I look down at my sleeves, fight the urge to scratch my itch. It isn't the same as it was before, something that I could satiate with blood. I'm not allowed to do that anymore. They won't let me. I won't let me. Or rather, I won't let her.
She's been gone for a while now, to regroup. She took quite a lashing in those weeks past, tortured with lasers. It tortured me, too.
People can't see her anymore. She no longer lunges out at people, a cruel raised white amid soft and swollen red. People now see me. They see my face, they see my skin. But they don't see her. They erased her. Only I can bring her back, now.
She's still there, though. People don't see her, I don't even see her. But she's there. She's under my skin, a retreat into me. I may have won the body, but the battle still rages for my mind.
They are helping in my war. They've given me foul pills to swallow, saying that they're even more foul to her. Not their words, but it's what I hear when they speak. It makes sense to me, for once.
Many things make sense, now that I am new. My emotions make sense. My pills make sense. My family makes sense. The poems in my locker make sense.
But I still don't understand Eff.
He still leaves things for me. He still tries to talk to me. I thought I had killed him, my father as my weapon.
They told me I had a new beginning. They told my I could start fresh.
How can I, when he's here?