It seemed like they had always been there, though I'd really only had them for five years. I had been thirteen when my mother decided to douse me in gasoline, and light me up like the 4th of July.
Ava's dad split a few days after she was born, and our mother never knew who my dad was. Some lowly sucker was out there in the world, with my blue eyes and pitch black hair.
Not that I had hair anymore.
Our mother worked two jobs. The waitress during the day, and the tricks she pulled at night. The day job supplied the customers for the night job, and it came full circle. Truth be known, my dad was probably one of those customers.
Ava was seven years older than me, so she had been at college when our mother decided she was tired of my ugly face. Maybe I had played one too many video games, or had gotten a C on too many Pre-Algebra quizzes, but one night, she dragged me into the shed, and lit me up.
A neighbor put me out, and dear old mother was taken to the mental institution a few states away. All in all, everything was made right.
Except she gets three meals a day, and plenty of time to think, and my second home is a hospital, and I live in constant pain.
I was lucky if I stopped to really think about it. But I didn't like to. Actually, I'd prefer to do anything but think about.
♥
When I walked into the office, Ava was already waiting for me. I felt like a child going to the principal’s office because I snuck into the girl's restrooms. There's nothing more unnerving than your older sister and the doctor staring at you because you're late.
“You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago,” Ava said, her voice just above a whisper.
“I got side-tracked,” I told her, plopping down in the seat next to her.
“Glad you could grace us with your presence.”
“Yeah, well, I had to break away from my many girlfriends. You know how it is for us deformed guys,” I answered. I could feel my sister cringing next to me.
She didn't like it when I referred to my disorder, which was how she treated it. A disorder, and I was the poor victim of this random bout of violence. I was to be guarded, and cared for. It wasn’t a deformity. It wasn’t a permanent part of my identity. It was a disorder, something that could be treated and healed.
The doctor didn't comment, and looked to my sister for a response. She just rolled her eyes and shrugged it off as if to say, 'That's Falon. Sarcasm is his second language.'
I slumped in my chair, one hand holding up my head as the doctor looked to his folder. He was new. I had never met him before, but my doctor had retired. Old Dr. Huckabee, the man that had been the first person to make me laugh, had decided to go to Florida and soak up some rays with his senile wife.
The doctor in front of me was maybe a little older than my sister, who was only a few years away from thirty. It was just around the corner, but she didn't like to be reminded.
I could see my sister flirting with him too. She wasn't aware, at least I didn't think she was, of how she was absentmindedly twirling her hair or exactly how much she was blinking.
I had read somewhere that girls blinked more than guys. I could believe it too, seeing how rapidly Ava was blinking.
“Falon?” the good doctor said, and I looked to him. He was smiling faintly. “I'm Dr. Marstens, but you can call me Jesse if it'd make you feel more comfortable,” he replied.
I raised the one eyebrow I had. “I think I'm good,” I said, and Ava shot me a glare.
“Dr. Marstens, why I scheduled this appointment is because Falon's been complaining about some pain lately, and Dr. Huckabee had scheduled another skin gra-”
As my sister went into mother mode, I looked around the office, staring at the plaques, and diplomas. The man definitely made sure you knew he was a Harvard graduate. The diploma was like a huge sign to prove he wasn't hurting for money.
My college options? The community college or the open road. The open road was my pick, the college, my sister's. She wanted me to have an education. I was barely getting through the minimum, and I was home schooled.
I had tried going to public school after I turned into a walking matchstick. Things hadn't went to well. A group of kids had started calling me Freddy Krueger, I came back with some stupid joke, and the next thing I knew, one kid had a broken jaw, and I had a broken nose, bruises, and blood all over my knuckles.
We both got suspended, but I never went back. I saw no point.
Ava was a good teacher, don't get me wrong, but the whole educational thing never really clicked with me.
Running, that I was good at. I wanted to buy an old truck, and just drive, no maps, no idea where I was going. Just drive, really fast, away from hospitals, and a normal life.
But that was the dream. The reality was three days a week at a community college, living with my sister, and working
