The Girl with the Scars

Chapter 19

I would have expected Logan to have followed me to my room, bang on the door, command me to open it. But I didn't get any of that. I got absolutely nothing.

I spend the time until four trying to avoid looking at the refuse bags that still line the north wall, googling book, record, movie and CD shops nearby so I can restart my collection and wondering why Logan hasn't tried to talk to me. I wish I had taken the wedding binder.

I wonder if Logan has finally taken a look at the dress I designed. When I wanted to show him the first time, he refused, saying it was bad luck to see the wedding dress. But, come on. Its an arranged marriage and we don't love each other so it shouldn't matter. Even when I put that argument forward when I tried, for the second time, to show him, he still refused. He even walked away from me.

I doubt he'll look at it.

At four o'clock, there's a knock on my door.

"Who is it?" I ask, though I know fully well who it is.

"It's me, and you know it's me. Get ready. I don't want to miss our appointment again." Logan grumbles through the door.

Oh, right. The bakery appointment.

"I'll be out in ten." I respond before removing myself from the comfort of my bed and turn my straightener on.

"Please don't straighten your hair." I hear Logan again.

"But I always straighten my hair." I respond.

"Please?" Logan's voice sounds desperate. "I want people to see the real you and you hide yourself when you straighten your hair." He tries to reason.

My hand hovers above the tool I've used since I was thirteen. Mother didn't bother much about my hair when I was in primary school because I didn't have to impress anyone, but since I started high school, I was forced to go to business functions and that meant I had to look presentable.

"I... I have to. I can't go out like this. I'm not presentable." I revert back to my Mother's child, scared that I'll get a beating for not looking presentable.

"You look better with your hair natural, Kali." Logan presses. I try telling my hand, still hovering above the now heated straightener, to stop shaking.

"I... I..." I start but my indoctrinated impulse is very strong, almost irresistible. "I'm sorry. I can't." I grab the straightener, losing the inner struggle to my indoctrination, and begin straightening my hair, all the while, tears running down my face.

I want to please Logan as much as I can, but I'm not strong enough to fight the past that I have. I'm scared that Mother and Father will see me and beat me in the middle of the street. I know it's highly impractical for them to come to this side of the city, but I can never be too careful. I don't want to disappoint them; I don't want them angry at me. I'm not hiding who I am, I'm just trying to be the best daughter I can be. To prove to them that I am worth loving and that I'm willing to do anything to make them love me. Why couldn't my parents just let me be happy and make my own choices?

When my hair is straight and styled to be out of my face in a half-up-half-down style, I change quickly into a pair of dark blue skinny jeans and a loose, white, spaghetti-strap top and a loose, grey cardigan, and a pair of classic black Converse low-tops, and do my make-up, simple.

After a quick look in the mirror, I make my way to the door. Logan is waiting on the other side. His head snaps up to me when I step out of the door and lock it behind me. His hazel eyes scan over my body.

"You've been crying." Not a question. I thought I hid it well enough with my make-up. Maybe its enough to fool people who don't know me, but Logan knows me better than any other person in this world, even better than my parents. Even better than Leon.