Damaged

14 | beautiful

The bell signaling the end of art class startles me. I get up from the table where I was working at and go to the sink to wash the materials I've used. Once everything's back where it belongs, I leave my work to dry and leave the classroom.

I walk through the empty hallways and enter the lunchroom. Grabbing a sandwich, I go walk towards the table where Ava and Mika are seated. As I'm moving towards them, I hear my name being said on a conversation to my right and I stop on my tracks.

"Well, nobody will want to go with her. Did you glance at the scar? It's fucking hideous." Selena rolls her eyes and laughs along with Kate and Alexis. Fucking bitch.

"If you want to say something about me, say it to my fucking face you back-stabbing, fake-titted jealous cunt. Oh and by the way, your contour sucks," I flip my hair and leave the table with my back straight and my nose in the air. The lunch room is quiet and suddenly laughter fill the air from all directions. I smirk, satisfied, and sit down on the table with the girl.

"I should have filmed her face, it was too good," Mika laughs, her eyes shining with laughter.

"Serves her right. Nobody can talk shit about you and expect nothing to happen." Ava says and looks at me, "God, the next time I'll need to roast somebody I'll definitely call you."

I laugh at her and then take a bite out of my brie and fig baguette. The lunchroom is buzzing with gossip and I feel people staring at me, some with respect, some with fear. I contently munch on the sandwich until I see that I've got to go, my stomach twisting excitedly.

"Gotta go girls, see you later," I smile at them and set up, dusting my black jeans off.

I walk towards the English wing and then knock on the door, where Mr Clarke's waiting for me at his desk. I confidently walk towards the desk in front of him, which i've taken as mine during the lunch times, and sit on the wooden surface with my legs dangling from it.

"Hey Mr Clarke," I purr at him, wanting to provoke a reaction. I'm so done being nice.

"Luna," His British accent sensually rolls out of his tongue, his raspy voice making my name sound beautiful on his lips.

"What are we going to do today?" I cock an eyebrow and smirk at him suggestively.

"I was thinking about giving you a worksheet today. Boring stuff I know, but it'll be good for you."

"Hmm, okay," I reply and wait for him to give the sheet to me while still sitting on the desk. He grabs the sheet and then walks over to where i'm sitting and I hop off of the desk as he approaches. He stands before me in his full height and I stare into his eyes, getting lost into their profoundness. He clears his throat and looks at the floor.

"Here you go," he says huskily, his voice making me shiver.

I give a step backwards and sit on the chair behind the desk as Mr Clarke goes back to his own table. I try to ignore the electricity i'm feeling and concentrate on the sheet in front of me. It consists of various questions of comprehension and analysis of a book extract and i thankfully find them easy, finishing them in about 20 minutes or so.

Once I'm finished with the sheet I grab my book from my bag and start reading from where I've left off earlier, Oscar Wilde's words enveloping in their silky mysticism.

"Are you liking it so far?" Mr Clarke's voice snaps my attention away from the novel and I glance towards him. He's looking at me curiously, his lips curled into a small smile.

"Yeah. It's amazing what beautiful people would do for their vanity, even nowadays. They're crazy," I contemplate the novel and the main character while looking at Mr Clarke's expression. The frowns and my words, his eyes darkening with a feeling I can't detect.

"Why do you say 'they'?" He asks, eyes unwavering and his from deepening.

"What do you mean?" I crunch my eyebrows in confusion.

"Don't you see yourself as beautiful?" He asks unbelievingly at me and I laugh at him.

"Nobody does," I lift my scarred wrists and smile sadly, "I'm ugly inside out."

"You don't know how wrong you are," His voice is quiet but I hear every syllable he says. I feel butterflies in my stomach at the compliment and I feel my face turning a light shade of pink. He thinks I'm beautiful.

I stare at him and he stares at me. This is what we're good at. I feel like I'm starting to know the details of his face, like when he laughs a dimple pops out on his cheek and his hair turns a golden brown when the sun hits it. His full lips are a marvelous shade of pink and I crave to paint them and to find the exact shade that graces his features. He looks like a model, unfit for a classroom but perfect for a editorial or magazine. His features are masculine yet boyish at the same time, and he has a wolfish characteristic about him.

"Can I ask you a question?" I shyly ask.

"Of course. You don't even need to ask" He smiles.

"What are your tattoos?" I finally ask what I've been dying to know for days. He lifts both of his eyebrows in surprise.

"How did you know that I've got tattoos?"

"They're visible through your shirt," I say and regret what I've said immediately afterwords. Oh fuck, he must thing that I keep staring at his arm like a creep.

"Ah. Well, they're quite complicated," He pauses to ponder, looking at the ceiling, "I've got three on my left arm. One's a train, the other's a bird and the third's a story for another time." He smirks at me.

As i'm about to protest the bell rings and people start filing into the classroom. I smile at him and then get up, going to the seat that i normally have on english class. As I'm about to sit down someone taps my shoulder and I turn around. I'm face to face to a jock named Nick, who's looking at me with a smile on his face.

"Hey Luna," he greets me and I frown. Why is he talking to me?

"Hi Nick," I say uncertainly.

"My parents are going to be out of town this weekend," he starts telling me, his warm brown eyes looking into mine. He's cute but i've never thought of him as someone whom i might possibly make out with or be interested in.

I briefly look at the front of the class and catch Mr Clarke pointedly looking at our exchange. His eyes are dark and his mouth is set into a grim line, contrasting to his earlier cheery self. I'm confused at his sudden change. Is that jealousy? It can't be.

"...I'm going to throw a party at my place. You and your friends are welcome to come," he finishes, looking at me expectantly.

"Sure, I'll think out it," I smile at him and he goes back to his own seat.