Survival Of The Fittest

Aracelis was looking in the bathroom mirror. She was checking the scars where she had received stitches, the medics and doctors had worked hard to put her broken face back together, even though the end result didn’t quite fit. It was recognisably her, but to Aracelis herself it was a stranger that stared back from the other side of the mirror. A ghost who had followed her back from the island and now shared the same space as she did. They both had one empty eye and one empty socket, one having seen too much and the other never to see again. With an awkward blink Aracelis broke eye contact with the girl in the mirror and turned the tap on. After a gurgle and a sputter, cold water began flowing out and into the palm of her hands.

She splashed the water onto her face and then dried it off with the towel she’d been provided. After doing so, she picked up the eyepatch from where she’d tossed it onto the closed toilet seat. The doctors had provided her with it too. It was plain black and made from some soft fabric, they had told her what it was when they’d first brought it in but Aracelis hadn’t been listening. Instead she’d only stared in horror at the item itself. Her entire being wanted to refuse, to reject the reality they were trying to force on her and she did, she’d told them that she didn’t want to put something so ugly on her face. But the doctors had been clear, her eye and the socket had taken catastrophic damage, and while they’d been able to save the socket, the softer, more delicate eyeball hadn’t been so lucky and they’d had to remove it. So she and Przemek were halfway to even had been her thought. Meanwhile the doctors continued explaining the eyepatch. It was to protect her empty socket from exposure to any potential germs or irritants in the air. Once she got home she could look into getting a glass eye, but until then it was the eyepatch and there was to be no compromise on that.

So, with a shaking hand Aracelis reached up over her head and put the eyepatch in place, adjusting and adjusting the strap to make sure the fit was comfortable. She fiddled with it some more to make sure it sat nicely underneath her hair, something she told herself was a necessary detail to consider and not actually a delaying tactic. But she could only mess around with meaningless adjustments for so long, and eventually she let out a defeated sigh and looked back into the mirror.

To her surprise, it wasn’t a complete horror show. It wasn’t good. If Aracelis had been able to have her way, she would have had two working eyes, but Bethany had seen to that. It was, however, better than just having to stare into the angry red hole that had previously been on her face whenever they removed the gauze. A bloody void that stared back at her to remind her of her mortality, and of the fact Bethany had likely been in the right to attack her. But Bethany had given Aracelis her best shot, just like Molly had, just like Ashlyn and Juanita had, and they’d all missed. Despite everything that had happened, Aracelis had made it through and was back on mainland American soil. Now all she needed to do was become comfortable with the new face she’d been given.

“Ok,” She called through the closed door to Leslie, who was waiting patiently on a chair in her room. “I’m coming out.”

Leslie sat in Aracelis's room, waiting while she took her time getting ready in the bathroom. He had a sudden stab of nostalgia, recalling his father complaining about how long his mother took getting ready.

It was nice interacting with someone that wasn't a doctor or a nurse. There were only so many hours that Leslie could spend watching reruns of Hell's Kitchen in his room (no there weren't, he could watch stressed out people yelling over pans of risotto forever).

He leaned back in the chair and scratched at the place his IV had been. They weren't on the island anymore, but it still seemed they both trusted only each other.

"OK."

And that trust was still as uneasy as ever.

Don't say ARRRR matey. Don't say ARRRR matey. Don't say ARRRR matey.

That was it, that was all the response she got. Not that she expected anything different from Leslie. It was rapidly becoming clear to Aracelis that Leslie just didn’t speak much, it wasn’t a function of them being on the island. But he was also the one she trusted the most. They’d been with each other since almost the beginning, every single other one of their classmates felt like a stranger to her, like they wouldn’t understand. But Leslie was there waiting for her, to gaze upon her ruined visage, a patron analysing a ruined sculpture, judging how beautiful it must have been once upon a time.

Aracelis’ hand was gripping the door handle of the bathroom, feeling the coldness of the metal radiate through her fingers before her body heat warmed it up. She took two deep breaths before pushing down and swinging the door open to reveal herself to Leslie.

Leslie, who for his part looked much the same. He’d lost weight during their time on the island, obviously, but aside from that he was recognisable as the same person who she had originally met. He was basically untouched, Aracelis couldn’t even remember a time he had been hurt aside from when he’d been hit by the stun gun.

Aracelis felt a stab of jealousy towards him for that. They’d been a team but somehow all of the injuries had been borne by her, not him. He’d escaped intact, with every part of him remaining attached and no major injuries. If you looked at the pair of them stood next to each other then you would have never guessed they’d gone through the exact same ordeal.

After a pregnant pause where Aracelis could feel Leslie’s eyes burning into her she finally asked the obvious question.

“How does it look?”

"Arrrr--"

FUCK

"Uh, are you happy with it?"

He shifted, picked up an old copy of Highlights off the table next to his chair, and rolled it up as a way to occupy his hands. Leslie wanted to tell her that sometimes flaws were what made things even more beautiful because it made them unique. Would that statue of the stacked Greek chick have been as famous if she had her arms? Would the Liberty Bell be as visited without that crack?

Leslie breathed out his nose and tilted his head contemplatively.

"Eye patches are hot. Well -- not to me specifically but, you know, hot people kindda stay hot and eye patches, they make you look cool."

Leslie also suddenly thought that that mandated therapy couldn't come soon enough.

"I'm trying to be normal. I'm not gonna lie and say it's gonna be like it was. Things never stay the same. But... I didn't lie just now either."

She nearly snapped at him. Nearly, but she managed to hold back from spitting venom at him. When Leslie asked Aracelis what she thought of it many different thoughts passed through her head, all negative. She hated it, thought it made her look ugly, would be an eternal reminder of everything that had happened. A big ugly blemish on her face.

But luckily Leslie kept talking so Aracelis couldn’t descend deeper into the pit she had been digging for herself.

He also said, or at least implied, that he thought she was hot. Something that Aracelis was happy to at least welcome. It drew the beginnings of a smile across her lips, her remaining eye brightening somewhat relative to the dark material of the eyepatch.

“I guess so,” She said, moving further into the room and sitting down on the bed. Then for a moment her features darkened and her brow creased as she contemplated a question.

“Will you,” She began, voice subtly faltering and growing softer and gentler. “Will you stay in touch after we go home?”

Leslie pressed his back all the way into the chair he was sitting in. Aracelis looked like she might rear back and swing on him. But then she relaxed a little and smiled. He must have said something right to a woman for the first time ever.

She moved closer and sat on the bed now and he raised his eyebrow at the serious expression she wore.

"Huh?"

Leslie let out relieved sigh.

"Who else am I gonna talk to? Of people who get it. Like I'm gonna get ice cream and sleepover with Matthew and Juanita?"

He moved his gaze down to his shoes and flipped the pages of the magazine in his hands.

"I'm not really much of a friends person. Not that I was upset about it, that's just how it is. So I don't really have a lot of other friends. But... y'know, yeah." He looked up and smiled just barely.

"Yeah, I will. You're my friend."