Chapter Two: Scars

My name is Scar.

Actually, I have no name. My parents never gave me one. I was abandoned one day on the side of

the road when I was sixteen.

I lost most of my memories of when I was young; all I remember was my dad pushing me onto

the ground out of his car and my head slamming on the hard concrete floor, blood leaking everywhere.

That is my only memory of that time, my family, and my past.

I named myself Scar. I have a lot of scars. I don't trust people; I never feel comfortable with

people; I'm afraid of them. I named myself Scar because of my issues. I have so many scars in my

heart, on my body, and in my soul. To survive on the streets I was left on, and getting myself to

where I am now, took a lot on my mental health.

After my parents left me on the ground bleeding, all alone. People passed by on their phones,

laughing, kissing, living while I was just a speck of dirt, meaningless as if I wasn't even a person

worthy of care and attention. I stayed still on the ground for a whole day, watching people walk on

me and next to me, not even caring about my bleak existence. That day I stayed there until I fell

slowly asleep.

The next day I woke up in someone's living room, my whole body feeling stings but less pain than

when I was on the concrete ground. I looked around. It was a fancy place. Not your typical fancy

over the top place, but you could feel that it was elevated and had a sense of culture. There were

unique art pieces that looked delicate and expensive. One of the luxurious items was a gigantic

painting of Seoul times square, equivalent to the popular one in New York.

I tried pushing myself up from the couch I was lying on and looked around to see a handsome

older man grooming his body hair with an old razor. He had a nice body for his age, slightly hairy,

slightly chubby, but in a good way. In a way that makes you feel warm and fuzzy if you cuddled

him. I think I must've been on drugs not to have been shocked or yelled for help. But for some

reason, I was calm. Maybe it was because I had nowhere else to be, and this place was better than

the cold, harsh ground I was abandoned at.

"Ummm, hey, where am I? Who are you?"

I shouted in a semi-alarmed / fatigued tone.

He glanced up away from his body and looked at me for a couple seconds.

The man put down his razor on the kitchen table to groom himself. He got up and walked towards

me. Completely naked.

My heart started to race; the first thing that came to mind was...

I was going to be eaten alive.

I closed my eyes when he was centimetres away from my face.

I was shaking as he began to touch me. He touched my wounds and patted my head. He began to

use me like an exquisite toy that he had acquired. Slowly kissing my body. He started from my feet.

Where he caressed and smelled them, he began to lick my toes one at a time. When he was satisfied with my toes. He began to go up to my legs slowly.

He nibbled at my body hair and kept licking me till he reached a susceptible part of me. A body

part that was already growing harder with the attention he gave my delicate, wounded body. Every

cell of my wanted to throw up, cry, and beg him not to touch me.

Instead, I lay there frozen.

I stared at the clock near the kitchen table while he used every inch of my body for pleasure.

This went on for months and months. The man would tie me up to a metal pole in his living room,

and anytime he craved my body, he would come to take it. And I would just let him. I was numb,

tired, and far in a dark hazy place in my heart.

He gave me a canvas and painting supplies when he wasn't using me.

And he would say;

"Until you finish one painting a day, you will not eat, you will starve, and I will take your energy

over and over."

So I painted. And I painted. Painting became my escape from my fears and loneliness. This

happened until one day; he passed away. And suddenly inherited all of his assets, and I became rich

in a blink of an eye.

One day, his personal secretary came to his home where I was confined, and she freed me. The

secretary sat me down, unchained me from the pole, and let me know that the rich man who used

me as his fucking slut, put all his inheritance and fortune under my name. Overwhelmed by

everything, I just nodded to anything she showed me regarding the inheritance. Once that was

over, I was sitting in his living room with all the lights turned off, confused, lost, angry, and sad.

We never talked, he never asked for my name, and I never asked for his. I was just an object of

pleasure for him.

And I took his wealth as a consolation prize for all the shit life threw at me. I sold his home, and I

started over in my personal comfy rock away from humans.

Now I live in my own little world under a rock and do not care for any human drama except the

news that goes through the walls I have surrounded myself with. Every day I paint, listen to music,

watch anime and eat the same thing. Ramyeon. And my only friend is Rine. She is from Montreal

in, Canada. We never met in real life; we met through an online art exhibition chatroom and

became virtual companions ever since.