The Makeover [LONG HIATUS]

Chapter 9 - She was beautiful

Chapter 9 - She was beautiful

"But not from Mike, we're finding out who this is."

"Are you crazy?" Layla hissed, tugging on the hem of my shirt and pulling me down. My features molded into a frown, as I noticed the fear in Layla's eyes.

She wiped away the tears from earlier and took a few deep breaths, before kicking my chair and practically ordering me to sit down, looking past me at something as she tapped her stiletto impatiently.

"We can't do this." She whispered, her voice barely reaching 30 decibels. She ran a trembling hand through her hair and looked at me, desperation lingering in her eyes. Her shoulders shuck as she let out a quite sob, covering her face with her hands.

"I know what this person is capable of, Charlie." She stuttered and breathed shakily, refusing to look me in the eye as she drifted away into her own little wonderland. Tears ran down her cheek, carrying her mascara down with them, as they decorated her cheeks with muddy brown streaks.

"I've got scars to prove it." Her voice cracked slightly as she broke out of the trance she was in and looked at me.

I had never seen Layla like this, vulnerability was dripping from her tone. Normally, it would be her coaxing me, reassuring me that everything would be 'okay'. Never had she ever shown me her scars, not the ones that cut her so deeply that it caused liquid to escape from her eyes and run down her cheeks.

It was then when I realized. I realized that everyone has their scars, some people hide them from those closest to them, or even those who they trusted with their malicious plans to hurt another. I hid my scars from my parents, physically induced, as well as emotionally induced. Though they had faded, leaving only thin lines showing the terrible acts those who detested me had done, they would always be there. I had repeatedly told myself that my scars were the most beautiful parts of me, they showed that I had won a war that someone else had started, like Winston Churchill.

For others, it was not the case. I had never been in a situation like Layla before. She had scars from her war, which she forfeited, letting her bullies win. But in the end, she gained what they had, popularity. She ran away from her wars, ignoring everyone that hurt her, in the end she escaped and they were left to pick up the pieces, kind of like Adolf Hitler, but a culture and religion tolerant one. Yes, she had ran away and escaped from one war, but her beauty had gotten her another war to fight. An even more dangerous one.

After escaping from one war, her beauty attracted unwanted attention from a sexual predator. Someone who would do anything to have her to himself, including murder. It was then that I realized, that everyone had scars. I did, so did the popular girls at school, so did Obama. Some of us had the same scars, induced by the same situations. Others, had completely different scars, which somehow tied us up and made fate push them together.

I also realized, that I was next in line to end up with the same scars as Layla.

"Fine, I won't do anything."

$$$

Unknown POV

She was beautiful, in the pictures and in person.

"Fine, I won't do anything." Her mellifluous voice rang throughout my ears, I watched as she got up, out of her seat and walked away from the table, leaving Layla alone after exchanging 'goodbyes'.

A sadistic smirk spread along my lips, as I stared at the brunette beauty sitting at her table, alone.

Alone.

"Silly girl, she should have ran away the second her eyes met mine." I thought to myself, breathing out a laugh as I recalled the look of recognition and fear appear in her eyes when she saw me. She always had been the brightest crayon in the pack, one of the main reasons I had wanted her.

Getting out of my chair, I winced slightly as it scraped against the rough ground, making a high pitched sound that could make The Rock cry. The sound didn't go unnoticed by Layla, her little head bobbed up, eyes meeting mine. She frantically looked around the little Café that she had dragged her little friend to, making sure there were witnesses, as I walked closer to her table.

I could kill her in a restaurant full of cops and not be noticed, it was cute that she thought people would risk their own lives to protect her though. Maybe I was wrong, maybe she isn't the brightest crayon in the pack.

Her expression hardened as I sat in the chair her friend had been sitting in, it was still warm.

I stared at the girl in front of me, whilst savoring the feeling of Charlie's warmth against me. It was the closest I would get to touching her, or being near her.

"For now." I reminded myself, reminiscing the events that had occurred earlier this week. Charlie had become a popular girl now and if I knew anything about popular girls — which I do, ask Layla — then I know popular girls couldn't resist me, all it took was timing and a good introduction, then they were mine.

"Back for me already?" Layla smirked, tapping her stiletto on the floor impatiently, one of her qualities that made me want to grab her head and snap her neck.

"You're in big, big trouble princess. You have a lot of talking to do." I grinned, scrolling through my contacts until my finger hovered above his name. I grin spread across my face as I tapped on his name and chose the message option.

Where are you? if you're late I'll break every single bone in your hands and make it look like an accident.

I typed up violently, giving the phone my full attention. It was better than listening to whatever the witch in front of me had to say.

"I'll start talking when Chase gets here." Layla huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back into her seat, clearly irritated at the minimal attention I was giving her, things weren't like this before.

"It's all her fault." My conscience reminded me, just as my expression began to soften, I hardened it again, returning to my blank stare.

"I'm already here"

$$$