Scarred - Chapter 1
New story from Aislinn McGrath! A scar is never ugly. That is what the scar maker wants us to think. We must see all scars as beauty. Okay? This will be our secret, because take it from me, a scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, I survived. - Chris Cleave: Little Bee
So yeah, read and comment if you want to see more!
Prologue
I can remember the exact second I saw her with perfect clarity. The scars rippling down her face. The strange blue gray eyes that met mine for but a moment before flitting off somewhere else. I won't forget it until the day I die.
Chapter One
Nothing that tiny should look that smug.
"What are you looking at?" I sneer at Skye, my baby sister. She tilts her head and hammers her heels against the footrest of her high chair. I glare at her little face for a moment, then sigh and continue spooning baby food in a somewhat mouth-ward direction, most of it being instantly spat out onto her already sticky chin.
"Skye eat a little. Swallow some TINY amount, and I will stop bugging you." I beg the six month old baby. She gurgles and pats her dimpled hands in the splattering of baby food on the tray. I roll my eyes, and try to force more food in her mouth.
"Wah ah.. ah Ingy!!" Cam shrieks, running into the kitchen and clutching to my dark denim clad calves.
"Whassamadder Cammy?" I ruffle his brown hair.
"Oh good, there he is." my mother walks into the kitchen sighing with relief.
"What happened this time?" I ask wearily.
"I simply mentioned the P-O-O-L to Gram and he ran screaming." she sighs. Cam, my five year old brother, has autism, and sometimes just words can set him off. You learn to not use them.
"Can you babysit tonight Indie?" Mom asks, bundling her thick brown hair into a messy ponytail.
"It's not like I have anything else to do." I grumble. Mom glances at my face and says, "Indigo Rose Carson, you are a beautiful girl and I do not want to hear one more word about it." she reprimands in her still somewhat strong British accent, though she's lived in the US for 17 years. I stare at her back hatefully, and then grit my teeth and impatiently try to get Skye to eat again. My face is sort of a touchy subject for me.
When I was four and Gram still lived in Cornwall, we used a rickety old car of Gram's whenever we visited. Dad and I were driving out to London for some reason, when there was an accident. A bad one. The doctors weren't worrying about scarring when they sewed my face back together. I have a long slightly jagged white scar stretching diagonally from just above my left eyebrow to the right corner of my mouth, one stretching like a tear from my left eye to the left side of my jaw, one from my right temple to my ear, and several thin small ones ranging from a centimeter to an inch in length crisscrossing all around my jaw and hairline. Not to mention the huge long ones on my body. Needless to say, I have never had a boyfriend, and have only few friends. Everyone else kind of ignores me, either out of pity, or with no idea how to approach me.
"Indie. Indie snap out of it. Skye's about to dump the peas on your head!" Mom says loudly, and I jerk out of my reverie, Cam still slobbering on my knee.
"Come on Cammy. Icey?" I ask. He puts his fingers in his mouth and nods. I set down the baby food and retrieve an ice cube from the freezer and hand it to him. Mom starts cleaning up Skye and her mess, and I start upstairs to work on my latest art piece.
"Dad will be home in 20 minutes!" Mom calls upstairs. "Be ready for dinner then!"
I continue up the stairs and through my room and up the spiral staircase in the corner of my room, into the little attic studio/Gram's sewing room. Gram is in there at the moment, sitting in her whitewashed rocking chair, taking in a blouse of Mom's, since she quickly shed the scant fifteen pounds she gained while pregnant with Skye.
"Hi Indie." Gram says distractedly, trying valiantly to re-thread her needle.
"Hi Gram." I walk over to my easel in the corner next to the stained glass window. I consider the piece carefully. So far I have what looks to be a smash up of metal, glass, and magazine ads. The weak six o'clock sunlight makes the glass shimmer a bit as I study the pieces of perfect faces and bits of smashed beer bottles in my materials tray. I halfheartedly glue a couple bits of glass to the canvas and my phone buzzes, rattling the tray of glass.
"Hi Rina." I say, holding a piece of blue glass up to the window.
"Indie, I NEED your help!!!" my best friend says panicked.
"Yesssss?" I ask, holding the glass up near a picture of an unnaturally blue eye from a Maybelline ad.
"Do you have the math study guide?" she asks deadly serious.
"Yes, I am in possession of it." I say, just as seriously.
"Make me a copy for Monday?"
"Fiiiiiiiine." I fake sigh. "Wait, say Indie is the best."
"Indie is the best." she recites.
"You got that right. Okay I'll bring a copy."
"THANK YOU! You are SUCH a lifesaver!"
"I know I know, I'm the best, I'm awesome, I'm the coolest person in the universe, all that jazz. Glad you're happy."
"Yes, I am happy. Oh, by the way... a cute guy moved into the apartment above ours!" Rina sing songs.
"Well go talk to him!" I say, always the encouraging one.
"Nah, he's not my type, I was thinking for YOU." she says.
"Come on Rina, you know that doesn't work. I'm just a freak." I say.
"Yeah well he's a freak too!"
"Thanks Rina. Thanks a lot." I swallow hard.
"Indie, you know I didn't mean that."
"I know." I grumble.
"I'm sorry. And you don't have to meet him if you don't want." she apologizes.
"Indie! Dinner!" Mom calls. "Mom, come on down!" she adds.
"Bye Rina, I got dinner." I hang up the phone, and Gram and I walk downstairs.
"Hi Dad." I hug him. I look a lot like him, medium height and lanky, with straight dark hair and pale skin. Him obviously without the scars or indigo streaks in his hair. Skye gurgles happily and waves her arms around her head, begging to be picked up. Cam sucks his thumb in the corner, holding onto the hem of Gram's shirt.
"Jacob, be a love and get Cammy some milk would you?" Mom asks Dad.
"Misty, I'm kind of busy here." he complains, burping Skye. Mom purses her lips, but sets down the pan on the stove and gets the milk out for Cam.
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Please comment! Don't worry, I am still continuing Love Me Hate Me.
Prologue
I can remember the exact second I saw her with perfect clarity. The scars rippling down her face. The strange blue gray eyes that met mine for but a moment before flitting off somewhere else. I won't forget it until the day I die.
Chapter One
Nothing that tiny should look that smug.
"What are you looking at?" I sneer at Skye, my baby sister. She tilts her head and hammers her heels against the footrest of her high chair. I glare at her little face for a moment, then sigh and continue spooning baby food in a somewhat mouth-ward direction, most of it being instantly spat out onto her already sticky chin.
"Skye eat a little. Swallow some TINY amount, and I will stop bugging you." I beg the six month old baby. She gurgles and pats her dimpled hands in the splattering of baby food on the tray. I roll my eyes, and try to force more food in her mouth.
"Wah ah.. ah Ingy!!" Cam shrieks, running into the kitchen and clutching to my dark denim clad calves.
"Whassamadder Cammy?" I ruffle his brown hair.
"Oh good, there he is." my mother walks into the kitchen sighing with relief.
"What happened this time?" I ask wearily.
"I simply mentioned the P-O-O-L to Gram and he ran screaming." she sighs. Cam, my five year old brother, has autism, and sometimes just words can set him off. You learn to not use them.
"Can you babysit tonight Indie?" Mom asks, bundling her thick brown hair into a messy ponytail.
"It's not like I have anything else to do." I grumble. Mom glances at my face and says, "Indigo Rose Carson, you are a beautiful girl and I do not want to hear one more word about it." she reprimands in her still somewhat strong British accent, though she's lived in the US for 17 years. I stare at her back hatefully, and then grit my teeth and impatiently try to get Skye to eat again. My face is sort of a touchy subject for me.
When I was four and Gram still lived in Cornwall, we used a rickety old car of Gram's whenever we visited. Dad and I were driving out to London for some reason, when there was an accident. A bad one. The doctors weren't worrying about scarring when they sewed my face back together. I have a long slightly jagged white scar stretching diagonally from just above my left eyebrow to the right corner of my mouth, one stretching like a tear from my left eye to the left side of my jaw, one from my right temple to my ear, and several thin small ones ranging from a centimeter to an inch in length crisscrossing all around my jaw and hairline. Not to mention the huge long ones on my body. Needless to say, I have never had a boyfriend, and have only few friends. Everyone else kind of ignores me, either out of pity, or with no idea how to approach me.
"Indie. Indie snap out of it. Skye's about to dump the peas on your head!" Mom says loudly, and I jerk out of my reverie, Cam still slobbering on my knee.
"Come on Cammy. Icey?" I ask. He puts his fingers in his mouth and nods. I set down the baby food and retrieve an ice cube from the freezer and hand it to him. Mom starts cleaning up Skye and her mess, and I start upstairs to work on my latest art piece.
"Dad will be home in 20 minutes!" Mom calls upstairs. "Be ready for dinner then!"
I continue up the stairs and through my room and up the spiral staircase in the corner of my room, into the little attic studio/Gram's sewing room. Gram is in there at the moment, sitting in her whitewashed rocking chair, taking in a blouse of Mom's, since she quickly shed the scant fifteen pounds she gained while pregnant with Skye.
"Hi Indie." Gram says distractedly, trying valiantly to re-thread her needle.
"Hi Gram." I walk over to my easel in the corner next to the stained glass window. I consider the piece carefully. So far I have what looks to be a smash up of metal, glass, and magazine ads. The weak six o'clock sunlight makes the glass shimmer a bit as I study the pieces of perfect faces and bits of smashed beer bottles in my materials tray. I halfheartedly glue a couple bits of glass to the canvas and my phone buzzes, rattling the tray of glass.
"Hi Rina." I say, holding a piece of blue glass up to the window.
"Indie, I NEED your help!!!" my best friend says panicked.
"Yesssss?" I ask, holding the glass up near a picture of an unnaturally blue eye from a Maybelline ad.
"Do you have the math study guide?" she asks deadly serious.
"Yes, I am in possession of it." I say, just as seriously.
"Make me a copy for Monday?"
"Fiiiiiiiine." I fake sigh. "Wait, say Indie is the best."
"Indie is the best." she recites.
"You got that right. Okay I'll bring a copy."
"THANK YOU! You are SUCH a lifesaver!"
"I know I know, I'm the best, I'm awesome, I'm the coolest person in the universe, all that jazz. Glad you're happy."
"Yes, I am happy. Oh, by the way... a cute guy moved into the apartment above ours!" Rina sing songs.
"Well go talk to him!" I say, always the encouraging one.
"Nah, he's not my type, I was thinking for YOU." she says.
"Come on Rina, you know that doesn't work. I'm just a freak." I say.
"Yeah well he's a freak too!"
"Thanks Rina. Thanks a lot." I swallow hard.
"Indie, you know I didn't mean that."
"I know." I grumble.
"I'm sorry. And you don't have to meet him if you don't want." she apologizes.
"Indie! Dinner!" Mom calls. "Mom, come on down!" she adds.
"Bye Rina, I got dinner." I hang up the phone, and Gram and I walk downstairs.
"Hi Dad." I hug him. I look a lot like him, medium height and lanky, with straight dark hair and pale skin. Him obviously without the scars or indigo streaks in his hair. Skye gurgles happily and waves her arms around her head, begging to be picked up. Cam sucks his thumb in the corner, holding onto the hem of Gram's shirt.
"Jacob, be a love and get Cammy some milk would you?" Mom asks Dad.
"Misty, I'm kind of busy here." he complains, burping Skye. Mom purses her lips, but sets down the pan on the stove and gets the milk out for Cam.
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Please comment! Don't worry, I am still continuing Love Me Hate Me.
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