Look at me...

There are not many things in my life that I’m sure of, but these things I know:

My name is Melissa.

I am mean.

I am selfish.

But, most importantly, I am beautiful.

And my life is perfect.

Well, the last thing is a lie, but what’s the harm in letting people think that? If they think your life is perfect, they think you are perfect and then, they love you. I am beautiful, more beautiful than anyone else at school, and everyone loves me. Why? Purely, because of the way I look. I have power, anything want, I get. Why? Because I am beautiful; every boy falls at my feet and every girl wants to emulate me. And what’s more, I love it!

I live for my beauty, to taunt and to tease. I flaunt what I’ve got, reel them in and as soon as I’ve got them completely mesmerised I snatch it away, to watch them squirm. I love it, and to be quite blunt, this is how I get my kicks. As the weeks, months and years flew by I got meaner and tougher, the game, the challenge taking over.  Any trace of the person I once was, has been washed away. I will never love anybody; I belong to myself and no one else. My heart is as cold as stone and out of the dozens of pathetic boys that had thrown themselves at me over the years, not one of them had ever melted it; not even close. Now I live purely for my boys; to play with them, to crush them. So I throw myself into the seduction, to torment every boy I can dig my claws into. I am in control and I always will be, because I am the most beautiful of them all.

As I am getting ready, I look in the mirror, to examine every inch of my immaculately made-up face. I check to make sure there are no marks, smudges, spots or blemishes, and of course there are none. My face is perfect, and it always will be. I love to just stand there and look at myself, to bask in my beauty; to breathe it in. I regard my reflection with pleasure and smile to myself, anticipating what kind of heartbreak I will cause when I step out of the door.

I step back and examine my body; my skin is silky smooth, evenly tanned with no freckles, blemishes or scars. I am curvaceous but slim with not a pound out of place, precisely how I want to be; I am in complete and utter control. I get out my brand new dress, bought especially for the occasion and slip it on. It is short and sparkly, its sequins glistening in the light as I spin around. It is revealing, yet classy and it hugs my body perfectly, emphasising my best features. Completing my look with a pair of elegant heels, I look fantastic. I smile yet again, a smile thick with self-satisfaction, I am perfect and I know it.

Now ready, I fly down the stairs and saunter out of the house. As I make my way to the party, I swing my hips seductively and flutter my eyelashes at every boy I pass; this is pretty cheesy stuff, but it works.  I turn every head. When I get to the club I stride in, pausing dramatically just inside, like a queen entering her palace. This party is my kingdom, my empire, my playground. As I walk through the bustling room teeming with victims past, present and future, I am joined by my flock of followers; the most annoyingly cute, fake group of girls you’ve ever met and I despise every one of them. I walk towards the bar, studying each boy who passes me; Jake, Sam, Charlie, Josh, Tom, Adam, Paul, Will, Jack, Harry, James, and the list goes on, every one of them still drooling over me as if I hadn’t shattered their hearts into tiny pieces. I’m in my element; flirting, teasing, laughing at them and their naivety.

Parties are my hunting ground of choice. I am drunk - I always am - but so is everyone else.  Dozens of boys surround me, offering to get me another drink, to dance with me, but I ignore them; I have made my choice. He is difficult: arrogant, self-absorbed and overly confident. Well, he is about to get a huge wake up call. I stalk towards him; his eyes are locked on mine. I take him by the hand and pull him onto the dance floor; he happily follows, a confident smile dancing across his lips.

“Let’s dance” I hiss into his ear....

... “Jeez, what is wrong with you?” My eyes fluttered open as I heard the disgust in his voice. My vision was blurry and it took several seconds before I recovered enough to see who it was. Laughter. I looked up to see three boys leering at me. Josh, Adam, Paul. Three of my victims, but they didn’t seem to recognise me. They passed me by without a second glance. I tried to struggle to my feet and several people turned round, only to look in horror and hurry past. I looked down at myself, my outfit wet through, torn and covered in my own vomit. I couldn’t remember what had happened, I had been at that party...I turned my head to look in the wing mirror of the parked car I was leaning against, but it wasn’t my face looking back. I remembered then.  The past few years of my life came rushing back to me; the acid attack that left my face a ruin; the years of boozing and drugs; the years of nothingness. I cried in spite of myself, as if I was waking up again in hospital for the first time.

I remembered the one that didn’t fall, the one I couldn’t beat, the one that crushed me. He was the one who, in one moment burnt away my whole life. I watched as my life played before my eyes and I remembered what I used to look like, who I used to be. I used to be beautiful. My thoughts flooded through me, as if I was learning my lesson all over again. I remembered that no matter how much you flirted and flaunted, it was only a matter of time until someone saw beneath the beauty; someone saw what was inside, and despised it.  As I sit here now, all alone and afraid, I watch other people live out their lives; but my life is gone. I am no longer the person I once was, I am still turning heads, but for a very different reason. 

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A/N: hey everyone x thanks for reading! If you could vote or comment on this it would me a lot because this is for my controlled assessment which I am going to take in a few days time. If you have any grammar corrections, improvements etc. please could you comment them xx once again, thank you so much for reading x