Scarred

Chapter 1

"Please sit down on the sofa, Catherine." Dr. Owens says, gesturing with her bangled hand. 

I drag my feet over and flop down on to the plush blue couch. Dad smiles and waves at me from the living room before Dr. Owens closes the door. She glides over to the chair across from me, sits down, then clicks her pen. 

"How are you today, Catherine?" She asks, her eyes pits of false sympathy. 

"I'm fine."

"Wonderful. Do you want to talk about some of your memories?"

"No."

"Catherine, how am I supposed to help you if you don't want to talk?" Dr. Owens says, pushing a strand of her puffy read hair out of her face. 

I've been coming to Dr. Owens since the fire. She has been seeing me every Saturday at 11:00 for the past three years. I think she knows, deep down, that she can't help me. It's probably every therapist's worst nightmare, but I am the perfect monster needed for that nightmare. 

"I don't want help."

"Alright, I'm just going to ask you some questions. I understand you have had some traumatizing expiriences. If you could wave a magic wand, what would you want to change?"

"What do you think? My scars. Dr. Owens, I have told you this around 156 times. Asking the same questions won't help."

"How do you think I could help you, Catherine?"

"You can't." I turn to face the back of the couch, my back to her. 

I hear her scribbling notes on the clipboard.

"If I could help, what would you like me to do?"

"Buy a tardis. Take me back to 2011 and get me out of the school before the fire."

More scribbling.

"Moods change everyday. How would you describe your mood today? Maybe use a color, if you want."

"Grey. Can I please go now?"

"No, Catherine. It's only 11:04."

_

11:00 to 12:00 on Saturday is my least favorite time of the week. 

My favorite part, on the other hand, is when Oliver and Gracie come to pick me up afterwards.

Oliver's sputtering puke-colored ford chugs up to the front of the building. I run down the steps and pop open the door, sliding in to the back seat. 

"Howdie do?" Oliver asks. I set my bag on the ground and buckle myself. 

"I'm okay." 

Gracie turns around in her seat, smiling at me. 

"Did you know the Forever 21 in the mall opened yesterday?" She asks. She's wearing a lime green hat. Her big, brown eyes stand out. She never wears any makeup and, actually, it works for her. 

"Yeah, why don't we all go try on dresses and buy nail polish?" Oliver whines. 

Gracie and I laugh. 

"It just opened, Ol! Please tolerate us going in there for five minutes?" Gracie pouts her bottom lip.

"Please. I've known you two long enough to know that 'five minutes' translates to 'two hours'. I'll just go hang out in Barnes & Nobel."

"You're so manly," I say, laughing. 

"Real men read." He grins, turning around corner. Gracie reaches over and pushes the radio button on. 

"I GOT ONE LESS PROBLEM WITHOUT YA! I GOT ONE LESS PROBLEM WITHOUT YA!" She screetches. I cup my hands over my ears, laughing. Gracie is legitimantly convinced that she is a good singer. She auditions for lead roles in school musicals, she signs up for talent shows, and once she even had her mom drive her to a talent agency. She was turned down, of course, but she tells herself it was only because they want 'image'. Because she has cancer, she's bald and injected with tubes. Not societies 'perfect image'.

We pull up to the mall. I know the drill. Oliver insists on being a gentelman; he'll kill me if I get out of the door on my own. I sit patiently in my seat while he unbuckles, gets out, walks around to my side and opens my door for me. Then he opens Gracie's door. 

"Thank you," I say, stepping out. 

"Yup. And I'm seriously going to Barnes & Nobel if you guys are going to Forever 21."

"Okay. Are you just gonna read in there?" 

"Do you know me at all, Catherine Marie Williams?" He asks, holding his arms out wide. "Of course I'm 'just gonna read in there'. I'll come find you guys at 4:00 for ice cream. Savvy?"

"Savvy." I say, holding up my thumbs. 

I turn to Gracie as Oliver walks towards the book store.

"Forever 21?" She asks, smiling at me, one eyebrow raised. I nod. She links her un-tubed arm through mine and we skip off into the mall. 

I'm 15, yes, but I still skip. I don't mind being stared at in that way. People smile at you, they think, 'wow, look at those happy kids. I wish I were still that happy,'. But that's not how they stare at you if your scars are showing.

No.

They stare like: 'What is that thing? Close your eyes, kids, I don't want it to give you nightmares.'

Skipping is okay. Good stares are okay. 

Showing skin is not okay. Bad stares are not okay. 

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HELLO FABULOUS READERS! Thanks for reading so far. OMG I love the charachters so much already >.<

Please stay tuned! I have great hopes for this story. You'll like some things coming up in the following chapters...... ;)

I LOVE YOU!