My eyes cast warily over the figure in front of me, having already accepted that my mind was about to pick out every last detail whether it was positive or not. The improvement was drastically visible and left me wondering what ounce of the Adelaide I had witnessed in the hospital was still left within me. Mentally, I was certain that I was a newly found individual, with a fresh set of incentives and a completely reverted outlook on everything I faced around me. Its cause was simple- the relaxed boy sat behind me with his ruffled hair and questionable, but desirable ways of thinking.
He sat against my headboard, watching me in wander as my eyes greeted his in the mirror. I refused to hold his gaze for long, soon returning my attention to the strong girl in front of me. I had come in leaps and bounds, my body was arguably stronger than it had been before the accident and I smiled contently at my reflection. My skin for once held a healthy glow, the tips of my cheeks being healthily pink while the rest of my body remained content in its frame.
However, the small smile gracing my lips soon fell at the realisation that not every smear of the frail body I had once consumed was gone. My hands instinctually flew to the hem of my shirt, lifting the fabric to reveal my battered ribcage. I sighed, losing what contentment had filled me as the painstaking sight was absorbed by my mind.
The area, despite the length of time that had passed since it's awakening, was still as distressing as it had ever been. It had slowly been healing, and whether there was any physical evidence of that or not, I persisted to remind myself to avoid the thoughts that I knew would eat away at every inch of self-esteem I possessed.
It was no longer painful to touch, but the sight of it was a different story. As I stood solemnly staring at it, the image only seemed to grow more distasteful.
To put it simply, it was ugly. It hugged my ribs aggressively, leaving the skin little chance to breathe under the swarming weight of scar tissue and bruised flesh.
My fingers ran slowly over the disfiguration, its body extending across to the other side of my stomach. I sighed at the scar, the weight it held as a reminder pushing any concerns about how it looked out of the window, yet even now I couldn't be certain on its origin.
"Adelaide," Luke called, moving to shift his body away from the bed. "Don't torture yourself."
His feet padded quietly along the floor, settling behind me as his hands softly grasped my shoulders. I flittered my eyes up to greet his in the mirror once again, his expression pleading me sorrowfully to stop my self-doubting.
"It isn't worth it," he said quietly, dropping his chin to pepper a succession of soft kisses onto my shoulder.
"It's just repulsive-"
"You really think I care about that?" he questioned rhetorically with a sad smile. "I don't. You should know that. It's all artificial. I don't look at you and think that your scars define who you are. I look at them with admiration because they show what you've overcome. You need to see past what they look like and instead focus on what they represent. What you were fighting for was surely worth more than a wound that couldn't taint your beauty even if it were smothered over every inch of your skin. You just need to realise that, and it gets better with time too."
"What does?"
"Accepting it for what it is. I've learnt to accept that my scars are part of who I am. Every scar, every scratch, every bullet hole, were all for the benefit of someone else. I'd take them again and again for the safety of someone I care about. In my eyes they are never a weakness."
"Can I see them?" I asked tenderly, not wanting Luke to become uncomfortable. He shrugged my apprehension off, moving to swiftly remove his shirt and exposing his battered chest. "How many do you have?"
