𝗜𝗧𝗖𝗛 ✔

𝟎𝟏. 𝐔𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐔𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄

For the fifth time that afternoon, Cara crinkled up the piece of paper she was writing on, ripped it apart, and tempestuosly threw it into the recycling bin.

"Lovely," she muttered.

Maybe I just need some air, she thought as she got up from the blue yoga ball she was sitting on, and opened her bedroom window, breathing in the soft breeze that blew over the frigid January air.

She plopped herself onto the window seat, sighed, and opened YouTube on her phone.

"Cara?" called a voice from downstairs. "Cara, honey, what are you doing?"

Cara rolled her eyes and neglected to respond, biting her lip in frustration.

Does she have to know everything? What's the stupid point?

Footsteps thumped as her mom made her way upstairs. Cara got off the window seat, put her phone down, and went back to her desk with a vexed sigh.

The door to her room opened, the tell-tale being the rusty hinges that squeaked ear-splittingly as her mom stepped in her room.

"Oh. Writing again?" her mom said, rather bluntly. "I see you've done a lot."

"No, Mother, I haven't, actually," Cara said, turning around as the anger boiled up in her again as she looked at the discarded paper balls in the bin. "Will you just please leave me alone? I'm seventeen and very capable of taking care of myself." She feigned a smile.

Her mom sighed before rubbing her temples. A rush of guilt swiftly sweeped through Cara.

"You forgot to take your morning Benedryl. And would you please close the window? You know how your skin gets when the outside are gets all fumbled with the dust in here."

This time, it was the young redhead at the desk who sighed. "Do I have to take it? My skin is getting better. And besides, why can't I open the window like every other normal teenager?"

"Cara, both you and I know you aren't a normal teenager," her mom said firmly. "You need to take the Benedryl now, and I won't take no for an answer. And you will close the window, or I'll bolt it shut."

Cara found herself biting down her anger, which was seemingly teetering at the edge these days.

She glanced down at her arms, which were usually convered in scars. Some blackish, some pearly white. Some covered by red, irritated rashes. To her delight, today they looked better than usual.

Cara had a skin condition called atopic dermatitis.

Some cringed when they hear this, but it wasn't scary, nor was it something to worry about.

Dermatitis was a fancy word for eczema, and Cara had had it since she was a baby. It would get worse, worse, it would get better, there is no real cure. Benedryl prevented her itches. Lotion helped moisturize.

She liked to think her life was unfortunate. It was surprising how eczema was such a big thing in her life when it was such a small reality.