering my apartment. I wrap a towel around me, making my way around the dim, empty home. The sun is covered by the closed curtains, the cold breeze drifting around without the sun to heat. The small pictures decorating the rather drab side tables are covered with dust, making the pictures faded. My wet feet leave behind a trail of water, washing away the dirt covered floor, making me realize how long this place has been abandoned.

Once I checked out from the hospital my mom drove me straight to my apartment to get cleaned up. The doctors advised me to take it slow for the next year so I won't reinjure myself. Technically I didn't mind the warning, but I'm not holding myself back for another year. No, I'm going to catch up.

The short but hurried knock at the door makes me frown in confusion, Owen and my mother don't ever knock. They usually just invite themselves into my apartment whenever is necessary.

I glance down at the small towel shielding my nude body and glance at my room door.

"Hold on!" A loud and impatient groan from the other side makes my mood jump from gloomy to a bright and shiny.

I slip on my workout shorts which hug my thighs tightly and the small velvety black crop top. I practically bounce to the door, and slung it open.   

"Alice!"

"Hazell!" I'm tackled to the ground as a loud war cry burst from my attacker.

I chuckle, pushing Hazell off of me. Her chocolatey skin matches her flawless black curls and round puppy eyes. Her hair seems almost untamable as the small curls form a black bush on her head, her dark eyes wide with excitement. I take in the way her body curves deeply in-and-out, her clothes clingy perfectly to her. Any man in their right mind looks her way, which amazes me on how she is still single.

"That coma better not have an after affect." She dusts the thick layer of dirt off her as she crosses her arms with a challenging gaze.

I smirk at her threatening gaze, yawning dramatically loud. "I think I need another year."

Hazell smiles evilly as she hunches down like a preying panther. She lets out a loud growl as she lunges towards me. I'm ready in seconds, dodging her fist and landing a nice hit to her gut. She spins around, knocking the back of my knee caps. I wobble to catch my balance, giving Hazell her opportunity. I'm pinned to the ground as a labored breaths escapes me and her. 

Footsteps make their way up the stairs and to my open front door. Owen scowls at me laying underneath his sister. When Hazell was fourteen Owen's parents weren't able to have anymore kids. Since then they took Hazell in as one of their own.

"Hazell! Off," She scowls at Owen's dog-like command, obeying reluctantly.

She points a guilty finger towards me, "She has lost her touch. Seems that coma has done a damper on you."