(My body is a monument to pain. A patchwork quilt designed by violence. After the match against Alexis I spent hours putting my body back together...literally. It took almost two hours alone just to remove all the broken glass shards from my body. I'm pretty sure I had more glass in me than I did undamaged skin on me. I even had to spit some out that was cutting my tongue and the inside of my lips. Every part of my body felt like an open wound and truthfully most of it was. I though the Everclear bath I took afterwards was going to kill me. The shock alone probably should have shut down the functions of my body, but it didn't. Sticthing my flesh back together was a painstaking process of time consumption. So many deep lacerations. So many open wounds.

I'm not sure how many stitches I sewed into myself. Nor am I sure how long it took exactly. All I know is that when I was done I was whole again. I walk into my room wearing only a bikini so that I can look over my damaged body to see the short progess it's made in an attempt to heal. The list is extensive. My face has seen better days. My left eye has faded from purple to a putrid yellow with dark spots. That eye also has a scab coming down my cheek slightly from the corner of the eye. Good thing the glass didn't get closer than that. It was too close to really be able to stitch the whole thing. I had to stop before I got up to the corner of my eye. Another set up stitches arcs from the corner of my forehead down into my left eyebrow. Another set of stitches run diagonal across the other side of my forehead, running towards the middle. Three sets of stiches run parallel on my left cheek while on my right cheek is a diagonal set of stitches that are a bit thicker because the cut was deeper.

That's not even the end of my facial wounds. My chin has a couple sets of stitches. The most painful stitches though are the ones running diagonally downward from left to right through my lips. My lips are of course swollen to make it even more uncomfortable. And to top it off there are a billion tiny little scrapes and pinhole cuts from flying glass. Those scrapes and pinholes cover almost all of my body. My body isn't in any better shape than my face. The back of my head and the back of my neck both show the telltale sign of fresh thread in wounds. I have stiches in each shoulder, a series of them in my back. It was a bitch putting stitches in my own back. More frustrating than I could have imagined. Most of these stitches are through bruised skin too. I have more stitches across my left ribs and abs. My legs have some...hell I even have them in my left arm and both hands. Doing my hands was maddening. The thread is loose as hell and I didn't manage a very good patch job on them, but it'll have to do.

I find myself admiring my marred form. Though every subtle movement brings agony I can't help but find the way my destroyed body looks to be attractive. Something about the various colorations and patterns of thread just strikes my fancy. I've earned all the scars that will be left in the wake of this match. Before I can chide myself over my brief moment of vanity I decide to stop looking at my wounds. Grabbing a towel, I shut out the light, and exit my bedroom. I've opted to spend the night alone. I slept all day like the rest of the nocturnal household. I've decided for once to give my body a day of rest. This is a first for me. Usually a day after a fight, regardless of the damage done to my body, I am back to working out. I don't like to relax very much, especially for a whole day, because it makes me feel lazy. Like I'm not doing all I can to achieve my goals. Relaxing often makes me feel like I'm allowing myself to get weaker.

Still, I am trying to force myself to take it easy on me for a day...mostly because I was instructed to do so. So it wasn't my idea to get some rest and recover. I told my father I didn't want to, but he wouldn't hear it. No way I was going to challenge the words he spoke as law. Not this time anyway. It's not like I'm taking orders. I respect him. I respect his power. He knows what he's talking about, but it doesn't mean I have to like it. I know everyone will be watching Days of Our Lives and Young and the Restless right now so the hot tub will be free. My father records them while we all sleep so that we can watch them. Probably part of why he seems grumpier on the weekends, no soaps. My mother only recently started watching them with the group, though she doesn't often stay for a full episode of either show. Something about the shows seems to trigger something in her that often makes her even less pleasant than she was before watching.

I reach the spa room and quickly walk right past the sauna and over to the hot tub. I toss my towel to the floor before stepping into the ridiculously hot water and sitting down. I knew that if I was going to do this I'd have to do it all at once rather than gradually lowering myself in. Not with my flesh looking like a jigsaw puzzle that was hastily put together. As it is I gasp in reaction to the pain that shoots through every part of that has come in contact with the water. The searing agony that fills me tries to take my breath from me. As if my body were taking vengeance on me for what I've put it through. My hands tighten into fists in reaction. It only manages to bring my more pain. My eyes shut tightly as I focus on breathing and regaining my composure. Sweat beads on my forehead in reaction to both the pain and the heat. After a moment I pull myself together and open my eyes. I open my hands from their clenched position and see fresh blood drifting off of them, as if it floats in air, before mixing with the steamy water. I move to make sure I don't have a jet pushing against my back. My back isn't in the shape to handle that kind of pressure against it. Eventually I find myself leaning back and closing my eyes. I don't know exactly when it happens, but I nod off.

For awhile it's as if my consciousness floats and drifts just like the blood from my hands had. Just me, barely aware, floating in a warm void. It's comfort. It's bliss. It's not going to last long enough. Just as my blood had also eventually mixed with the water, so did my mind mix with something. I'm not sure exactly what...darkness maybe. The comfort and happiness are shaken from me as images begin to flood the peaceful void. The warmth gives way to blazing heat. The images flash by so fast I can't keep track of them. I catch glimpses of pieces I recognize. Me hunting with my rock knife. Seeing my mother rise from her grave. Alexis Cage being pathetic.

The images increase in speed. In between each I see something white. A feather. Soon it multiplies, adding more white feathers to itself until it's one giant flapping wing that brings about an image of my past and present with it's every sway. Then within the images another picture suddenly bursts to the forefront. It rotates as if on a loop. Going from right to left, disappearing for a second and then returning to the middle. It stops and for some reason I can't see the ones behind it. Blood runs down the wing as it flaps. Soon the crimson liquid overwhelms the white. The picture in front of everything else begins to become clearer. A familiar face with hollow sockets where eyes should be. Long, light colored hair flowing off from the head. Such anger. Such sorrow. The now red wing ripples as it slowly turns brown. Like it's decaying. Then it crumbles to dust and blows away leaving me with only the head of a soulless man. A violent, uncaring man with no real expression. Just emptiness. The head thrusts forward at me. I practically leap out of my skin as I gasp, sputter, and scream myself to consciousness. My arms thrust upward out of the water as if clawing myself back into reality. My breathing is erratic and heavy. My chest feels hollow. I know that face. I know that uncaring man without a soul.)


(The terror I felt from the dream fades as it's replaced by much deeper emotions. Darkness smothers most of the light within me as I emerge from the water and walk past my towel. I ignore the moisture that runs off me onto the floor. Forget relaxing. I have other things in mind. Things of past, present, and future.)