Thanatophobia

The last day of school was a Friday, which meant there was yet another party at my house. After the time was up for our last exam of the year, I met up with Cam at the front of the school. It was probably 90 degrees outside with the sun blazing, shining light onto our sweaty faces. The school was not air conditioned, so that day I had my hair pulled up in a bun at the base of my neck, wearing a pair of jean shorts and a strappy tank top.

I saw Cam standing at the flagpole, laughing with a couple of guys our age. When I met up with them, the boys glanced at my exposed arms and legs but didn't say anything. Cam's eyes traced the long, jagged scar on my upper thigh, but he quickly looked away.

He then punched one of the guys' arms and said, "Stop looking at her like she's a piece of meat, will ya?" Of course they only took it as a joke, backing off while laughing all the same, but I could tell he was serious.

I shot him a smile of appreciation and said, "Do you wanna come over? Lauren's taking me home."

"Nick's having another fiesta, right?"

I nodded. "Chances are, Lauren's going to be downstairs celebrating all night, if you know what I mean."

I still hadn't asked her about what happened with Oliver or why she didn't hang out with them anymore. I was planning on asking her that morning, but it seemed wrong to talk about it at school. Maybe if I could get her alone before she started drinking that night, I could get some answers.

Cam looped his arm through mine and we started walking down the crowded sidewalk in search of Lauren's car. She honked her horn across the lot when she spotted us, and we dodged traffic to meet up with her. I was glad that whatever had happened with Oliver and Lauren didn't affect how Cam felt about her.

As soon as I opened the car door I was blasted with a wave of cool air, thanking my lucky stars that she had air-conditioning. I sat in the front and Cam took a seat in the back, which was covered in junk: the back seat of Lauren's Corolla looked like someone dumped the entire inventory of Walmart on the floor and forgot to clean it up. There were toys, pieces of paper, clothes, craft supplies, a hockey stick, empty happy meal boxes, a bar of soap, a hamster cage, and if I was correct, I think there was a prom dress somewhere in there.

Cam propped his feet up on the cubby between the driver and passanger seats, not wanting to get lost in the abyss.

When we pulled into my driveway, I couldn't help but notice that Cam was practically glued to the window. He still hadn't gotten over the shock of how big my house was, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. The first time he'd been inside, he had said that it was "as big as five of his houses."

And it was true, not that it made living there any better.

The first place we went was the kitchen to get food. The only thing there was to eat at the parties was pizza and beer, so we had to stock up in my room. I was considering buying my own fridge, but until then we had to transfer all the good stuff upstairs, or else my brother's guests would eat it all.

I opened the pantry, where there were two liter bottles of Pepsi and grape soda. I handed off one of each kind, then dug in further for potato chips. There was unopened dip in the fridge along with bars of chocolate (it was so hot, they would probably melt if we kept them anywhere else), Hostess Cupcakes, and, in the freezer, pizza bagels.

Cam preheated the oven and started struggling to open the box of pizza bagels, finally sighing and slamming it down on the counter. "Can you get me a knife or something?" he pleaded.

I nodded and pulled on the handle to the drawer that held the knives, but it wouldn't open. I blushed. "I forgot...Nick locks the knives up," I admitted quietly.

Cam's eyes narrowed in confusion, then he remembered that I was a suicidal psychopath and nodded. Lauren didn't get it though.

"Wait," she said, tugging on the drawer handle, "why would he do that? What are you, four? I think you can handle using a knife."

Suddenly every exposed scar on my body burned, like they were flashing signs that said "Of course she can't handle a knife, she's suicidal! She's suicidal!"

"It's fine," I mumbled. "Really, he's just overprotective."

Lauren rolled her eyes. "Bullshit, I'm talking to him tonight."

"No!" I blurted out desperately. "It's not a big deal, I can open the box with my nails. Whatever."

I tried to sound nonchalant, but by the look on Lauren and Cam's faces, I wasn't doing a very good job of it.

Cam handed me the box and I ripped it open, pouring the pizza bagels onto a tray. I knew they weren't staring at me, but I felt like they were. I felt like they were counting the scars on my legs and arms from where the rocks had ripped my skin open but not smashed my skull, so i was just sewn up and sent to Princeton.

I had been doing so well. Now I couldn't breathe. They could see the bump on my shoulder that wasn't the same after I'd dislocated it. They were calculating how many scars were on my back, which ribs I had broken, how long it took to heal. I thought I was healed. I took three pills at night; one for nightmares, two for my bones. My fragile bones.

I think I mumbled something about changing before I raced upstairs, diving into my bedroom and ripping off the shorts I had worn with confidence all day. How many people had seen the scars? How many people judged me, thought I was a freak? How many, how many, how many? Cam was only friends with me because he felt sorry for me. Pity, pity, pity, that was all it was.

I slid into a pair of gray skinny jeans and zipped up a green jacket over my tank top. I fell to my knees in front of my makeup mirror and applied two more coats of concealer over my face, powdering it over the scar on my forehead. It took another ten minutes before I could breathe properly.

Finally, I let my hair down and brushed it out before meeting my friends back downstairs. They were sitting at the kitchen, looking at pictures from Lauren's yearbook. When I walked in the room, they both looked up with confused looks on their faces.

I gave a smile of appeasement. "Sorry, I was getting really cold. I needed to cover up."

Luckily, Lauren bought it, but Cam's gaze traced down to my upper thigh, just like before. He quickly looked away when I caught him staring, so I sat in the chair next to Lauren and pretended to look at the yearbook. Everything was fine, right?