Rogue Undecided

.:~Chapter eleven~:.

I've never really been self-conscious of myself before. I've never really cared about what people thought of me. I was who I was, and I wasn't going to change for you. But as I looked at myself in the mirror, I couldn't help but find every flaw my body had, and I couldn't help but feel extremely self-conscious about myself.

Emily had sent me to my room about an hour ago, telling me to get ready because our guests would be arriving soon. I planned on throwing on a sweater and a pair of jeans, maybe running a comb through my hair if I felt like it. But all of my plans were smashed when Emily handed me a fancy dress, and told me to dress to the nines.

I didn't understand why, I mean, it was just dinner with some old friends. (Or at least that's how Emily put it). Why did I have to look like I was going to the Oscars? I didn't question though. One warning glare was all it took for me to run upstairs with my tail between my legs.

I was completely clueless on how I was supposed to look. I've never dressed up fancy before, so you could pretty much say that I felt like a penguin in an elephant exhibit.

That was until Emilia, our house keeper, swooped in my room like the guardian angel she is.

Emilia, bless her, was a sixty-something year old lady who had the personality of a person half her age, but the knowledge of a person twice her age. She's here everyday; having faced empty nest syndrome for three years before she got a job from Emily and Jim. She has six kids, which she raised basically by herself since her husband died two months after Anthony, her sixth and youngest child, was born. She got them all through college, and is proud to say that they are all working successfully in some sort of job field. She has eight grandchildren, which she adores completely, and a Saint Bernard names Lucky that she spoils more than anything in the world. She's one of the sweetest ladies that I've ever met, and even though it pains me to admit, she reminds me of my grandmother.

Her and I have gotten close over the last couple of days, considering she's the only one here when Emily and Jim have to leave town or the state because of their jobs. She cooks, she cleans, and she keeps me company when I'm bored. She is the ultimate superwoman. There is no denying it.

So when she poked her head through my bedroom door, asking if I needed any help, I almost knocked her to the ground with how powerful my hug of gratitude was. Thankfully, she knew exactly how to look fancy, and she did everything from my hair to my makeup.

My hair was up in an elegant bun, leaving my face free from any hair dangling in it. My makeup highlighted my face, and gave it an almost glowing affect. Gold, shimmering eyeshadow coated my eyes, and a thin line of dark brown eyeliner was settled just on top of my lash-line . Mascara was added to my lashes, making them pop, and a tan bronzer was dusted over my cheekbones, nose, and forehead, making my already tan skin glow. A deep red lipstick coated my lips, finishing off the look with a bang. A pair of diamonds earrings were stuck in my ears, and a small diamond tennis bracelet was hanging on my wrist. A pair of black heels made me taller, and made my walk look more graceful. I looked stunning.

The only problem was the dress.

Floor-length. A dark gold color that simmered every time you turned, making it look like a million little stars was stitched into the fabric. It was low-cut, which showed off some cleavage, but still kept it classy, and it showed off my figure, but was also loose at the same time. The whole dress was held up by a clasp that was located on the back of my neck. It was stunning. I looked stunning.

But than I turned around, and that perfect illusion shattered into a million pieces.

I had a scar on my back, which started from my left shoulder blade, and traveled down my back in a diagonal line until it ended at my right hipbone. It was jagged and a deep red color, and it looked like I just got it yesterday. It didn't heal properly, which resulted in its appearance today. It's disgusting, and only brings back bad memories. And to top it all off small, white scars were scattered all around it. You couldn't see them until you were up close, but I saw them everyday. One pair though was almost as bad as the red scar. Four deep lines were indented in my skin, right on my right shoulder blade. It wasn't red, thankfully, but it was a stark white color that was almost just as bad. You couldn't miss it considering how white, and how deep in my skin they were. It looked like four lines of flesh was missing. They were claw marks.