Page 33 of Ruin My Life
The scar down my sternum is pale, raised,obvious. It splits my chest like a zipper someone forgot to close.
It’s healed as best it can, but the bullet wound just over my heart still looks angry—darker, more puckered. Like it’s still trying to hold itself together.
“Trauma scars never heal the same way surgical ones do.”
That’s what Dr. Kim told me during a checkup.
“It’s hard to predict what they’ll look like in a year. But you might learn to wear it like a survivor’s pin.”
But all I see is the wound that ended everything.
The physical mark of the day I died—
And came backwrong.
I tug a loose grey T-shirt from the middle drawer and pull it over my head. It hangs long, covering everything—but my chest still feels exposed. My heart pounds behind the scars like it’s trying to outrun the memory.
My eyes catch on the photo sitting on my dresser.
Me and Amie. My high school graduation.
She’s beaming, cheek squished into mine, her smile taking up more space than her face could hold. The tassel onmy cap had fallen into my mouth, and we were laughing so hard we could barely breathe.
“At least you’re still hot. Thenerdhasn’t taken over yet.”
She used to joke that computer science would turn me into a cave goblin. Said I’d forget how to function in daylight and never wear a real bra again.
Even now, looking like this—bruised, scarred, broken—Amie would still call me beautiful.
She’d roll her eyes and say,“You’re not hot in spite of the scars. You’re hotbecauseof them.”
And she’d smack me if I said otherwise.
The thought alone is enough to ease the tremor in my chest.
I climb into bed and wrap myself in cool sheets, tugging the blankets tight around my body like a cocoon.
I close my eyes and breathe in deep.
Just for tonight, I hope the memory of her smile is enough to pull me under.
And if I dream, I hope it’s of her.
Before the gunshots.
Before the blood.
Before my world ended.
Chapter Six
Brie
I’VE ONLY BEEN ASLEEP FOR ABOUT TWOhours when a bright white light flashes across my face. It’s jarring and relentless. Like a strobe light in a haunted house.
It’s my silent alarm.
The small device on my bedside table is rigged to the motion sensors scattered throughout the apartment.
