#wanted to write my own lil spin on scar's character bc he is so so intriguing to me

[boundbysand]

i can scarce get by

life series (ambiguous, written with secret life in mind) scar character introspection drabble. 731 words. warnings are a bit difficult to word for this- i'd say cw for self loathing/hatred and manipulation.

Scar has never been sure of who he is, but he's more than sure of what he can do. Whether that's a good thing or not is up in the air.

-

Scar's smiles do not meet his eyes.

They rarely do, at least. At this point he's almost never sure if they're real or not in the moment. He realizes, afterward, how much energy it had been taking to paste them on. How much he just wants to sleep now. Sleep doesn't seem to be enough, never will be, but he thinks it's the most he'll get. Anything more is unreasonable to wish for.

He wishes, time and time again, that his cheerfulness could be real. That it didn't feel performative most of the time.

Then he smiles at people again, sharp and with too many teeth, fake fake fake, and doesn't think they deserve his real smile. If they believe him, if they're this easy to trick, then he'd rather keep any genuine joy to himself.

It makes him sick.

Whether what makes him feel ill is other people being so stupid as to so easily believe him or his willingness, his ease in manipulating them, he's not sure. He thinks it might be both. Wonders if it's allowed to be both.

It comes as easy as breathing to him. Weaving a story so convoluted one simply gives up and relents, their head spinning too much to make any sense of the mess of words Scar offered. Sprinkling in little lies to reassure someone. Convincing someone wholeheartedly that what he's doing is right, is good, when he's not sure himself.

He does it to survive, he knows. Everyone manipulates in a death game. Not all of them manipulate outside of them, too, but- well. Not all of them had to do it to survive beforehand either.

He avoids the topic of his days before, both with others and with himself. It's not important, no matter how much it weighs on his shoulders and affects everything he does, his actions, his thoughts, his being as a whole.

If he tells himself it isn't important, it isn't.

He is the way he is now and there's no going back. All he can do now is survive.

So he does. He lies, he fakes cheer, he fakes his personality, he manipulates.

The shame and guilt eat him alive inside, a monster all of his own creation existing low and deep in the pit of his intenstines, devouring him minute by minute, consuming his entire being until Scar isn't sure he's Scar anymore. He is the beast, ugly and horrifying and evil, and he is Scar. They might be the two most opposite creatures alive. They might be the same creature entirely.

It's unclear whether or not the monster was always there, or if Scar created it himself, or if the world's cruel hands placed it, piece by burning piece, inside of Scar from the moment he was born. He knows the answer. He will remain adamant that he did it to himself regardless.

Scar knows he is not to blame. Scar knows he is every bit as ugly and appalling as he thinks he is, and it is his fault.

Scar is contradiction, wrapped up in a fake smile and a crumbling psyche.

He is friendly, self-sacrificing, and joyous.

He is hate-filled and mean, selfish, and miserable.

He puts on a mask, a face others would much prefer to see than the Scar only he knows, at the detriment of himself because he knows he won't be accepted any other way.

It works, too. It works so goddamn well it's sickening.

People like him. People trust him.

It makes him feel powerful, appeased and admired, on top of the world. He thinks it might be all he needs, to feel this way.

It makes him feel deplorable, queasy and ashamed, like the scum of the earth. He wants to claw every inch of skin off of his face with his own bare hands until all that remains is the real him.

Ugly and bloody and dripping red. Angry and envious and selfish.

He smiles, he holds the mask tighter. A private dance he plays with himself every moment of every day, himself and nothing like himself all at the same time.

He wonders if anyone will ever realize the difference. One day, maybe, someone will notice how dull his eyes look when he smiles.