A/N: I know I ought to be working on something a little more substantial, but I had this one come to me late tonight and felt like getting it done.

Rated for implications of self harm (Holy fucking shit does that theme pop up a lot in my work. Jesus Christ I should consult a doctor or something…)


Summary: I just wanted them to stop staring at a part of me that was best left forgotten.

Sleeves. Something about clothing no one usually thinks twice about seeing someone wear. Unless it's ridiculously hot outside in which case they'd make a remark about me sweating my rear end off.

Luckily for me, it was still winter, so it wasn't going to be something I had to hear today at work.

Honestly, it was preferred to the comments I would get if I didn't wear them.

The first time I had shown up for work, it was in the fall, yet this being the southern United States, it hadn't gotten cold yet. I didn't think anything of it and had decided on wearing a simple t-shirt.

I didn't realize how big of a mistake it was.

The first person I greeted noticed them, ugly and pale on my forearms. "Oh my God, what happened to you?"

I looked down and saw what they were staring at. The series of slashes on my arms that were my burden and my shame from a time I tried so damn hard to forget.

I felt my hands start to shake as I remembered each cut vividly. I regained control of myself, clutching my wrist to steady my shaking hands.

Even though I had thought I had long since moved on from that time of my life, it would never go away. Not fully. And where I lived, people were as judgmental as they came. That day was pure hell; every single person I served that day noticed the pattern of my cuts.

After that, I started wearing a simple hoodie to cover them. No one would think twice about it and I wouldn't have to deal with those kinds of questions anymore.

Best for them to not even notice. It wasn't who I was; why couldn't they see that?

I pushed my sleeves down as those ugly scars shone. 'When will it end?'

'When will they stop judging me for something I'm not?'

For the time being, it looked like I'd be forced to wear them.

A/N: Thank you for reading.

-A Lovestruck A2