Scars, Spells and Secrets

Chapter 18

As it turned out, Elizabeth was unusually creative while on self imposed house arrest. She was able to bribe her housemates into buying groceries for her, and had managed to order more paints online. She had completed one painting and was working on a second while keeping close track of the phase of the moon.

On the evening of the new moon Elizabeth made sure to drink a cup of mint tea to keep herself alert. She went into her bedroom after dinner, feeling suddenly quite self-conscious and foolish. So that she would be able to rub the cream on her burns and let the cream take effect in the lack of moonlight, Elizabeth changed into her swimsuit and put a robe on over it. Usually with her swimwear she wore a wrap in addition to the one piece but tonight it would only get in the way. Elizabeth slipped on a pair of sandals, sitting in her room until nearly midnight before grabbing the jar of burn healing cream and heading into the back yard. She checked around every corner on the way outside, just in case any of her house mates were up late for any reason.

Fortunately she was able to go outside undetected, quite glad for the large decorative bushes that Florence was so fond of. Elizabeth slipped behind one so that she wouldn't be readily visible from the house; well kept shrubs formed a privacy fence around the backyard and protected it from outside viewers. The young witch carefully removed her robe, fighting the urge to cover her upper legs. It had been years since she had them bare for anything more than the time that it took to dress after a shower or change clothes.

She took a deep breath before unscrewing the lid of the jar and dipping her fingers in. She closed her eyes, easily remembering the words that she'd been studying for most of the day.

"Moon above, take these scars. Wipe my skin as clean as the new moon. Give me a new start, just as you have."

She opened her eyes and rather awkwardly hunched over, forcing herself to stare at the skin of her legs.

Covering the flesh there were dozens of dark marks. Some were oval and some round, and all in varying sizes. Elizabeth swallowed thickly and forced tears back from her eyes as she began to carefully dab the cream onto each one, the memories flooding back; of feeling so despondent when her mother had left, of the worthlessness that rushed through her and seated itself deep inside of her mind. She remembered the first burn, one near her knee. It had been an accident, actually-she'd been striking matches and watching them burn down until they were nearly to her fingertips, distracting herself with the flames and pain. She had dropped one while wearing shorts, and had discovered the rush once it hit her skin. It wasn't pleasure, or anything near it-instead, she felt a lack of pain for the first time in months. It was something else, something that she could control instead of the self loathing that rushed through her mind in every waking moment.

The others had followed after, increasing in frequency until the day that her father had found out. She'd started with match heads and moved on to pressing the tips of lighters to her legs after holding a flame on them. She had only just moved on to heating wire jewelry and pressing it to her skin when there was an accident at school. She'd been crossing in the designated area when someone who had just gotten their license rushed through far too fast, running late and not paying attention. Elizabeth was knocked down and ambulance drivers had worried about her legs and hips. Out of fear of a terrible injury they had cut her jeans off of her, despite the girl's sobbing pleas. The man doing the cutting had assumed, of course, that it was some strange sense of modesty; his attitude changed immediately upon seeing the wounds.

She'd spent a week in the mental health facilities after being checked out and declared badly bruised but not in need of surgery or physical therapy.

Elizabeth hadn't seen her father cry when her mother left to search for a "bohemian lifestyle," whatever that meant. From what she'd heard, he didn't cry when his own father passed away. (However, from what she knew of the man, it wasn't exactly a shock. She was quite glad that she'd never met him.)