Ugly : clifford a.u

Spencer

“What is wrong with your face freak?”

“You’re disgusting.”

“It looks like a zombie.”

“It’s disgusting.”

Staring down at the sidewalk, I listened to the boys laughing around me, squishing the shred of dignity I had until I had none left. Until I was rendered a sniveling germ, a pathetic idea of a girl.

“Like what happened to your face? It’s disgusting?”

“Why would you even go out in public looking like that?”

“Were you born like that?”

“If you were my kid I’d put you up for adoption.”

“No one would adopt that thing!”

“Stop! What the hell are you doing?”

Not daring to look up I listened to the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps before I watched a pair of khakis and a blue polo step infront of me protectively.

“Leave her alone.” The body which belonged to the blue shirt, spat.

“Oh come on man, ease up.” One of the boys laughed.

“Leave her alone.” My rescuer repeated, “I mean it.”

“Oh come on dude look at her!” another boy laughed, “We’re not saying anything that isn’t true.”

“If you don’t leave I’m calling the police.” The boy infront of me warned, “You’re loitering, causing a public disturbance and harassing her.”

“Whatever.” One of the boys chuckled, “We’ve got better things to do anyway.”

I was aware of the fact that the boys were walking away, before I felt a gentle touch on my arm.

“Are you okay?”

Startled, I looked up to find Ashton from Video Valley looking down at me with concern.

“Yeah.” I said quickly, too quickly, “I’m fine.”

Not commenting on the tears rolling down my cheeks, a courtesy I was immensely grateful for, Ashton ran his fingertips through his hair.

“You’re Luke’s sister right?”

Fiddling with my fingertips nervously I nodded.

“Yeah, he comes into the store a lot.” He continued, “Mean Girls, White Chicks or Legally Blonde every time.”

Smiling awkwardly, I nodded.

“Are you sure you’re oaky?” Ashton pressed, “What those guys did…. That was shitty.”

“I’m fine.” I assured him.

Nodding, he glanced around the relatively empty parking lot.

“Do you like Olive Garden?” he questioned randomly.

“What?” I whispered.

“Olive Garden.” He repeated, “Do you like it?”

“Yeah, I guess.” I replied with a shrug.

“Do you want to go to Olive Garden with me?” he said.

“What?” I demanded taken aback.

“Olive garden.” He said slowly, “Do you want to go with me? I have a gift card and it’s kind of awkward to go in there by yourself, sit at a table for one and eat breadsticks until you bust.”