I dig deeply at my skin that is right next to the device.

Claw.

Cut.

But all I end up doing is scraping off my skin on my fingers and face; the instrument without a dent.

A teacher passes by me and freezes at the sight of me. She quickly takes me to the nurses office.

I sit on the bed as the teacher talks to the nurse as I silently try to explain once more the truth.

I want out.

I want my voice to be heard, but it seems that with the mask, it will never be heard.

The nurse cleans and dresses my wounds. The disinfectant stings and I flich when she rubs it in with a cotton ball. She holds my hands like I'm glass ready to break.

Maybe I'm already broken.

She does the same thing with my face, but instead of flinching I take the pain. I close my eyes and my eyelids flinch instead of my head.
She says that she is going to call my parents. My line of a mouth faces down with my gaze. She tries to cheer me up, but the only time a ghost of a smile appears on my masked face is when Kiran runs into the nurses office. Her bouncing blonde hair coming right behind her. She pauses when she sees me, my face covered with bandages. She cracks a few jokes, but it seems that her sparkle has dimmed. Her body less skipping and hopping and more walking and scuffling on the cold, tile floor. The tone goes off three times and she hugs me goodbye before walking out the door. She stays silent, not a jeer or snarky comment comes out of her mouth. Her hair follows behind her like a crepping ghost.

My gaze doesn't waver once my parents arrive. Once Mother catches sight of me she's up all in my face. Cuddling me like I'm a 7-year-old child.

I gently push her away.

Look to the floor.

And pray that I didn't accidentally enrage the monster.

God only knows what happens at home.
And to think that that would change today...
Father grunts at me and turns toward the door. The nurse waves goodbye as we depart from school; Mother hugging my side and Father stomping in front of us.

We enter the car and pull out of the car park, Father at the wheel. He stops at a red traffic light then turns to Mother and I. "Why did you do that?"

I just look down at the car floor and Mother hugs my side harder. "What? Not going to talk to me, dork?"

"His name's Doak," Mother corrects him quietly.

"I don't care," Father turns around and the light turns green.

The rest of the car ride home is filled stifing silence and with my gaze facing the floor. Mother tries to talk to him, but everytime he says that he's not in the mood. I pray that she would stop. It will only make it worse. It's apparent that he is already enraged. In the car, time and silence stretches forever. If I dare to breathe it will be loud enough to be the equivalent of me yelling porfanities at Father. Or maybe the air is too thick for me to breathe; so thick that one could cut it with a knife. My arms are limp. I just have to wait this out. This ride that will never end and yet end way too quickly. I see that trees and lamp posts fly by through the window.

How I wish I could fly away from this car. This life. This world.

Father parks the car in the garage.
"Come here, dork," Father says.

He grabs the door, and pulls it out almost making the hinges pop out. He grabs me by the collar of my shirt, dragging me to the concrete beside the car. Slamming the door behind me with a loud thud, he lifts my body like I was nothing.

Maybe that's what I am to Father.