Shattered (Book One of The Progressive Trilogy)

Chapter 2: Sparks and James Dean

*Edited by crimmsyn*

By Sunday, my aunt went to her usual wardrobe and showed me mine--classy, yet laid back. She more or less said my knack for dressing like a homeless person would reflect poorly on her design business. She didn't mean it in a bad way, but a logical one, because in a small town like this, judgement is a favorite pastime. I was just thankful she was considerate enough to get clothing that covered my body well,because I honestly didn't feel like dealing with the stares and questions I would receive if people saw the thick jagged scars on my body. .

On Monday morning, I woke before my alarm. The sun barely peeked through the trees surrounding the house, but the humidity was already suffocating.

Thank you Louisiana, I thought groggily.

I went to my bathroom to get ready for school.Walking towards the shower, I set the temperature to almost boiling before I stepped under the waterfall-like spray.

The hot water might be too much for most, but most of my scars were accompanied by severe nerve damage, making it hard for me to feel much of anything. As I washed my body, I tried not to look at it; part of me was too disgusted with my mangled skin, while the other part was too scared of the memories that would resurface. I scrubbed my long copper hair before stepping out and wrapping myself in a fluffy cream towel.

I walked to the mirror and wiped away the steam. The girl I saw was unrecognizable. She had my green eyes, but instead of the adventurous spark that used to shine there, there was nothing but a dead stare. A thick, jagged scar stretched from her right temple to her eyebrow, curved sharply to her ear, and then finished under her jaw. I hated looking in mirrors now because the reflection was foreign to me. I could no longer identify the girl who stared back.

When I entered my large walk-in closet, I started to look around my new wardrobe for something to wear. It was August in Louisiana, which meant sweltering heat and humidity so bad that jeans were a definite no. I grabbed white ankle-length leggings, black high-waisted shorts, and tucked in a gray long-sleeved shirt.

Next, I ambled over to the vanity containing makeup and hair products, and sat down to make myself look presentable for my aunt. First, I concealed the dark circles under my eyes by applying a light powder to my face. I then feathered light pink blush onto my cheeks to give a lively illusion to those who saw me. To finish, I smudged a small amount of brown eyeliner, added mascara and topped the look off with neutral lipstick.I let my waist-length brown hair dry naturally in waves, my bangs covering my scar perfectly.

I descended the stairs and lingered in the kitchen before it was time to leave. Soon after, my aunt strolled in, dressed in chic business attire. "You look lovely Emma," she commented, her voice thick with positivity. She knew how hard it was for me to put forth this much effort into my appearance, so I sort of expected the compliment.

In response, I merely stared at her and grunted.

"So, your keys are on the hook by the garage door, your car has the garage door opener on your visor, and your parking pass for school is already hanging on your rear-view mirror," she explained in a hurried voice while she whipped up strawberry-banana smoothies.

"You need to go to the office before school starts to get your schedule. School starts at eight and ends at three. I usually get home around five but if you need anything, call and I'll be home in a jiff," she said while pouring the smoothies into two travel cups and handing me one. She walked over to her purse and pulled something from her wallet and handed it to me.

I continue to say nothing as she babbled on.

"Here is your debt card, I'll transfer money into it each month for lunch money and whatever else you may want or need. The pin is the last four digits of your cell number. Do you need anything else before I leave?" she asked while gathering her things around the kitchen.