Scarred Perfection

Chapter Three

When I was twelve years old, I broke my left arm playing football. I still remember how it just hung limply by my side as I cried my eyes out. Thankfully, though, the hospital was just down the road so it was only a few minutes of agony waiting to get there. If truth be told, once the shock wore off and I got used to the dull ache in my arm, it didn't really hurt. Maybe that's why I became so obsessed with my image.

It was summer when it happened, so I was forced to spend hours indoors while my friends at the time were outside playing, or going to water parks and funfairs. I found myself reading fashion magazines, shopping and trying to master the smoky eye effect.

I like to think that that was the summer when I grew up. Because I acquired the injury playing sports, I was completely turned off them by that point. I watched all of the 'cool' movies that I had previously missed, and I found myself reading about how to be popular. I felt the need to find new friends, since my football friends had ditched me because I could no longer play sports with them.

So, when summer finally came to a close, and my cast was finally off, (luckily- or unluckily, if you want to look at it that way- I had broken it at the start of summer, so it was off two days before we returned to school.) I found myself becoming the epitome of a Mean Girl. With my make-up making the pre-teen acne disappear, my hair perfectly straight and all of my clothes a disgusting shade of pink, I ruled the school. I even had a group of 'hang-ons' that did everything I asked.

Sometimes I wished I had went back to playing football. Even if my friends have unceremoniously ditched me, I was good at it- much better than I was at music or art, at least.

I don't know why the memory returned as I lay still, with what felt like a lumpy bed beneath me. Maybe it was because I couldn't move any part of my body- let alone my left arm. The pain was ten times worse, too. Maybe it was because the pain seemed centered on the left side of my body. But the pain I felt there was nothing compared to the burning sensation I felt searing across my face. It was worse than any feeling I had ever had. 

But no matter how much pain I was in, I couldn't cry out or move. I was completely immobile.

 Immediately, I began to panic. Was I dead? I quickly dismissed the question. How could I be in such pain if I was dead? Then the big question hit me; was I... in a coma? 

It seemed possible, since I could feel the pain and couldn't move, but... how? How did I get there? What happened to me? Would I make it through whatever happened to me? Terror welled up in me, and my heart rate spiked up. Thousands more questions flitted across my mind, but I had no answers to any of them. I couldn't tell if I ever would.

All of a sudden, my head started to feel foggy. I felt myself drifting off into a new place, where nothing hurt and dreams came through.

                                                                                       *

The next time I regained consciousness, I was finally able to open my eyes. My lids fluttered for a moment as I tried to get them suited to the stark whiteness of the room I was in. After a moment, I could kind of focus on the area, even though it still slightly hurt. It was just small room, it only had a bed, - which I was currently occupying- a bedside table covered with teddies, cards, colourful flowers and a few deflated helium balloons. On my right were a collection of different beeping machines, none of which I could name, or give uses for. I looked back over to the bedside table, and something I saw made my heart stop, then restart in double time.

Five of the cards had 'Happy Birthday' on them. 

 I gasped, but immediately regretted it when a searing pain crossed my throat. The door of my room suddenly opened, and I looked away from the cards to see that it was a woman wearing blue scrubs.

"You're awake," She sounded surprised, and I quickly tried to figure out why she would be. My birthday was the twenty fourth of November. Why...

The party. The party was the first. I haven't been conscious for twenty four days.

The machine beside me started to beep too fast. The hospital room suddenly felt too cramped, too hot. The nurse just continued to look at me in utter disbelief, and it was all I could do to not yell at her to stop. True, I was used to people gawking at me, but this... this made me uncomfortable. As if there was something wrong with my face.

"Um. I'm going to get your mother. She just went for coffee. Rowan, calm down, okay? It's not... it's not as bad as it looks," She walked quickly out of the room and I concentrated on slowing my heart beat.

In. It's okay.

Out. This is just a bad dream.

In. The pain will go away soon.

Out. There is nothing wrong with my face.

I continued this method until I heard the footsteps that could only belong to my mother- loud, quick moving steps. For such a petite woman, she really made a lot of noise.

"Rowan!"

I looked up and was shocked to see my mother's face covered in tears. I instantly felt guilty. Whatever I did, I shouldn't have. Though I couldn't properly remember anything of my last bout of consciousness, I remembered the party, and drinking too much.

"Mam," I croaked, the pain, once again, searing across my throat, "Mam, what's going on? What's wrong with my... my face?" The last part was a whisper, and I could see her trying to hold back more tears.

"Rowan, when you hit that tree you- you hit it face first. The doctors tried everything they could, but there's still a lot of scarring left-"

My mind whirred. Without my looks, I had nothing. I held back the scream that was threatening to break free. I couldn't believe that this was actually happening. Even in my worst nightmares, things like this didn't happen. I took a deep breath, ignoring the pain that caused, and whispered, "Do you have a mirror?"

My mother looked at me, and I realised how this must be affecting her too. This wasn't just about me. I had to be strong for her too. With a shaking hand, she rooted through her bag, and after a moment came up with a small mirror. I closed my eyes as I took it, trying to ready myself. "It couldn't be that bad," I thought.

But it could.

A horrified scream rang out, and it took me a moment to realise that it was me screaming. My mother had broken down in sobs again, but I barely noticed, too busy staring at the ugly scars all across my face.

The worst stretched from my temple down as far as my neck. Others were across my cheeks and forehead. There was even one a centimeter from my right eye. I couldn't look away from the face in the mirror, yet that was all I wanted to do. You could see that I was still beautiful, under the scars. 

Scarred perfection.

But who would care enough to look past that? 

*********

Yes, I know it's been SO long since I've uploaded, but I really have been busy and just writer's blocked. You know yourself, haha. Sorry if the chapter is crap- I'll be editing the whole thing when I'm finished writing it. I'm also currently on summer holidays, so I plan on writing for at least half an hour each day. 

Thank you for staying around, and I hope you liked the chapter :)

-Roisin