SCP-035 x Reader - Adoration

Chapter 8

I wasn't expecting this many reads and votes already... Thank you guys! ^w^

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[8– Memories]

|| Your P.O.V ||

   The marks on a person's body would tell a story. The scars would be a memory of a past injury dealt to the person.

   There was a scar near my right eye. I was seven years old. I was hurriedly getting up from my desk in my room when my foot got caught on the leg of the chair and I tripped. The side of my face scraped against the corner of the desk. I was lucky it hadn't taken my eye, and that the wound wasn't deep. My mother dismissed what happened when I ran crying to her about it, only telling me that I should be more careful and to get back to my homework.

   Another scar was on the side of one my thumbs, though it was less visible. I was nine years old. My father had broken one of his beer bottles on the porch, having accidentally dropped it while lecturing me to not track mud in the house with my filthy shoes. I remembered trying to help him by picking up the glass. My father either pushed me or kicked me— I couldn't remember which— out of the way and I was nicked by one of the shards. He shouted at me for causing a bigger mess. I ran inside. I think my mother also got onto me for getting mud in the carpet that night, but I couldn't say for certain. All I did know, however, was that I had cried that night. A lot. I told them how I cried. They only said to get over it.

   Some scars had been intentional. I was fourteen. I had scratched myself till I bled on my upper left arm. One or two of those scratches had actually stayed behind as marks on my skin. From thirteen to fifteen, I was at a severe low of my life. Though it couldn't have been anything surprising, given hormones. My mother saw them one night. I was honest with her about it, though I was didn't know why. She reminded me about how bad she and my father had it and how lucky I was to still be so young. I forced myself to hold everything inside. I didn't want to burden anyone with my problems.

   A tear rolled down my face. I blinked it away, snapping back into my surroundings. The scars weren't what hurt, but the memories that came with them. Shaking my head, I relaxed my body with a deep breath and turned away from the mirror. No more obsessing over my features for now.

   I glanced at the clock, then started away from the mirror. I froze, looking over at the clock again. Panic struck me, and I rushed over to my desk, swiping up the binder and scrambling for the door. Flying out of it, I went as fast as I could— without running— down the corridors in the direction of the offices.

   How could I forget? How could I spend so much time just standing there like an idiot staring at myself? I made my way past a few other people in the hall who did nothing but give me a questioning look as I sped past them. I almost tripped on one of the janitors as I turned a corner, as he was knelt down in front of an outlet and tweaking with the wires. I only managed a spluttered apology for him.

   Flinging a hand out for the door that lead to Newman's office, I had to refrain from yanking it open and keeping as calm a composure as possible as I entered the room. I shut the door behind me, noticing his irritated stare on me as I approached his desk. One hand held a pen to the paper in front of him and the other was burrowed in his hair as he leaned against the desk.

   Newman spoke as I set down the binder on the desk where I usually did. "Why are you late? Did you expect me to do all of this work on my own?" There was a hint of a scowl on his features.