Ugly : clifford a.u

Spencer

Pulling my hood over my head, I crammed wrapped my ear buds around my phone and crammed it into my pocket before opening the glass front door of the video store.

As soon as I stepped inside, a bell jingled overhead. Looking down, not wanting anyone to see my face, I was startled when I noticed a pair of dirty black Vans standing infront of me.

Licking my lips nervously I chanced a glance upward and found a tired looking boy standing infront of me with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his pants, a name tag reading Ashton, hanging crookedly from his blue polo.

“Hi.” He greeted, “Welcome to Video Valley.”

“Hi.” I mumbled, looking down.

“Returning those?” he questioned.

Looking down at the small stack of DVDs in my hand I nodded.

“Follow me.” He said pleasantly.

Following after him I took in my surroundings before stopping infront of a counter, which Ashton hopped over, cracking his knuckles before stepping behind the register.

Taking the DVDs from me, he began opening the cases, making sure the circular, disks were inside before scanning them and snapping them closed.

“Quite the collection you’ve got here.” He noted, holding up Mean Girls.

“That’s my brothers.” I mumbled.

Smirking, he held up a black and white movie.

“That’s my Mom’s.”

Nodding, he held up Friday the Thirteenth.

“Let me guess, your brother’s?” he questioned.

“No actually,” I muttered, blushing furiously, “That one’s mine.”

“Really?” he laughed, “I didn’t think you were the horror movie type.”

I shrugged.

“Did you like it?” he pressed.

“Not really.” I admitted, “There was too much blood.”

“How can there be too much blood?” Ashton scoffed, “It’s a horror movie.”

“I like psychological horror movies.” I mumbled.

“Do you?” Ashton asked.

Playing with the sleeves of my sweatshirt I nodded.

“I have the perfect movie for you then.” He said, hopping over the counter once again, and disappearing down one of the aisles.

Wishing I had put more effort into my appearance I followed after him, standing a few feet back as he scanned the shelves before straightening up, and handing a movie to me proudly.

Tentatively I took the film from his grasp and looked down.

“Orphan?” I said slowly.

“Great movie!” he gushed, “Completely psychological, none of the gross bloody stuff, all of the horror. You won’t be able to sleep for a week straight.”

“Are you speaking from experience?” I said quietly.

“No.” he laughed, “My sister watched it.”

Turning the case over in my hands I nodded.

“You won’t regret it.” He said, “Well you will, but for all the right reasons.”

“Thanks.” I mumbled.

“Don’t mention it.” He replied, cramming his hands in his pockets once again, “You need help with anything else?”

Keeping my head down I shook my head.

“Let me know if you do.” He said, before weaving his way back through the aisles to the front of the store.

Flipping the movie over in my hands, I walked towards the comedy section to look for a movie for Luke, however froze at the sight of a big black dog staring back at me.

Immediately the horrible pain, the unforgettable ripping sound and the blood curdling fear, flashed through my mind, and crying out in alarm I fell backwards, my hood falling off in the process, leaving my face out in the open.

“What the hell?”

Shaking I looked up and found a boy rounding the corner, the short leash of the dog clutched tightly in his right hand.

My heart hammering wildly in my chest, I glanced upward to his face, his forced was wrinkled in concern, his mouth was slightly parted and his brown hair hung down his forehead in a fringe, just brushing the top of his dark sunglasses.

Suddenly a little girl ran around the corner, and clinging to the legs of the boy looked me up and down with horror.

“Woah,” she breathed, “Michael, what’s wrong with her face?”

“What’s going on here?” Ashton said, walking around the corner.

Not wanting him to see my face, I hastily rose to my feet and pulling my hood over my head once again, ran out of the store, brushing past Ashton and shoving the movie he had recommended into his hands.

Pushing the door open, making the bell over head tinkle, I ran outside, stopping to sit on the bench out front since I was crying too hard to go much farther.

Rubbing at my eyes furiously I pulled my phone out of my pocket and looked down in my reflection on the dark screen, my stomach churning at the sight. Scars ran from my hairline down to my jaw, my nose was a twisted, mangled mess of a thing, and my left ear was ripped and torn beyond repair.

Choking on my sobs, I shoved my phone in my pocket, unable to stand the sight of myself a second longer, and pulling my legs up to my chest, sobbed into my knees.

I had never been normal. I knew that I was different even at the age of five when I was adopted from Ghana. I understood that my dark skin was different from my Mom and brothers’ fair complexions. I knew that my dark curly hair was different from the straight, blonde locks of my family. And I knew that my mangled face was different from anyone and everyone else. I understood that I wasn’t just different, or unique, different or special. That dog ten years prior had taken something I could never get back and made me into something I’d been told since infancy it was impossible to be, ugly.