Part 2: The Misconceptions Of You

There is a kind of childishness in your eyes, a touch of playfulness that hints at something deeper … something much darker than the tell-tale glistening of emotion that fills your gaze. The glimmer flashes in the dim lighting, your eyes filling with flames as they meet mine. We aren’t much different, I realise, you and I; each of us hiding behind the fortified wall of emotion that completely opposes the darkness that flourishes even in the smallest recess of the mind. The flames extinguish as you turn away, your darkening eyes lightening until they seem almost too good to be true; pale blue and filled with ice that shines in the sun.

How many times has the glimmer in your eyes been mistaken for happiness? How many times has the spark of anger, the fuel to the flames that are moments from igniting in your gaze been mistaken for the flash of unbidden joy? Your gaze still shines as you move around, attracting stares from everyone, what with your scars proudly, brazenly put on display.

The scars command my attention as well, I must admit; each one a smooth milky brown against alabaster skin. They curve along your cheeks, accentuating cheekbones and drawing attention to the hollows of your cheeks in a way I hadn’t yet seen on a man. Your lips twist into a smirk, and the twitch of scar tells me that you are forcing yourself from allowing that smirk to curl into a sneer. As you raise your hand, I catch sight of the scars, all self-inflicted, that are raised on your knuckles, each one a hard and cruel line over the thin skin that covers the bone.

The welts are beautiful in their own way, and I allow a smirk to reach my lips as our eyes clash, yours filled with blazing flames, and mine with my demons kept in chains, sealed away from the rest of the world. Our shared gaze shatters when your attention is smoothly transported to another woman, her thick lustrous hair curled in a way that would have made any man swoon and trip over each other for even a moment of her attention.

I can see easily the way her eyes rove over the scars you haven’t hidden, repulsion in her eyes but a forced smile on her lips all the same. How many more scars did you have, I wondered, if you had already started to encroach on places that would never be hidden?

When you grin down at her, the flash of fangs amongst your teeth makes her teeter nervously, her courage leaving her as she deserts you, her plastic face stretched grotesquely as she pushes her way through the pressing crowd. The flames in your eyes turn into a furnace, uncontrolled rage leaking from your gaze if not from your face.

Then, your eyes freeze, blue flames turning into chips of ice as you retreat to the darkness, eyes narrowing as your next victim steps forward.

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