Scars To Your Beautiful : A Modern Beauty and the Beast retelling ✔

4. Scars Run Deep

Chip's soft barking pulled Larkin out of bed earlier than intended. Larkin turned to the edge of his king-sized bed and carefully put his legs down. They landed gently on the floor and Larkin felt a sudden need to make an attempt. He wanted to try to walk, on his own. His own anxiety was building up, just by the mere thought of moving without his walking stick and he nervously huffed out air. He straightened his legs and stood upright. His legs wobbled slightly and the throbbing pain in his right leg began to build up.

Ignoring the warning signs in his head, he delicately took a step forward. His legs trembled again but it didn't look like he was going to fall. He smiled to himself and took another step forward. That's when he was pulled back to reality and his knee jerked back, sending him straight to the floor.

Sprawled on his mahogany floor, he cursed loudly. Now his cane was much farther from him. What would he do now? Crawl on his limbs like a newborn, to get to it? Damn it, this wasn't fair. Just in one accident, he'd lost it all. His parents, his right leg, his damn face which was now etched with the ugliest scars and now, it felt like he was also losing his will to live.

He could hear the creaking of his door being pushed open from where he laid and the thudding of footsteps drawing forward. Larkin's head was still tipped down in embarrassment and he could hear Mrs. Esther Phelps, his housekeeper's unmistaken sobbing voice when she caught the sight of him sprawled on the floor in his robe. "Young Master, oh God. Byron, help me get him up."

Larkin looked up to meet Mrs. Esther's drawn look in her tired blue eyes. Byron Phelps, her middle aged son with his tousled locks of almost greying hair that frayed loosely on his forehead and wide brown eyes, was standing by her side and made his way to him. He placed his stocky hands around Larkin's arm, steadying him up. Mrs. Esther took his other hand, and together they put him back on the bed. Byron Phelps handed him his cane. "Here you go, Young Master."

Larkin's cheeks flushed. He was embarrassed to be seen like this, in front of them. Helpless and frustrated. They could see it too, but didn't say a thing about it. "Thank you, but I could get up myself."

Mrs. Esther sent him her usual maternal longing looks. "Of course you could, dearie but it would just be rude to keep standing and watching you, without lending a hand."

Byron added with a nod. "Yes, Young Master. When we heard a loud thud from upstairs, we assumed the worst. We're just thankful you're alive."

Larkin grunted. He could never feel alive after everything he had lost. Death and loss only leaves the pathway for the heart to bleed. That had been how he felt for the past year ever since the accident. A bleeding heart leaving behind a lingering emptiness. The emptiness was still there. He tried to make himself forget about that night. But he couldn't, no matter how much he tried. His scars were a reminder of his loss. A reminder that he deserved to stay away from the world. A reminder that he wouldn't get his old life. Rich and popular quarterback of that damn prep school. What was the use of that, if everyone was going to turn their backs away from him? He knew first hand how people were. If they didn't need you, they'd leave you. There was no use denying that.

Mrs. Esther spoke gently. "Mr. Callum tried calling your number by eight last night and I guess you were already asleep by then. Anyway, he called me on the phone and said that the perpetrator was trying to post bail. He was able to get information about the thief and he promised to call this morning for further information."

Larkin gave the tiniest hint of a scoff. He had heard about the attempted robbery of his family's heirloom by the company's own janitor. The Red Rosewood antique would always sit at the centre of his father's former office's table. The ruby encrusted cedar chest had been sitting there for years. It had not been touched, not even once, in almost 72 years and now, things were no longer in his favor.

Larkin knew he needed to be diplomatic about this. He had read all the details about the caught thief who was sitting in the Sheriff's holding cell at the moment. Stealing something this grand is no joke. He was sure the board had a lot to say about his 'competence' and the only thing he could do, was to show strength; even if he didn't want to. "Thank you, Mrs. Esther. I'll personally call him myself. I'll deal with the matter on my own."

Byron offered a small smile. The way they treated him like a delicate egg irked Larkin. He wasn't going to break. The only thing he had left was the company and he was willing to fight for it. He knew what people would do if he let it go. "That's very good, sir. We'll excuse you now."

"If you'd like to know, breakfast is ready. Pancakes and orange juice. Just the way you love it." Mrs. Esther beamed.

Larkin's lips curled up slightly. "I'd rather check my garden first. I'd be pissed if I didn't get to water the plants."

Byron protested, brown eyes widening at his words. "Master Larkin, I could get Maxime to do it for you. You should be resting. You've been advised not to lean too much on your leg, or you could lose bo—"

"I'm always inside the house all day. I enjoy this. It's my hobby and I won't let any damn doctor tell me otherwise." Larkin shook his head firmly. It was bad enough that he was cooped up in here and now, the only thing he could tolerate would be taken away too. The hell that would happen.

Mother and son shared a concerned look before simultaneously nodding at him. Larkin heaved in relief. "Please, you can go now. I need to change."

Larkin's gaze trailed to their retreating figures after they gave yet another simultaneous nod. His door was pressed shut. Larkin tightened his grip on his cane and limped to his closet. The clicking sound of his stick trailed before him until he stood before the grand doors of his closet and pulled it open. His eyes flitted over his array of clothes, arranged in a well-polished color scheme. He pulled out his ivory trenchcoat he used for gardening and tossed it over his bed. His arms stretched towards his boots and he placed it to the side of his bed. He cracked a smile. His umbrella was where he usually kept it. Now, he was ready for gardening.

******
Larkin limped to get a hold of the hose when he noticed someone lurking around the field. He immediately grew defensive when he noticed the blue and gold uniform of the young woman that hugged the upper part of her lithe body tightly. When last had any of the students tried to egg or sneak into his house? It had been a year, so what was she trying to do? Maybe she was a new student and this was a hazing phase. He grunted. He wasn't going to let her get away, no matter how beautiful she was.

Larkin spoke, annoyance lacing his words. "You're trespassing."

The girl turned to look at him, blinking. Larkin narrowed his eyes. Waves of dark brown hair rolled down her back, framing her heart shaped face. Her oxbow lips parted slightly when she caught his sight. Good, he preferred that she was frightened. Then the most surprising thing shook him. Every hint of fear in the pale hue of her soft brown eyes washed away and was replaced with a determined look. Her thick eyebrows furrowed. "I'd rather talk face to face without any hindrance in the way, if you don't mind."

Larkin fought back a scoff. His face was well hidden under his umbrella. It was the method he used to avoid anyone seeing his horrific scars. Too bad this girl wasn't budging. She wanted to see how he looked like? Fine. There was no way she'd stay, if she saw the scars etched on his face. If that was the only way to get rid of her, so be it.