Imdalind 01 - Kiss of Fire

that I could throw girls into ceilings, forget that Ry kept trying to kiss me.
    “I gotta go.” I was sure the disappointment in my voice was not missed. I grabbed my bag and started heading toward the door.
    “Hey, Jos,” Wyn caught up with me, catching me before I disappeared through the door. Her inadvertent use of Ryland’s nickname for me sent a shiver up my spine. “I’m sorry I brought it up. I didn’t know it was a taboo thing. I’ll pretend I never saw it.” She smiled at me, her voice sincere.
    “Thanks, Wyn, It’s just,” I hesitated; I had to tell her something. “It’s just that that… thing… has kind of ruined my life.”
    “Don’t let it anymore, ’kay?”
    I nodded and her face brightened.
    “So, don’t go. I won’t mention it again, and we still have a stupid movie to watch.”
    “Thanks, Wyn, but I do have to go. I actually do have homework to do.” I tried to sound indifferent, but I wasn’t sure it worked.
    “Oh, okay. I’ll see you tomorrow then?”
    I just nodded in agreement, shutting the door to her apartment behind me.

    I stood outside Wyn’s apartment complex for about ten minutes trying to decide where to go. I needed to talk to my mom; I didn’t know what I would say to her that wouldn’t end in a fight, but I felt so naked and exposed after Wyn’s innocent discovery of my mark. I made sure my hair covered the right side of my face before I turned my long board in the direction of the bus that would take me into the wealthy district of town.
    There were still about forty-five minutes until dinner would be served in the LaRue’s dining hall, meaning my mom still had about two hours or more of work. Rather than wait at home, alone, for her to get there, I opted to face the hustle of the big kitchen at dinner time. Spending 40 minutes alone on the bus was still better than waiting alone for two or more hours before she would get off.
    The bus stopped and I quickly boarded. The neon lights were already on, illuminating the plastic seats and metal floor with a strange blue glow. I made my way to the middle and sat with my hood up, backpack sitting on my lap, my head leaning against the glass. As the blue sky deepened around me, it felt like everything inside loosened up, calming down and becoming brighter.
    Wyn had said I had let the mark ruin my life. At first I wasn’t exactly sure what that meant. To me, my life seemed to be pretty okay. I had a great best friend, a mother who really cared, and I did well in school. But I also hated school because it meant that I had to be around other kids - that I had to hide.
    But I didn’t “have to” do anything. I didn’t “have to” cover myself up; I didn’t “have to” pretend to be invisible. Maybe Cynthia only saw something off in me because I made her see me that way.
    I had been hiding myself because of the mark, not letting anyone get too close. I wouldn’t let myself make any friends. The only reason I let Ryland in, is because he had been persistent; he had held my hand as I got over my insecurities and he had promised, from a young age, to always be there. So, without Ry, I was friendless and alone. My mother worked upwards of sixty hours a week, my best friend wasn’t really allowed to be my friend, and I was picked on at school.
    My life did suck, and all because I allowed a stupid scar to destroy me.
    I laid my head against the back of the seat and watched as the city lights of old-fashioned neon and new-aged fluorescent blended together in a rainbow blur of color until the city lay far behind and ever-expanding houses lay before me.
    There had been a reason I let the mark control my life, and as much as I rationalized my behavior, my loneliness, the fact still remained that I was broken, that my dad didn’t want me. Mark or no mark, the outcome would be the same.
    My parents’ last fight still haunted me; I would still revisit it in monthly nightmares, the screaming more intense, more audible, more of the blame placed on me. I would wake up covered in sweat, only to turn over and cry into my pillow in the desperate hope that my mom wouldn’t hear. She never did.
    I exited the bus, grateful for the evening air that swirled around me. My long board clicked loudly as I traveled the last five minutes of alleys and side streets until I arrived at the door to the kitchen.
    The click-click of the long board ricocheted around my head as the fight replayed again. It still rattled me, it still