A Chaotic Type Of Beautiful (UNDER EDITING)

Chapter 1- Scars

Some people have special necklaces. Others have tattoos. But me? I have scars...

The scar habit is an unhealthy one, I'll admit. But it's kind of only thing that makes me different. It's a vicious circle - undending and painful. Every time, I fall in love. Then, they break my heart. For every heartbreak, there's a scar.

12 scars, if you're wondering. 12 heartbreaks. 12 less people in my life or who have broken me. 1 for each of my parents, 1 for someone who's no longer here, 1 for my first bully, 1 for my first friend who broke my heart and left me, 1 for my second best friend who I really thought was different, 2 for 2 girls who made me feel worthless, 1 other scar for another bully and finally 3 scars for the only three boys I ever loved who never loved me back.

They litter my wrists so that every time I ever try and feel happy again, they stare into my soul and remind me what it will end with. Pain. Regret. Another scar. Another mark to prove that I'm not perfect.

I'm the only person I know who does this. But don't we all hurt ourselves because of the mistakes we make or because our hearts have been broken?

But, I guess that I should introduce myself. My name is Summer Alex Hales. A beautiful name for a beautiful soul, right? But, no, most people know me as Ghost because I'm pale, invisible (pretty much) and silent.

I'm 16 and in my last year at high school. It doesn't really matter what I major in, because either way my parents want grandchildren and they're not getting any younger. They're older than most parents, so I'm probably never going to have a career or amount to anything - because I'll be too busy playing the role of the secretly depressed, lonely and meek housewife.

I live at home at 16 because it's cheaper and my parents like having a little control over me. But, I guess you want the backstory. I'll try to keep it short.

So, my parents are in that 50% that don't divorce their partner even though they both know they're miserable, I know they're miserable and they know that I know they're miserable. But I have bigger issues than their constant arguments - mostly directed at me (thanks a lot Dad!).

I was bullied in every school I went to. It gets worse as you get older, you know? I've went through a few bad things, but I remember the day that one of the three boys I ever loved broke my heart. The last one, I mean.
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*Mild Trigger Warning! ⚠️*
I came home crying, humiliated and ashamed, and ran straight to the bathroom to look into the mirror. I wasn't that ugly, was I? I felt worthless and the words you're nothing to me kept repeating over and over again in my head.

He was right. I was nothing, and I'll never be anything else. But I couldn't stop the crying, the self-pity, the feeling as if my heart had been ripped to pieces. So I cut the mark.

It was painful. It always is. I didn't feel any better about myself, but I knew that the chances of me loving him again were nil. Yet I didn't feel changed.

Suddenly, I felt an overwhelming need to have change. To change anything. Change, change, change. My head throbbed. I held some tissues against my bleeding arm so that I couldn't see the blood. Seeing blood always made me feel queasy.

So, I grabbed a pair of scissors and with tears in my eyes, I grabbed a fistful of my hair and started chopping. Not caring if it was uneven or if it looked bad.

That was the day I cut my hair and also the last day I ever loved anyone.
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Three years ago. It was three years ago. I almost laugh. I would say that I haven't had another scar since then, but there are a couple for some bullies and a few that aren't even on my wrists. It's addictive and when you start it's hard to stop. But I don't think I'll ever love anyone again, romantically, I mean. I'm just not the kind of person who deserves happiness.

"Summer! Come downstairs!" My Mum shouts. I roll my eyes almost audibly. "I'm busy!" I reply. I don't even like that name - many associate Summer with sun and happiness, but I associate it with high pollen levels and bad hay fever.

"Summer, help your Mother! Come down at once! Now! Five... four... three..." My Dad yells. Groaning, I get out of my bed, ignoring the essay which I was halfway through writing. I have to drag myself down the stairs, and when I do, I'm met with the view of my Dad giving me an angry stare.

The best thing to do is look away. He continues to look at me as if I'm an abomination and I try to imagine that I made a snarky comment, just so that I don't stoop down completely to his level. "What do you say?" He says, in a powerful tone, cornering me. The look in his eyes makes me want to curl into a ball, far, far away from him. Run, his eyes scream.

I blink and try to stay emotionless. For years now I've been building up my walls and have worn a mask on my face but my Father was the only person who repeatedly broke it. I always thought he was changing, until it was evident he wasn't, and he teared me apart once again.

"Sorry." I say, my eyes still staring at my feet.

"Sorry, what?" He chided me, angrily. Grabbing my arm, he held it roughly, his calloused hands sure to leave bruises. I could smell the alcohol on his breath. He was an okay person unless he was drunk, angry or jealous. I didn't know many people who were jealous of their own children- but he was one of them. Hell, I wasn't even meant to be born.

I feel to depressed to argue back. Most times I would speak in a sarcastic tone, yank my arm back and say sorry Master acting as if I'm a slave, perhaps even a curtsy. But every time I do that, he pulls my arm harder and shouts to my Mum for her to support him. I love my Mum, I really do - but she's a little deaf, so she's oblivious to a lot of the things my Dad does, since they're not often in the same room.

But whenever there's a fight, my Dad would point the blame on me and suprise, suprise my Mum believed him, and made me feel worse than I did before.

But why should I expect anything different of them? I'm just not made to be loved.
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Hi! Thank you so much for reading this story! If you're into rock, I recommend the song above. Warning: there's a bit of screaming (for the people who keep their volume high).

You've probably all seen this idea thrown around on Pintrest- but this is my take on it. It goes along the whole what-if -there-was-a-mark-on-your-wrist? cliché. It may not be great, but it's my own take on it and almost unrecognisable from the trend. If any of you are offended, I can remove it.

Feel free to comment, vote and quote! Please do tell me your opinions, otherwise when I edit, it won't improve by much... Thanks for reading! 💛

~CatlikeG