The Horrifying Secrets Of A Teenage Girl

"I'm not afraid.
To take a stand.
Everybody.
Come take my hand.
We'll walk this road together.
Through the storm.
Whatever weather.
Cold or warm.
Let me know that,
You're not alone.
Holla if you feel that you've been down the same road."

I walk through the biting blizzard, the snowflakes land on my frizzy hair, my nose, my tongue. I am walking home from school, I'm by myself, just me and mother nature battling. The earplugs are a comfort, with eminem screaming pumped anger into my eardrums. His lyrics bring back all the memories that should never have resurfaced.

"Faggot,"

The comment seemed to slap me in the face. I did not even know who the girl was, she was just passing me in the halls. She made a judgement of me. I was the new girl, the weirdo, all the way from Europe. The jagged scar running from my left eye to my chin did not help either. That's all people saw. My fucking scar. That horrible, stretched, pink river flowing down myself, covering me.

"Halloween make-up disaster?" a guy snickered, shoving me against a locker, causing me to spill my book all over the place.

"ooh, be careful you don't get another stretch mark, bitch," I did not even bother looking at my accuser.

"The baby came out your face?" this was a different voice, a shower of insults raining down on me while I scrambled along the floor, sweeping books into my bag.

It felt like a million knives were stabbing into me, causing more retched scars to morph into my body. Please don't cry. Too late. The tears were bubbling, and they spilled over, emphasizing the scar.

"Don't wet it, it could get infected!" someone sneered.

Kill me now.

That was two weeks ago. Every day it got worse. The scar was trapping me, cornering me into a living hell. In my mind, it wasn't the bullies who were doing the harm, it was the scar. I thought I'd have no chance to make new friends, it was too late, I was already branded. I was the scar-faced, self-conscious freak. Then I decided I'd make a change too that.

"Who would like to read out their essay on, "An interesting thing about myself?" Miss called out, beaming down on the pupils.

I slowly put up my hand.

"Kirstie! Come on up here and tell us about yourself,"

A few snickers and hushed whispers wrapped around my confidence as I walked up.

"An Interesting Thing About Myself, by Kirstie Macilraith," I looked down on the class, they were expecting the puppet to break it's strings.

"As I'm reading this, your eyes are probably dragged towards my noticeable scar. I know it's there, I don't need people to remind me. But I have a story on how I got it," I gulped down the ball that was in my throat, "When I was fourteen, I was asked to be a beauty model. I'm tall and have angular features, so they asked me. I signed a contract with Swift Models, that had it's own chain of clothing stores across Europe, even a few here in America. As other agents noticed me in the magazines, I was asked by more and more agencies. Then, the darker agencies came,"

The snickering was suffocated by a blanket of silence.

"A cheap agency, who's models were porn models, asked about me. They were run by gangs, and the agency was very shady with murderers, drug dealers, and whores. It was dangerous to get asked by them, but my managers were very careful to protect me. They refused point-blank to allow me work for anything the dark agency was involved with. Turns out they weren't protective enough. Last winter, I was walking home from a shoot on my own, my mum couldn't collect me because it was snowing heavily. A car pulled up and a guy jumped out and stuck a needle in me, knocking me out. I woke up, bruised, bloodied, and naked in a cold dirty warehouse room. I was tied up and trapped to a filthy wet bed.

A couple of guys in balaclavas came in. They raped me furiously. They told me that they worked for the shady modeling agency, the one who I'd been warned so much about. They abused me for hours, the darkest of my life. Then, a guy leaned in and whispered in my ear, "Who's gonna want your beauty now?" and slowly cut the side of my face with a knife, scarring me for life. They dropped me outside the door of Swift Model's work building. I was still tied up, naked, unconscious, and my scar was bleeding into the snow.

A note was taped to me, but I was never told what it read, it was for my own sake. Luckily, a policeman spotted me about ten minutes after I was dropped off, I was slowly dyeing from pneumonia and blood-loss. I was brought straight to hospital. I stayed in there for a month, most of my illness from shock, trauma, and my scar. When I was out, I had to move across the world and change my name. I can't even reveal my old one to you guys, but I was a well-known model in Europe.

So by doing something that made me beautiful, I was branded ugly. All I ask you is, don't judge me. My dream job was taken away, that's enough for one lifetime.

I can never be a model again,"

My heart was hammering and I was sweating freely. The silence was unbearable. Miss gave out a little gasp. Then, someone started clapping. Then another. Then another. Soon, I could not hear myself think from the echo of applaud throughout the room. A few 'woops' erupted too. I made a small smile, it felt like a million tons had been lifted off my body.

That was today. I smiled into the snow. Even if my classmates had hated me even more for saying that, I was just happy it was said.

"I'm Not Afraid!"

I felt the crumpled piece of paper in my pocket. I took it out and let my eyes glide over it for the millionth time.

"Here's your precious Kate Smith. We gave her a bit of a makeover. Like it?"

It could no longer reach to me anymore. I folded it neatly. Then I felt my hand fling it away into the misty snow, and I was happy knowing the snow would let the ink dye the white a blue-black. The words would be erased forever. I can't erase my scar, or the memories, or the pain, but I can erase the past.

In a way.