Episode Ten :
'LOVE'BITE
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F A W N ' S P O V :
I sometimes think I could live without a mirror. Up until now I've never been the type to stare intently at my appearance in the morning, not even to take a quick glance to see how I look.
Maybe I just find it to be conceeded and egotistical, but I think it's because I've never really cared how people saw me. The few people who did that is, before I met Mallory and Karissa I was nothing more than a outcast academic – among many others.
Now, I can't seem to help but stare at the purple mark right beneath the line of my jaw.
His mark. Lawrence's.
I don't think Elliott noticed it, to which I'm more than grateful. I don't think I'd be able to live with myself knowing that he was aware of what, or rather who, I had come from. Mortifying.
The crinkles on the sides of my eyes have drooped to hollow dark bags, I've been carrying with me this whole weekend. I haven't really left the house. I don't want people to see the hickey. Now it seems to be unavoidable as I force myself to leave for school, hating the way my hair poofs up when I wrap the striped wool scarf around my neck like I'm off to Hogwarts.
I hate the way I can still see it, feel it, force myself to own that mark.
Even though no one else will – see it. Even though I physically can not.
"Fawn!" Morgan groans, and I spin around clutching to the fabric as a source of security.
"Are you coming?" She asks impatiently, pacing the doorway while clicking her tongue.
"Mm hm," I mumble, not in the mood to speak.
Not in the mood to exist in such a pathetic state.
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"Fawn, Fawn, Fawn!" Mallory calls, grabbing onto my arms as she runs up to me on our way to lunch, big blue eyes beaming with excitement.
"W-What?" I ask.
"Oh nothing," she grins, and I try my best to care about how she's acting. But I'm tired. I just want to go home, and escape her cackling.
I smile feeling bad for the thing I'm thinking about the sweet girl before me. Short brown hair, sparkling blue eyes – innocent.
Something we don't share now. We used to share that.
Pathetic.
I rub the spot on my neck, the fabric becoming itchy due to my allergy of wool. I would've worn another, but I only owned this one scarf. It's from a few years back. It was a gift from Ma, before she passed.
Before I slept on the floor.
"Is that all?" I ask tired.
"Um, yeah – Fawn?" She glances to it. Right where it is.
"Is that? Don't tell me that you had –"
"No!" I yell, and look down to see the way my scarf had loosened around my neck revealing the prominent 'love'bite.
YOU ARE READING
Wrong Guy
Teen Fiction❝Would it be wrong to think - to think, that I could make you so much happier?❞ Fawn Lockhart and Elliott Mass have never gotten along. The water and oil of people they avoid each other at all costs, and when they do interact it's nothing but petty...
