Chapter 5

Note: Good chapter! Hazel finally gets some feeling, yay! Here we go!

My plan to ask Ellis about his strange long sleeved habit didn’t go as planned, however, I didn’t forget. It had been three weeks since he’d come over, and our project was due in one week. I’d barely talked to him in those three weeks, but he had told me he was really busy. He’d been recording that demo that he’d won with the concert contest, and he wouldn’t be done with it until Wednesday, two days before the project was due. I knew we had to get working very, very soon if we wanted to get at least a decent grade.
If it had been my choice, I probably would’ve been about half way done by now with the back board, and done with the Mark Twain report. Actually, I was planning to finish the report tonight. I hoped Ellis had at least started his, but knowing his busy schedule, he probably had barely thought about it.
As stressed as I was about it, I didn’t want the project to end in a way. This had been my chance to talk to Ellis alone and get to know him better, and so far we’d barely done that, let alone get something done on the project. I wished we could be friends, but maybe it was better if I just left him alone. He was probably too busy to make any more friends.
It was Wednesday that he talked to me again. I was sitting alone in study hall, as usual, with the same empty desk to my right. Someone called my name, and when I turned my head from my book Ellis was climbing over a desk to get closer to me. He jumped over the chair connected to the desk with a metal bar and sat down, a little out of breath.
“Hey,” he breathed. “Guess what?”
“What?”
“All my parts are recorded, so I won’t have to go in the studio anymore. I’ve got a lot of free time now.”
“Oh, good.”
“So you probably want to get to work as soon as possible, don’t you?
I nodded swiftly.
“So, today, then?”
“Sure,” I started, but inwardly cringed. Today after school Chris was having a party with two of his guy friends, and I didn’t want to get in their way, especially with Ellis there with me.
“One problem, though,” I said. “We can’t do it at my house.” I didn’t want to tell him why out loud for fear he would say it was fine with him, but to my relief he didn’t ask.
“Oh, that’s fine. My house is good.”
“Okay.”
“Should I write down my address?”
“Yeah.” I searched for a piece of paper around me, but didn’t find anything. It was too awkward to have him write on my hand, so I dug into my binder. I reluctantly tore a piece off a worksheet that was due the next day. I figured I’d just have to hand it in torn.
“Here.” I handed the scrap over to him. He scrawled down his address quickly and handed it back.
“Whenever you get there after school is fine. I’ll be home.”
“I shouldn’t call first?”
“No, it’s okay. Just come whenever.” And with that he hopped over the seats again back to his desk.
After school I ran home for a few minutes to get directions off the internet. I didn’t have any trouble getting there, and within twenty minutes I was parked in front of his medium-sized two story house.
I walked along the stone path that curved up to his off-white door, and nervously rang the doorbell. Ellis opened the door within fifteen seconds, and invited me in.
The inside of his house was clean and homey. The front door opened to a small foyer with dark green walls and a dark wooden floor. Candles burned on a small table, while no other lights illuminated the room. It smelled like sweet pine. I wished to stay here longer, but Ellis led me through a door and down a carpeted staircase to a medium sized room, presumably the basement.
“We can work down here.” He strode over to where a couch and a few other chairs were, but didn’t sit. “Do we need to do more research?”
“Not for the project we’re doing together. You’ll have to get the stuff for your report, though.”
He nodded. “So, what should we do?”
“Um, we could print and cut out all the pictures and words for the back board. I don’t have that yet, but I should be able to get it tomorrow at school. I have all the stuff to print on my flash drive.”
I dug in my pocket for the little black flash drive, noticing a computer against the wall while I was doing so. I handed it to him, and I awkwardly followed him to the computer, watching him while he worked.
There was no printer beside the computer as there was at my house, so I figured this must not be the only one they owned. And sure enough, Ellis dismissed himself to go retrieve the copies as soon as he was finished on the computer.
I took a seat on a brown plaid chair that didn’t match with the blue carpeting while I waited. I took a long look around the room, but it was mostly empty besides the chairs and the computer.
Soon Ellis bounded down the steps with two pairs of scissors and all the papers to be cut. I tried to see what his mood was, but he smiled half the time and was serious the other, so it was hard. Either he was trying to be lighthearted, or this was awkward for him. I agreed with the awkward part.
He handed me a pair of bright red scissors and half the papers to cut. I stayed in the chair I was in, while he sat down on the couch and laid his papers on the other seat of the couch. A few minutes of silence besides the snipping sound of paper was all the noise that filled the room until Ellis tried to make conversation.
“So…um, how was your day?”
I shrugged. “Normal. What about yours?”
“About the same. I’m a little anxious to hear what this demo sounds like.”
“I’m sure it’ll be great. Is that one song on it? The one that you played for sound check at Frisco?”
He grinned genuinely. “Of course. We all love that one. Is that still your favorite?”
Funny, I didn’t remember telling him it was my favorite.
“Yeah. It’s so pretty.”
“Thanks. I wrote it with Dave.” In my mind I tried to remember which one was Dave. Ah, yes, Blondie.
“I mean, he wrote the words. I worked on the music and harmony. I think it turned out pretty nice.”
“Me too.” Snip, snip, snip.
“Thanks.”
I put down my pair of scissors for a bit and scratched my forehead. Ellis looked at me for a second and jumped up.
“Are you too warm? I can turn the temperature down if you want.”
I glanced at him quickly, and was immediately drawn to his shirt, remembering how I wanted to ask him why he always was wearing long sleeves. Today he was wearing them again, this time a light weight white shirt.
I shook my head, seeing my opportunity. “If you’re hot, though, you could roll up your sleeves.”
His eyebrows mashed together. “No, I’m comfortable,” He said in a low voice. He looked the farthest thing from it.
“So why do you wear long sleeves all the time, anyway?” I said this kind of jokingly, but his face turned serious.
It took awhile for him to respond. “Do you really want to know the honest answer?” He asked in that same low voice. He stared at me intently, his eyes a cloudy blue.
I didn’t know what to think. The sudden shift of his moods seemed strange to me. Why was the matter of his sleeves so seriously important? “I think I do. Are you okay?”
He ignored my question. “Okay, I’ll tell you. And show you.”
Show me?
“I’m going to let you see something that might make you look at me differently.” He kept his piercing stare up. “You might be appalled. You might want to leave.”
“Why would I leave?” I asked, puzzled.
“Just watch.” He sighed.
He took hold of the edge of his sleeve, and starting rolling it up. I gasped. All along his arm, there were scars. They were of various sizes, shapes, and colors, but most were white with small flecks of pink mixed in. I didn’t know what to think more than ever.
He started to roll up his other sleeve. I didn’t know if I wanted him to reveal more. Surely this couldn’t have been from one car accident? His other arm was identical to the first.
He looked up at me innocently. “I can’t wear short sleeves.” He paused. “Hazel, you’re pale.”
I was dizzy, too. It seemed surreal for numerous reasons. Just a minute ago we’d been happily cutting our papers for the project, and my one simple question had provoked this. I didn’t take my eyes off of his arms.
“Are there more?” I said in a small voice.
He didn’t answer, but started to wriggle out of his shirt. Underneath, he had a tank top on, but more scarred flesh was visible. I tried hard to control my breath. I was starting to feel a little sick.
“Do you want to leave?” He waltzed closer to me and sat down on the very edge of the couch.
“N-No,” I managed in a whisper.
He held his left arm out in front of him, his elbow slightly bent, palm facing up. With his other hand he slowly stroked a longer scar right below his wrist, looking at it intently.
“How?” Another soft whisper escaped my lips. I stared at the scar he was stroking.
He whipped his head up. He didn’t speak for a few seconds, but when he did his words came out soft and slow.
“Every time someone hurts me with words, hurts my feelings, really, I get a cut. And more often than not, that cut scars over.”
“So those are from all the times someone has said something about you or to you that hurt on the inside?” I felt like my words didn’t make sense, but he nodded.
“And they are visible on the outside.”
“Are they…everywhere?”
“Yes, except on my hands and face. I don’t know how to explain that, but I’m glad for it.”
“What do you feel when you’re getting the cut?”
“It’s like…a knife, in way,” he said unevenly, trying to find the words. His eyes drifted slightly upwards, like he was in a daze.
“Slicing. The scabs are horrendous.” He shifted his head back to me. “I have one now, actually. If you really want I could…show you.”
My eyes dropped down to the floor. “First, how did you get it?”
“I’ve been having some problems with this girl.” He shook his head.
“Oh.” My eyes stayed locked on the blue carpet. Of course he had a girlfriend, that was conceivable. I should’ve known before, should’ve seen something. I couldn’t explain to utter disappointment I felt when I let the words sink into me. All the false hope that I just realized I had been storing in myself was dashed quickly, like a fire licking up newspaper and transforming it into black ash. It was confirmed, then. I did feel something, no matter how hard I tried to deny it.
As meek and modest as people told me I was, my selfish side took over then. An aberrant side, though it was, it was strong. Inside myself I flamed, and now that it was confirmed that I felt something, the feeling let loose, raging like a fire. It was sick, in a sense to see myself like this, but there was no turning back now. I’d stick with my feelings, however irrational they were, because now I felt something. Never before had I really felt anything like this, nothing near as passionate. It felt fickle, as if I could not hold on to it for long. It would die soon, I was sure of it. This feeling would die, and that was probably best, but I felt crazy now because I didn’t want it to die. All of my secret fascinations with him, my absorption of him, it all felt explained in a split second. My strange obsession, if you will, had led me to this feeling.
With the news of his girlfriend, I didn’t feel totally crushed like some would. Instead I felt enraged against whoever she was. Another strange new passion welled up inside me, something I couldn’t control. This one didn’t feel right, it felt all wrong. Yet I felt it, much to my discomfort. I hated myself for it. I pledged that I wouldn’t let it make me do something rash, something I’d regret later.
“Do you want to see it?” His voice confirmed all my previous emotions.
I lifted my gaze. “Yes.”
He lifted the hem of his tank top, exposing his stomach. Scars were placed all over it, as I expected, but the scab caught me off guard. It was about three inches long, and thin. It sat right in the middle of his abs, brown with yellow edges, and then pink flesh all around it.
“It will scar then?”
“Most likely.” He kept his shirt up for a minute, awkward as it was, but put it down when he saw my reddening face.
“Do you…Do you tell this to everyone who works with you?”
He laughed. “No.” Quickly, his face became serious again. “I just didn’t feel like wearing long sleeves around you all the time.” He laughed again, and stuck in a “just kidding.”
“Has anyone ever seen you get cut?” I asked.
His face dropped. “Yes. I sound crazy because I just randomly shout or groan and hold wherever the cut is. And my mom has to wash my shirts or pants if they get bloody.”
“Oh.”
“Anymore questions?” He didn’t say this like a teacher who really didn’t want to be asked anything, but openly. He sounded like he honestly wanted to answer anything I had to ask.
“Why does this happen to you?”
He shrugged. “I have no idea. It’s been happening ever since I can remember. There’s no way to explain it.”
“You can get scars from other things, right? Like if you accidently cut yourself with a knife.”
“Yes.” He pulled up his pant leg and pointed to a scar on his knee that was laid out among others. “This is when I used to play soccer when the scars weren’t on my legs yet. I tripped and landed on a rock.”
“Why aren’t they on your face?”
He sighed. “We’re not sure how to explain that, actually. I’m quite fortunate, though. If they were on my face I’d have to make the accident story more drastic.
“And they’re just normal cuts and scars?”
He nodded. “Simply flesh reacting to wounds.” He held out his arm, the sleeve still rolled up. “Touch one, if you want.”
I reached out my hand to touch his arm. The particular scar I was looking at was about two inches long and white and pink. The flesh was stretched from both sides of it, meeting in the middle. Its bumpy course curved slightly with the shape of his arm. My fingers contacted his skin and he sucked in a breath.
“Your hands are cold. I can turn up the temperature.”
“I’m fine,” I said hastily. I withdrew my hand. “Does your family know?”
“Yes. It’s kind of hard to keep something so big like this from them. Don’t say anything about it to anyone else, though. Okay?”
I nodded. It seemed as though the conversation was coming to a close, and I couldn’t imagine sitting back down and continuing on with the project like normal. I needed some fresh air, too, but I didn’t want to admit that to Ellis. It would just make regret trusting me.
My phone vibrated once in my pocket, letting me know I had a text message. It was Chris asking if I could pick up a liter of soda on my way home. I saw my road of escape and took it.
“Um, I can finish cutting the papers tonight, if you want.”
“Oh, you have to go?”
I nodded. I felt bad for stretching the truth, but it the room seemed to be getting smaller and smaller, and Ellis’s sleeves were still pushed up. His scars stared me down, making me go crazy.
I shoveled all the papers in my arms and walked up to the foyer with Ellis holding the doors open for me along the way. The sweet smell of the candles and the recycled air made me swallow hard. I couldn’t get out of the room fast enough.
When I finally reached my car, I slammed the door and concentrated on breathing evenly. I felt as if I was being watched, maybe even tested by Ellis. He was probably staring out after me to see if I’d rush out the driveway like a maniac, or if I’d calmly make my exit. I focused on going slow and looking both ways before pulling out.
I stopped at a local gas station to pick up a liter of any soda available. I knew Chris and his friends wouldn’t care what it was as long as it was sweet and carbonated. A man with gray whiskers and a prominent protruding belly stood behind the cash register, but I didn’t see any of it. I just saw his arms, his hairy, smooth arms. No scars, no scabs. He called me sweetie as I walked out the door with the soda, but I barely heard or cared.
Upon reaching my house, I put the soda in the refrigerator for the guys and ran to my room. I needed to think, to get these strange thoughts out of me. I searched for paper, any kind of paper I could write on.

Dear Cassie,
I’ve just witnessed something crazy, and I can’t even tell you. If you we were still talking every day, maybe this would be different. Maybe I’d break the promise I made to Ellis and tell you everything. Just knowing that I can’t share this secret with anyone makes it harder to keep. I wonder how many scars he has. There’s so many all over him. I’ll never look at him the same again. I can still stand him, though, it’s just overwhelming. I wonder why he showed me this. I don’t know how to handle this anymore. I don’t know how to handle much of anything right now.
Love, Hazel

Knowing I’d never let anyone see what I’d just scrawled, I shoved the paper deep down into a drawer, piled six books on top it, and slammed it shut.