Danielle’s hand shot out from under the warm covers to brush over the touch-sensor of the beeping alarm pod. A chill crept over her bare arm as it registered the colder air outside the quilt. She slowly turned her head to see the time, her eyes moving sluggishly. 6:45, the clock projected on the wall in big red numbers. Rays of sunlight peeked through the light-sensitive windowpane, slightly illuminating the room. Danielle took a moment to compose her thoughts before springing out of bed and getting ready.
Covering up her scars and bruises was the most difficult thing when it came to school and the general public. Danielle looked down at her wrists that had multiple slits permanently etched on her skin. A fresh cut from last night throbbed with pain. It was still pinkish, and the skin around the cut was puffy and tender. The pain she got from cutting helped her deal with the pain of her life. She had been adopted by her aunt and uncle at the young age of three, a fact she found out on her twelfth birthday, two years ago; however, no one thought she knew. Her mother frequently beat her, leaving brown-black bruises and marks all over Dani’s body.
Ignoring the dull pangs she felt every time she moved her arms or shoulders, Dani used her spray-on cover-up gun to conceal the signs of her suffering. Tan cream covered up the scratch by her collarbone, the bruises down her arm, the slashes on her wrists. The cool spray made her skin prickle with goosebumps. Satisfied with the cover-up, she slipped into her drab school uniform: a stiff, starched white button-up tucked into the waistband of her black trousers. She slipped the blue windcheater over her head and stepped into a pair of black pumps that pinched her toes. She pulled her shiny, black hair into a tight ponytail, before slinging her bag over her shoulders and walking out the door.
The sun beat down with unrivalled intensity, making Danielle squint. She pressed her finger on the fingerprint sensor on her hoverboard, and the mini engine burst to life. Her hoverboard moved speedily and the wind whipped her hair. She saw the plain, square-shaped, many-windowed school in sight before her and sped towards the building.
The rest of her day passed by in a blur, her aches taking center stage. She remembered the smell of disinfectant and sweat in the gym; the cold steel of the tables in the biology lab, leeching the warmth from her hands, and the hard, unforgiving chairs of the classroom desks before she returned home.