do you want to know where i got these scars?*

"i have no idea. they were just /there/." my mother merely traced the fading lines on my pale skin and frowned.

"i must have scratched it somewhere." i offered as assurance and she agreed, the topic dropping as quickly as she dropped my hand.

do you want to know where i got these scars?

"i fell down the stairs." i blurted out, panicking at the question. it was the most unconvincing answer in all the history of self-harm, but what was a girl to do in the case of sudden confrontation?

my friends (god bless their souls) nodded and turned away their gazes. "those are awfully symmetrical for an accident," one murmured once she thought i was out of earshot, and it took everything within me not to turn around and yell at her for calling me out on my feeble fib.

do you want to know where i got these scars?

"my cat scratched me."
"you don't have a cat."
"oh, ****. did i say 'my' cat? i meant a wild cat. jumped at me out of nowhere. crazy, right?"

she shook her head. "if you're going to lie, at least make it convincing." she advised, and i shrugged.

do you want to know where i got these scars?

"i had to fight off my monsters." i wiggled my eyebrows, tugging my jacket sleeve a little more snuggly around my wrist. "i'm sure you did," she humored me before turning serious. "you can always enlist me to fight them with you."

i didn't know what to say.

do you want to know where i got these scars?

"cold nights and even colder razor blades."

she nodded and passed me the bottle. i watched as she took a shot from her own glass, her shirt riding up ever so slightly; faint scars seemingly outlining the portions of herself she wanted to cut off shining under the moonlight.

i didn't ask.