Chapter 6: The Hidden Wounds

Chapter 6: The Hidden Wounds

---

The Call of Reality

The smell of roasted chicken and rosemary drifts up the stairs, teasing my brain, almost making me forget everything.

Almost.

For a second, I can pretend like today didn't happen. Like the bruises, the whispers, the humiliation—none of it matters.

But then, I move to sit up, and my shoulder screams at me. A sharp pain shoots through, radiating down my ribs like it's reminding me: you're still here, Derrick.

I suck in a breath, trying to ignore it, but I can't.

Reality crashes back down.

The shoves, the laughter, the taunts—they weren't meant to break me physically, just break me down. But somehow, they managed to do both.

The Reflection That Betrays

I glance toward the mirror.

I look at myself.

Pale. Haunted. My hand shakes just a little as I reach up and touch the spot under my collarbone where the bruise is already blossoming.

Great. Just what I needed.

It's not even the pain that hits me. It's the sight of it.

A bruise. A mark. Proof that I didn't fight back.

Proof that I was weak.

Proof that they won.

I try to swallow the lump in my throat. But it doesn't go away.

I turn away from the mirror. Can't keep looking at it. I don't even want to know how bad it is.

I just need to hide this. I need to cover it up.

A Mask of Fabric and Silence

Long sleeves will do the trick for my arms.

But the ribs?

I yank open my drawer with more force than I meant to. My fingers fumble through the mess, searching for something, anything that can hide the damage.

I grab the first thing I see—an oversized sweater. It's way too warm for today, but who cares?

The wool scratches against my skin as I pull it on, the discomfort nothing compared to the guilt gnawing at my insides.

Not for me.

For them.

For my parents.

What would they think if they saw?

I grab a scarf, wrap it tightly around my neck and chest. The layers conceal everything—well, everything that's visible.

One quick glance in the mirror confirms what I already know.

This is all I've got.

This will have to be enough.

Descending into Normalcy

I run a hand through my hair, trying to make it look like I didn't just fall apart.

Then I step out of my room.

The smell of dinner hits me again.

I hear my parents' voices downstairs. Muffled, easy, cheerful.

For a second, I freeze at the top of the stairs.

My chest tightens, my thoughts racing.

How am I supposed to sit down with them and act like everything is fine?

It feels… wrong.

Like I'm pretending to be someone I'm not.

But I have no choice.

I force my feet to move.

One step.

Then another.

The kitchen light spills into the hallway, warm and inviting. I can hear my mom's laugh, that familiar sound that should make me feel safe, should make everything feel normal.

But it doesn't.

Instead, it feels like I'm standing on the outside of a world I don't belong in. Like I'm watching through some invisible wall I can't break through.

No matter how much I hide the bruises, I can't hide the crack inside me.