The cloth shifted uncomfortably around her arm. She liked it, the way the pressure made the blood flow in all different directions. And she loved how the dirty cloth made her arm sting with displeasure. She sat there quietly, reading as if nothing earlier in the night had upset her. She was of course, upset. But not like before. Before she had been crying, and before she was so angry, she couldn’t think. But now she was simply upset. She had to admit, it felt good again, like taking a drag on a cigarette after almost a month of no smoking. And just like always, the first was the deepest. In the confines of her room, she chuckled, because for now it was ok. The feeling of release completely soothed her body. Her body, propped by various pillows and blankets, seemed limp as her hand lazily held up the book, turning the pages every other minute.

She was snug and warm under her large comforter, but there was no need for it anyway, the day had been unusually warm. Her friends and she enjoyed a nice walk in the midst of March, taking in the fact that they, for once, were not stuck in someone’s house.

She was a sophomore in high school, and everyone knew. People noticed her, and that’s what she wanted, she wore dark skinny leg jeans and band shirts under a small framing sweatshirt. She wore converse and fingerless gloves, and was never without her eye liner, to darken her light brown eyes.

She had a fair amount of friends, or people she actually talked to. Her friends were all on the “outside” of whatever group everyone else was in. She liked their company, and their jokes. But she couldn’t help but be annoyed with them. Their imperfections seemed so obvious to her, but they were happy and most of them sane. That’s what annoyed her the most.

She flipped her shoulder length brown hair over her shoulder, placed her bangs behind her ears and continued reading. After a few minutes her bangs fell into her eyes again. annoyed, she pulled her side bangs under a black and white polka dot head band. She fussed with her shirt for a while, glancing down at the ace bandage over her wrist. Her fingers traced the words on the page and then moved to rub her dry eyes. She blinked twice, revealing light brown behind contacts. Satisfied, her eyes continued to scan the pages of Harry Potter.

“Hana!”

She paused at the sound of her mother’s voice and smiled, despite the tone. Hana was European, but when she was born her parents, who had both fallen in love with Japan, decided to give their daughter a very traditional Japanese name. Hana was very grateful for her name, but Americans could not understand that her name was “Hana” not “Hannah”. Hana’s moment of bliss suddenly shifted into pure displeasure.

“What?!” she yelled, regardless of her sleeping siblings, too annoyed at her mothers interruption to care.

“Come down here right now!” Her mom sounded angry. Or stressed. It made no difference to Hana. She was in a bad mood what ever it was.

Hana swung her feet over the end of her bed. She slipped her feet into slippers, walked over to the closet and pulled out a sweater. Hiding the ace bandage she put around her wrist. She stepped around the mess in her room and hopped down the stairs. Her mother stood, waiting in the living room. She was a stern looking woman with a black bob that graced her shoulders. She stood only 5’2” and was very frail looking, especially dressed in her loose fitting clothes.

“Did you spill something?” Her mother pointed to the floor beneath her large feet.

Hana silently thanked her father’s “small feet” gene pools and shook her head in response.

“Well it’s sticky.” Her mother’s hair seemed to bristle from impatience.

“The only thing I had today was grapes. And I didn’t spill those” She coldly stared at her mother, being a good four inches taller than her mother had it’s advantages.

“Well you could have.”

“But I didn’t” Hana retorted sharply.

“It’s never you who makes the mess is it?”

“It wasn’t me this time.” Hana was getting annoyed; her mom just didn’t seem to understand English.

“You didn’t eat anything else?”

“No, mother, why don’t you ask Holly? She was home all day. Or perhaps even Evan? Don’t always assume it was me.”

Before her mom could rejoin, Hana ran back up the stairs and locked the door to her room. She looked at her bed and paused, her “seafloor” colored walls were mostly hidden behind posters and furniture. Her full size bed took up a good forth of the room, causing Hana to have to cram all other objects messily in the corner or, in her dresser. The posters in her room were ordered by wall; anime covered one, the nextfilled with random memorabilia from vacations, to volleyball and fencing teams, the third wall was graced with video games and the fourth had everything that her boy friend, Luis, had given her. Her desk was placed against her bed, as though her bed was a wall, Hana had often banged her head on the back of the desk because she slept too far on one side. The floor of Hana’s room was covered in a thick layer of clothing, paper and sharp objects, which Hana stepped on frequently. She gingerly stepped to her bed and casually took off her sweatshirt (throwing it on the floor) and began to unravel the ace bandage. Down to the final layer, she winced as she found that the skin had tried to heal to the ace bandage, ripping the cut open once again. She quickly wadded up the bandage and threw it on her desk, she found some tissue, she dabbed the beading blood.

If Hana could say one thing about herself and not care how people reacted. It would be the word carved on her arm.

Liar