ME & THE MONSTER

freaks

Right, I was really regretting inviting Ben over now.

I hissed and slapped his hand off my cheek.

"Quit doing that, Ben," I whispered from underneath him. "You know I'm – that I have –"

He looked at me. "A scar?"

I felt a burning surge of shame, as I always did when the subject came up. Years of bullying at school had worn my confidence down. Weirdo, they'd called me. Witch, loner.

It didn't help that I'd been a naturally shy kid. I didn't make friends easily, and squashed down by their alternating mocking cruelty and blatant ignoring, it turned me into a silent, anxious teenager.

There was no one who'd willingly sit next to me in class, and if they did, they'd perch on the farthest edge of the chair, holding their nose, as though being scarred were an infectious disease.

No one I could gossip and giggle and exchange notes with during lessons. No one I could link my arm through and share crisps with at breaktime. No one I could invite over for sleepovers.

The loneliness was vast, sharp as the brightest glass, hollow as hunger. It made my bones ache. It sucked the life from me, little by little, day after day.

You bring out the monster inside me, my bullies would say.

It does things to you, being bullied, you know. Crumbles you. Changes you into someone bitter and scared, into a half-person who never dares speak up.

My classmates would also mutter about Mum. "She has people over at theirs every night," they'd snigger. "She – you know – entertains them."

Somehow they'd got hold of this information, but what they were driving at was far from the truth. There again, what really went on at home every now and again, when we were going through a rough patch and needed every extra pound that could come in, wouldn't have set their minds at ease either.

That's the thing about humans, you see. Despite what they might believe, they need no demonic influence to be infinitely cruel. They manage on their own extremely well indeed.

However, deep down in my heart, I knew who was really to blame for the bullying, for turning me into a ghost version of myself.

The angels'. They'd marked me that night on that wet street, and they'd ruined everything.

Sometimes I'd lock myself in the toilet and force myself to stare at my face in the mirror. I'd trace the snake-like outline of the long white scar that began under my right eye, ran down the cheek and ended near the corner of my mouth. You bring out the monster inside me. I stared at it, and hated it, and sometimes I hated myself. I was so self-conscious about the scar I couldn't even leave the house without covering it with a thick layer of makeup.

I didn't fit in anywhere. At home I wasn't bad enough, at school I wasn't good enough, cool enough, pretty enough.

I was a freak.

* * *

"It's heart-wrenching, isn't it, to think of all the starving people in the world," Cassandra declared, looking pointedly at Kal's steaming plate, piled high with potatoes and meat.

"Absolutely." Kal wolfed down another chunk of roast beef. Oh God, she was wearing The Face. He steeled himself. "I couldn't agree with you more."

She glared at him in stony silence.

"What do you want me to do about it, Cass?" he said.

Cassandra flung her thin hands into the air. "I don't know!" she said. "You're an angel, aren't you, same as us all? Perhaps seek the Greater Good? Rings any bells?"