Replay {Skephalo}

7 | Scars

'Scars are a sign of strength, not a sign of weakness'

~~~

-Zak's POV-

The first thing I see when I wake up is someone holding my wrist. There's a figure I can't make out with it in their hands, tracing the outlines of where some of my deeper scars are with their finger. They're holding a cloth of some sort in the other hand, brining it towards my wrist.

I'm still dreaming.

My surroundings are confusing. The cream and grey colours of the room i'm in blur together, creating swirling patterns in my mind. It's like looking at the world through a kaleidoscope. The only thing I can think to do is get up and run, run as far away from here as I can. I don't want to see another dream, I don't want to remember those days again.

I get up and scramble towards what I think is a door on the other side of the room. I don't know where I am, but I need to get out of here. I just know it. The sudden motion scares the figure as they clutch desperately at my hand slipping though their grasp.

I make it to the door, reaching out a hand to open it. The cuff of my hoodie is bloodstained, with fresh blood running from and injury opened merely seconds ago. Suddenly I can't move, hands freezing up as I watch the blood run down my wrists and drop steadily onto the dark oak floorboards. He knows.

"Zak!" I hear someone yell from behind me. The voice is familiar, and I realise why as the figure steps in front of me. They back up against the door, shielding the handle. I can make out who it is from the swirl of green where their eyes must be, it's Darryl. "Where am I?" I groan groggily. Everything hurts. I watch my blood drip to the floor, and realise the trousers I'm wearing aren't mine. "You're in my apartment Zak!" Darryl looks terrified. "Please calm down! You're going to hurt yourself more!"

I can't calm down. He can see my wrists, held out in front of me, blood pooling onto the floor. The lights are dim in here, it's presumably night.

What are you thinking? Is this real?

I need to get out of here. Now.

I lunge first the door handle behind Darryl, pushing him away as hard as I can. He ends up grabbing my wrists to pull me away, causing a stab of pain to shoot through me. I hiss and drop to the floor, Darryl letting go of his hold on me almost instantly after realising what he's done.

"Oh my goodness! I'm so sorry!" he whispers, dropping to the floor beside me and instinctively wrapping his arms around me. Despite my bleeding wrists, despite how I felt moments before, I want to stay like this for a while. I let him hug me, moving myself into a sitting position. Darryl does the same, whispering "I'm sorry" over and over again as his arms remain wrapped around me.

Why is he apologising? I'm the one who panicked and tried to run, this doesn't make any sense.

My wrists continue to bleed out onto the floor, making my vision distort further. I don't think I could run if I tried. Something wet hits my cheek and I look up to see tears streaming down Darryl's face.

He really seems to think this is his fault. It hurts to see the sadness in those emerald eyes, he didn't do anything wrong. He was probably trying to help me before I ran, him trying to grab my hand as I ran must've been what drew fresh blood.

It's then I realise the apartment reeks of alcohol. The party comes flooding back to me. The fight with Vincent, the police being called, the vague silhouette of a figure carrying me.

What happened?

Darryl has moved away from me. He's backed into a wall a few feet away, head buried in his hands. I feel bad for him, but what am I supposed to say?