Smiling at Everything

Jazz didn't have to wait long for Zack to return with food. He walked through the bus door almost ten minutes after he initially left, two bags of food dangling from his arm. Jazz was shocked to see him back so soon. She expected him to eat with the others and bring her food back when he was finished.

"Decided not to be a social butterfly, Beatrice?" Jazz asked as Zack placed the food on the coffee table in front of the couch.

"Unlike you, Elvis, I can't fake social like that."

"You should learn how to; it’s a nifty trick."

Zack shook his head, sitting on the couch next to Jazz and opening his Styrofoam container of food. Jazz did the same; the scent of French toast hit her the second the lid was lifted. She took a deep breath, letting the scent fill her lungs, reveling in the never-made memories that French toast brought. For most, the smell of French toast brought on happy memories of childhood, Jazz knew that. But she never experienced them. In fact, she had no memories associated with French toast aside from that she enjoyed eating it. It was her favorite breakfast meal.

"Did I pick the right food?" Zack asked.

It was the most sugar-filled item on the breakfast menu so he assumed Jazz would enjoy it.

Jazz nodded happily, reaching for one of the precut slices of sugar covered toast in the container. That's when Zack caught a glimpse of it, just a glimpse. He wasn't quite sure what it was but he saw it. Her set of bracelets moved out of the way for a moment, exposing what looked to be a section of a bandaged stained red. The sight only lasted for a fraction of a second; the bracelets moved back in place just as fast as they were upset. However, the image stuck in Zack's mind.

He was sure he saw it. It wasn't an illusion created by the red and white bracelets. No, the red he had seen was much darker than the red in the bracelets. Did Jazz get hurt at some point? How would she have gotten hurt if she continually covered her arms with bracelets? Those were like shields.

Just like Jazz's fake attitude, the one she used to cover up her past. Were the bracelets there to hide something too?

Jazz munched on her French toast, disregarding Zack's stares. She was too lost in her own world, the world where cutting dominated her mindset, to notice where his stare was directed or the questions flowing behind his eyes. The knives in the cabinet, silver and sharp, were what she desired. She yearned for them, itched for them. She had to make another cut or she would go insane.

"So, um, you like French toast?" Zack asked.

He didn't know how to outright ask her about the possible wound on her arm. He wouldn't know how to ask anyone about something like that. There were so many ways that a wound could have gotten on Jazz's arm but the likelihood that she would lie about it was high. Especially if it was something she had been trying desperately to hide.

"Yeah, it's surprisingly tasty," Jazz answered.

"Surprisingly? It's covered in sugar and cinnamon. What's so surprising about that?"

"I'm not a big fan of sugar."

Zack's jaw fell. Not a big fan of sugar? She drank energy drinks on a daily basis. Those were loaded with sugar. He thought anything with large amounts of sugar would be enjoyable to her.

Jazz noticed Zack's shock, "What?"

"You drink energy drinks and coffee daily. How do you not like sugar?"

"I drink black coffee," Jazz clarified, "And I would take the sugar out of energy drinks if it didn't add to my energy level. Sugar in any other substance is basically useless and doesn't always please my taste buds."

Zack nodded to himself a few times. It made sense. Jazz drank certain drinks simply for their caffeine content. By now, she was so immune to a large amount of caffeine that sugar, the less strong substance, would have no affect on her. She had no reason to waste her time consuming mass amounts of sugar.

Zack watched Jazz continue eating, eyes on her bracelets. They had to move again, had to prove that he wasn't insane with what he thought he saw. He couldn't call her out on anything if there was nothing there. He would just look like an idiot and a bit of a jerk. All chances of being with her in the romantic sense would be lost.

But those damn bracelets just wouldn't move. It was like they knew he was staring at them, begging them to shift. Those bracelets were doing this just despite him. He was convinced.

The mystery of Jazz's bracelets would have to be unraveled in some other way.

"Why do you wear so many bracelets?" Zack asked.

No better way than to be blunt, that was Zack's view on it.

Jazz put down the French toast stick she was prepared to shove in her mouth, mind racing. It didn't come off as strange that Zack asked such a question. He noticed more things than most people, of course he would ask. Whether or not there was a legitimate reason behind the question was what worried her. He could have just been making pointless conversation; he did so often with her. Or he could have noticed more than she thought he did.

"I," Jazz hesitated, "just like bracelets."

She wanted to tell him the truth, she did. At the same time, she didn't. This was her secret, a habit that she didn't want people to know about, one she revived. She didn't want to tell Zack that. He wouldn't like her anymore if he knew. He'd think she was freak.

"Really?" Zack asked leaning back on the couch, "I've never been one for bracelets."

He picked up her discomfort; her body tensed when he asked the question. Jazz was hiding something, he knew it. And she thought she would be able to continue hiding it.

"Why?" Jazz asked.

"They make too much noise and they're not aesthetically pleasing. Not to mention, you're hiding your arms with them. I'm sure your arms are just as gorgeous as you are; there's no reason to hide them."

Jazz bit her lip. He was wrong. Her arms weren't pretty. They were ugly and scarred, just like her mental state.

"Well, I like bracelets," Jazz stated.

She didn’t necessarily like bracelets but she had to wear them. Her scars would be on display if she didn't wear her bracelets or long sleeve tops. Though, she doubted people would notice at times, there would be those people who did. Like paparazzi. They would catch pictures of her scars fast and display them in tabloids.

"Obviously, or you wouldn't wear them all the time," Zack said.

He knew he was slowly breaking her to tell him the truth. As much as he didn't want to play this game with her, he had to. She was lying to him when she could have told him she didn't want to talk about it.

"Yeah," Jazz forced a chuckle.

"I think you should take them off," he stated.

"Why would I do that when I took the time to put all of them on?"

"Because I want to see you without them for once. It'd be a nice change."

"That's ridiculous."

"Or maybe you just don't want to admit you're lying."

Jazz stayed silent, no reply for his accusation. He knew. Of course he knew. She couldn't expect him not to know. She only had two options now: continue lying or take the bracelets off. Both could ruin her relationship with Zack. However, only one had the slightest possibility of making it stronger.

"Fine," Jazz said, "I'll take them off."