Scarred Beauty [Completed]

Chapter Two

I walked towards the school.. limping.

My father had beat me up again, but of course, discreetly. It wasn't unordinary for me. I had a bruise on my left eye, one of my wrists tingling, a faint red handprint on my cheek from being slapped repetitively, and a cut on my leg. I wore a black jacket and jeans, hiding the burning hell on my body. This morning, my father had woken up early, which was abnormal. I later knew why, because I had a new cut on my forearm. Yay. Blood was still coming out of the cuts as I dabbed them with my jacket, hoping they would magically stop. I tried to breathe in calmly before entering the school, but it didn't work as much as it used to before. As I walked down the halls, I heard the whispers of the other students.

"What the hell happened to her?"

I don't know— WHY DON'T YOU GROW BALLS AND GO UP TO HER AND ASK?! Idiot.

"Look at her face!"

We know. We aren't blind.

"Did she get in a fight?"

I'm not dumb like you, Brad.

I let out an annoyed huff and painfully limped over to my locker, putting in the combination. I swung it open, only to be harshly interrupted by someone's hand as it slammed my locker door shut. WHO THE FU— I let out another annoyed huff. My hands clenched into fists, and I tightened my jaw. You got this, Olivia. This is nothing.

Turning around, I snapped, "What?"

"I'm sorry," a sarcastic voice responded. "Were you going to get something? Because frankly, I, Alex James, do not care."

I let out a harsh breath in utter disbelief when I heard him. Who the fuck does he think he is? George fucking Washington? I looked up at the boy from the graveyard, unconsciously pulling the hoodie over my face to conceal myself from his prying eyes.

"You again," I muttered, a little irked at his presence. "Such a shame. I thought I would never have to see your face again. Because frankly," I mocked, "I, Olivia Hernandez, do not want to talk to you today. Or tomorrow. Or ever, for that matter."

Alex reached over, making me flinch, and tugged on my hoodie a little, scanning my bruised face. Who the fuck does he think he is to be touching me and my belongings? His unfortunately beautiful blue eyes analyzed each and every inch of my wounded flesh, and for a second, he appeared lost. He glared straight into my eyes, his gaze lit with a blind fury.

"Who did this to you?"

"Why do you care?" I responded swiftly, trying to avoid the topic.

I pulled the hoodie over my face, quickly trying to escape. Before I could run off, he grabbed my arm— right on the new fucking scar. Damn, this guy should seriously mind his own business. I took in a sharp intake of air and tried to rip my arm away from his grip, but the pain only became increasingly stronger as his grip tightened on me. This guy must think he's the fucking president, and he better be so I have a good reason not punch him right here.

I looked at the boy and narrowed my eyes at him, "Let. Go."

"No," he replied bluntly.

"Let me go before I—"

"Before you what?!" He interrupted harshly. His loud voice echoed in the hall, and everyone stopped talking with their friends and turned to look at us. Wow. Great going, dude. Just had to attract everyone's eyes. "Before you can end up hurting yourself again?! Before you beat me up?! Before you walk away like everything is fine even though it clearly isn't?!"