I stood, thinking quietly as I waited for Mrs. Herb to help me edit my English essay. Pondering whether anyone would guess. One stood before me and another stood by my side, pathetically attempting some sort of conversation. I lifted my arm slightly and the cuff on my shirt slipped to my elbow.

"How did you get that scar?" The one who stood by me questioned as the one before me spoke on with the professor. He reached out gingerly, and caressed the skin on my hand that was tainted slightly with clotted blood. His eyes brimmed with concern and it seemed that one more drop of anxiety would make them overflow with unsheadable tears. He couldn't know, even if he did care. His life was too sheltered, too joyous to understand the silent pleas of those around him. His heart was too full of love that he withheld from those who seemed to need it most. And I cursed the Lord for keeping such rapture just out of my reach, as one dangles a flailing mouse in front of a famished cat. He could not understand. A sudden ceasing of our touch brought me back to the Hell that I called reality.

I panicked, mentally scolding myself for letting my cuff rise. "Er, I don't know." I said rather quickly. The other took notice and caught my gaze. "It's nothing." I assured, my usual confidence returning to my voice. "It's nothing."

He would not know.