Girl with the Scars {REVISED VERSION}

Chapter One: Scarface

A/N: Hi guys! Here's the moment you've all been waiting for! The first revised chapter! Yay :)

Once upon a time, there was young girl. This girl was so startlingly beautiful, and strangers would often tell her so.

            The little girl would blush and politely say thank you.

            Only if she knew how quickly beauty can be taken away, and once it’s gone, how little one has left.

There was a time the little girl was in store, wearing a pink shirt and purple tutu. She was giggling and twirling around until she accidently ran into an old man. The old man grunted, turned around, and smiled a toothless grin.

            “Hey there, pretty girl,” he rasped.

            The little girl tried to leave, but the man tightly grabbed her wrist. “Pretty girl. I wish I had a pretty girl like you.”

            He let go of her and the child believed being pretty was a curse.

My beauty was replaced by horror with a long, silvery scar, running from my right eyebrow to the end of my jaw.

I started hiding my face the day a little boy whispered loudly to his mom, “What’s wrong with her face?”

            I walked away, pretending I didn’t hear, tears burning my eyes. I brushed my hair out from behind my ear, letting it split my vision in strips of blonde.

            I haven’t cut my hair since.

My scar was a reminder, haunting me in very mirror I see, every time people stare and whisper.

            The reminder was of a hell I so narrowly escaped.

The first few times Social Services found me nice foster homes in England.

            But he would always come back and take me. Always.

            But I would always want him to come and get me. Always.

            Finally, they decided it would be best to ship me off to America, where my third foster family was waiting. I was free of the constant fear he’d find me, yet it still threatened to rise to the surface, dragging me down again.

            My newest foster home was with the Codexes. I’ve been bouncing around foster homes ever since I was taken away from him when I was eleven. I’ve been in four foster homes in the past six years. No one wants a troubled seventeen-year-old.

            The Codexes were nice. The husband was a doctor and the wife sold Pampered Chef. They had a spoiled daughter. I couldn’t think of any reasons why they wanted to be foster parents, except to boost their reputation at cocktail parties.

            Their daughter, Rachel, was the bane of my existence. She despised me with a passion, and the feeling was mutual. Rachel and her posse were the feared seniors at school, with me being the main target of their torment.

            “Hiya, Waverly.” Rachel appeared in my doorway as I scribbled down random answers on my chem homework.

            I sighed. “What do you want, Rachel?”

            She pouted. “Why would you expect I want something?” Then she grinned. “Okay, I do want something. I want to know if I look good today. ‘Cause I have to look extra good if I’m dumping Adam today-” Her mouth shaped in an ‘O’ of surprise. “Did I just say that? Because if I remember right,” she patronized as she strutted around my room, “you have a crush on my boyfriend.”