The Scar

Meta Series, Part I

He rolled out of bed a little forlorn and feeling as though he had been run over with a truck. Twice. He stumbled into the bathroom, hand pressed hard against his temple. A clean linen bandage was tied around his left palm. He felt of the long bruise that extended down the right-side of his ribcage and his eyeballs throbbed in agony.

Ugh, he thought. What the hell did I get myself into now?

He took a furtive glance over his shoulder and saw an unfamiliar blond, fast asleep and breathing heavily. Her form made quiet waves under the white bedsheets. There's no way she would be waking any time soon.

He blinked away the sleep in his eyes, entered the bathroom and turned on the shower. Steam began to rise toward the ceiling. Unwrapping his hand, he stared, startled at the revelation: this was no ordinary cut of the palm. This was a brand of some sort -- some burn that had all but healed, leaving scar tissue in the shape of a perfect circle encased inside a diamond. Inside the circle was the letter "M."

This isn't normal, he thought. Confusion began to set in as he washed up, letting the hot water peel away the layers of dead skin and dirt. He couldn't recall the last week. This was his apartment, his shower, his person. But the woman in his bed. The scar. The headache and ringing that began to build in his ears. All foreign.

"Mason," she said as she stepped into the doorway. He didn't notice her disrobing as he jumped at her voice. "You forgot to wake me."

"That isn't my name," he said.

"It is now."