Page 2 of Her Scarred Heart

Not me. He’s not talking to me. No one talks to me. I don’t want anyone to talk to me. I don’t want anyone to see me.

Certain it isn’t me he’s speaking to I dip the brush and slosh more water then resume scrubbing harder than ever. Then the legs at my side kneel, the knee coming into my line of sight. I chew on the inside of my mouth. This is a mistake. A big, big mistake. Don’t look up. Once he sees me it will be over. Better to not see that look on his face, the one I see on every other person. The one that always feels like a knife slipping between my ribs with icy cold precision.

“Hello,” he says, leaving no doubt that he is talking to me. “I not good this words.”

I panic. My stomach clenches, my throat tightens, my mouth is dry, and I can’t stop blinking all while my neck locks into place, keeping my eyes boring into the floor below my lowered head.

Say something? He’s talking to you. Speak!

“Uh,” it comes out in a squeak and embarrassment rushes in to complement all the fear and anxiety that I’m already dealing with. A shudder races along my spine making my arms tremble as I strain to hold myself upright.

“Provyd, name,” he says.

“Uhm,” I mutter, inhaling deeply and trying to get my shit together. “Kai.”

“Lovely name, Kai,” he says.

“Provyd, could you hold her for a moment?” female voice, human legs.

I don’t think there are any female Zmaj. What happened to them? Isn’t that strange?

“Of course,” Provyd says, rising up.

Why is he talking to me? No one talks to me unless they must.

“Thank you,” the female voice says. “I just need a moment. She’s getting so big and if I set her down she’s gone in an instant and into who knows what.”

“She curious, should be as is,” Provyd says. “World exploring soon be hers. Right, Nadiya?”

Warmth spreads over my chest listening to him interact with the baby. Once I dreamed of children of my own, but that was long ago. Before the wreck, before the accident, always before.

“You say explore, I say risk,” the female chuckles. “She pulled a basket off the shelf that was full of rock samples that Angota had collected. One hit her on the head and you’d think she’d learn a lesson, but nope. An hour later she was pulling on that same basket and trying it again.”

“Determined, admirable, good trait,” Provyd says.

“You’re impossible,” the female says. “Okay, I’ll take her now.”

I don’t mean to do it but some part of me cannot help myself. I look up, my hair falling free of my face. As I do it the baby is passing between the two of them and just so happens to be looking down, full onto the horror that my face has become.

Nadiya screeches and bursts into tears. My stomach crashes to the floor faster than I can drop my head and pull my hair back down. I jump to my feet, trying to spin and rush away, but the floor is wet and my feet slip.

I pinwheel my arms as I go over backwards. The ceiling flashes past as my feet come out from under me and I brace myself for an impact that should happen but suddenly it doesn’t. I’m floating and it takes me a second to catch onto what is happening.

Provyd has me. I’m draped across his forearms like a cloth and he’s looking at me with a smile on his face and bright, dancing eyes. On me. On my face.

Bile rises in my throat and I throw myself forward, slipping free of his arms and onto my feet. I tug my hair back into place as I rush away, slowing only enough to make sure I don’t fall again.

“Wait, are you okay?” Provyd calls after but I make it around a corner cutting off any further words.

I don’t stop until I’m in my room. Hands on the side of the sink, shoulders hunched, breathing heavily waiting for my heart to stop racing, for the pain to ease. As it finally does I slowly raise my head and stare at the discolored section of the wall that should be a mirror. I finally convinced maintenance to remove it. I only had to break it six times before they gave up on repairing it for me.

I walk over to the bed and drop down heavily. The mattress squeaks in protest. Sitting on the edge, head in hands, I let the tears flow. Well, flow on one side. The tear ducts of my other eye are as damaged as the rest of that side of my face, but that doesn’t mean the pressure doesn’t build, only that there’s no relief for it.

Why? Why did it happen to me? Why did he smile? Was he laughing at my horrid face? Was he trying to hide his revulsion?

I don’t bother undressing. I curl into a ball and cry myself to sleep.

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