95 Scars

That day, the memory, that sensation, all burned into her flesh. Her second skin of confidence floating away from her, inch by inch, it was only a few nasty battle scars, but it felt like thousands singed her very soul. The most visible, being the very kryptonite of her self-esteem, it ate away her vain complexion. Her fiery locks eventually cringed away after fighting off the impact for weeks, giving her the hairstyle of a 9 year old boy. Her breathing uneven, the smoke intoxicated her lungs when the flames broke out all around her; it was too hard to keep it out, choking her internally.

CeCe looked into the mirror, studying her appearance. She was an eyesore, her neck and upper chest was deep black with ash residue too strong to be cleaned off, her hair was still vibrant with color, but dirty and dry by the edges. Her fingernails were just beginning to grow back, but to keep herself comfortable; she wore a pair of white knitted gloves. Her legs were battered in soars, similar to her arms, which is the reason for all long sleeves shirts and jeans she wore to hide her shame.

But what made her loathe her features the most was a scar. A scar that singed half of her face, it in no way deformed her natural face structure, but more or less, sucked the tan color right out. It beat the skin cells until it had won custody; dark, withered, pink, inflamed flesh replaced her old, yet healthy layer. She couldn't even bare to look at herself any longer, the hot tears were on the brim of her eyelids.

The names she was called, getting pushed down in the hall, none of it was worth this. Why did she even hold on anymore? She was always told to smile, but the bittersweet one she showed once in a blue moon rarely appeared anymore. Why bother faking it anymore? Her friends always told her to be happy she survived the accident, but in reality, CeCe silently wished she would have gone down in flame with the house.

She trudged home from school, every day. The words echoed around inside her head, pounding on the interior of her weakened skull. On her way to the elevator one day, she checked her mail slot, might as well help out her mother. It wasn't so easy anymore, ever since the incident, CeCe sensed that her mom was throwing herself into even more work than before, as a distraction.

The slot was completely vacant, except for a single letter. On her tip toes, her hand stretched out for the letter, ignoring the burning feeling erupting on the surface of her arm. When the letter was in her palms and retrieved out of the mailbox, she was surprised when it was addressed to her. The outside read To Cecelia Jones. A scope of the lobby showed that she was completely alone, this wasn't a cruel, sick joke one of the jocks were pulling on her. Not wanting to take any chances, the redhead ventured back up to her apartment.

The door clicked shut; her back was pressed against it. Her fingers slid on the top of the envelope, before slowly opening and pulling out the contents inside. A slip of loose leaf paper fell onto her lap. She unfolded it, smoothing out the creases in the paper. It read:

CeCe,

You are strong, never forget that. The scars that cover your body don't make you who you are; they tell the story of how you are the most incredible girl in the world. I have never met anyone as beautiful as you, inside and out.

-Anonymous

Her eyes forced themselves closed, squeezing the tears from her eyes to roll down her cheeks. The stinging in her skin only made her cry more. She held the scrap of paper close to her chest, it touched her heart. It made her feel important, she felt worth it for once. In a moment, CeCe was in her room, looking at the bare walls, voices of her classmates seeping through the plaster. Her gaze fixated back on the piece of loose leaf, showing it a genuine, but bittersweet smile. Her dresser held a tiny box of push pins, convenient for her next action. Taking a red push pin, a marker, and the paper, she walked over to her wall.

With the marker, she engraved a number one on it, as a reminder of the only happiness she got since the day of the accident.

With the push pin, she stuck the piece of paper right in the middle of her unoccupied canvas. Her childhood pictures of her that used to be housed on her walls were disposed of; they were a mere reminder of the beauty she no longer felt, but this one note, told her otherwise.

Months passed, and her wall flooded with the notes. Every day, she would check her mailbox, and every day, the redhead would receive yet another note. Tears welled up into her eyes, stringing along her face that would never heal. The notes were her secrecy to almost becoming the old CeCe, in hopes to be reincarnated, but every time her eyes would drastically tear away from the mirror, all hopes withered away.

Today, she sat in front of her wall; just silently letting her insecurities fall out of her eyes in the form of hot tears. Her hands bridged her chin as she glared down the wall, the notes slowly beginning to overlap, the space to pin them up was de-pleading faster and faster. Each message was different every day; sometimes it was a paragraph, sometimes it was a mere sentence, or word, it didn't matter to her. The back of the paper had encrusted a number, she recalled being up to 94.

If only everyone else could see your beauty, the way I see it. –Anonymous.

I was elated to find a smile on your face today; I could look at it forever. –Anonymous

Scars aren't anything compared to what really matters, your heart –Anonymous

It breaks my heart to know that you're hurting, when in reality, you are the reason that someone smiles –Anonymous

I promise someone will love you, for you, and think you are beautiful –Anonymous

But her eyes kept tracing back to the one right in the middle of her face.

(Day 95) One day, I hope you look back at these messages, and think they mean something. I mean every word I write to you; no one should ever feel the way you did the day of the accident. I'll never judge how you look, or ever try to make you feel like any less of a person. I remember the day you explained to the class how many scars you had, 95, each of them showing your strengths. To me, I have never seen anyone as beautiful or as deserving of love as you CeCe. I pray every day to see the old CeCe come back. I'm sure everyone does, but even if I never get to see her again, I know you're still in there, somewhere. –Anonymous

Day 95 washed all of the voices lingering in her room away. Each time she would post another passage up onto her wall, another crude voice would diminish under it. But the most recent, Day 95 was different. It made the tears flood. Her heart would sink into her stomach, only to be lifted out by the butterflies dancing around. A smile would almost break out under all those tears. Note number 95 was the one she favored the most, out of the several she received.

But it was also the last one she ever got. Never losing hope, she'd frantically look for another every day, only to find nothing.

A few weeks later, CeCe decided it was time for her to get back on track. Not worry about what others thought of her, but the comments still stung. Slowly, everyone forgot about her blemish, they treated her like an actual human being.

"See you after lunch CeCe!" called her best friend, Rocky, who dispatched with the other pupils down the other end of the hallway. CeCe flashed her friend a sweet smile before dialing the combination to her locker. The faulty hinge jammed her locker door again, with a strong yank; her locker door flew open, hitting the other lockers. A piece of paper, which was attached to the inside of her locker, fell to her feet.

"That's weird..." muttered the redhead, scooping the scrap of paper into her palms. She slowly opened it, smoothing out the creases.

I'm so proud of you sweetie –Anonymous

Her lips curved upward into a smile, her fingers toying with it as the redhead let it become inches from her chest. Her left cheek dripped a dark shade of red, and her withered cheek tinted the same. For safe keeping, she tucked the loose leaf back inside her jean pocket. An arm then draped over her should, a warm sensation tenderly touched her cheek, when they pulled back; it revealed her boyfriend and longtime best friend, Deuce.

"Ready for lunch?" he asked. Her hand slithered up to his hand which rested one her shoulder to entwine with his fingers. With a small smile and nod, they were off on the trail of their other friends.

10 years since the accident. 10 years it took for her to fully heal. Today, she would become a wife.

Her hair never grew back, but was finally properly cut; it had daisies sewn in for the occasion. Her makeup ran dry in attempt to cover the scar, but couldn't be accomplished without turning her into a tiny porcelain doll. Her dress had a cloth that covered up her chest and neck with a small, white fishnet fabric. The rest of her dress was smooth as silk; it got slightly more open towards her knees. Overall, it was the most beautiful she had felt in years, the mirror even agreed with her this time when CeCe fully examined herself.

The sound of the music started to play, signaling it was almost time for her to walk down the aisle, but something was stopping her. Doubts that her groom would stay with her, through thick and thin, he knew she would never get any more beautiful. In panic, the redhead scoped the room, until her eyes fell onto a tiny glass case she kept on the top of her makeup table.

Inside held letter number 95, the only letter that could fully calm her. The words, she memorized by heart. Somehow, the author of all the letters had remained a mystery for 10 years, but it only took 95 days for her to fall for the mysterious letter sender. The 95th was the day she confirmed it, and still after 10 years, CeCe yearned to at least know the name of the man who saved her life, through words.

She was ready, snatching up her bouquet of daisies; she waited until it was her turn to walk down the aisle. Flynn, her younger brother, was giving her away since her father couldn't get a flight out to the wedding. The aisle seemed so long, her knees starting to wobble while he eyes followed them, but it all washed away when she saw him at the other end, waiting for her patiently. A kind and loving look in his dark brown eyes, his smile small, but growing bit by bit as she got closer and closer to the other end of the church. The justice of the peace started to speak; CeCe nervously let her eyes linger around the room, all the tears, the smiles, seemed to suffocate her. Her face began to lose its color, which only went unnoticed by her groom for so long. His hard steadily grasped onto her elbows has he slowly fell to her knees, cushioning the fall.

"CeCe, are you okay?" whispered Deuce, trying to catch a glimpse of her face, which was already stained with tears.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, let's keep going," she choked out, stumbling to get back on her feet. Deuce leaned over to her ear.

"I'm supposed to be the nervous one," he whispered again, causing his bride to giggle.

The ceremony went on, and CeCe's heart was throwing itself against her ribcage the whole time, until it was time for their vows. Through the jitters, the redhead read it without missing a beat, but when it was Deuce's turn, he didn't want the one he wrote down. His finished copy was stored in his memory.

"CeCe, ever since the day of the accident, I was how you slowly lost touch with the real you, and being in love with you at the time, it tore me apart. I didn't know how to make you feel important, so, I tried anonymously."

The redhead's eyes widened, they glistened under the light. The tears that recently evaporated were on the brim of her eyelids again. Realization hit her, hard; of course he was the one who sent her the 95 notes. The hints he gave, always complimenting how she looked, slipping in how beautiful she was every chance he got, being next to her side as long as she let him. He tried his best to break her walls, until finally, he found a better solution, one where it was one on one, her and his writing.

"You wrote those?" stuttered out the redhead, fighting back another barricade of water threatening to break free from her tear ducts.

"I wanted you to know how beautiful you still were after the accident. A few weeks after I stopped sending you the notes, you were starting to become your old self again. It showed me that you were a strong person, and I finally had enough strength to ask you out. I was never going to tell you, so you thought there were people out there you didn't exactly knew who thought you were beautiful. There were several people, who thought you were still beautiful, and some jerks didn't, but behind the rude and hurtful comments, I knew they just couldn't handle missing an opportunity to tear down someone they envied. Cecelia, you spent the last 10 years holding on, and I can't believe I ever got to be so lucky being able to call you mine, and now, I will spend the rest of my life trying to make you feel the same way I do. I promise I'll never leave your side, or ever make you feel like any less of a person. I love you."

CeCe couldn't hold it in anymore; her eyes were beat red, damp. She was surprised she had any tears left after ten years of doing nothing but that. Their hands intertwined once again, saying their 'I do's', exchanging of the rings, and to seal the whole deal, a kiss.

The room erupts in music, but CeCe doesn't take his hand he offers her, instead, her arms fly around his neck, they lock tightly. He responds by latching his strong arms around her small fragile frame, his face buried in her neck. He also had tears running down his cheeks, onto the dip in her neck. When they pulled away, Deuce let his fingers run along the scar on the side of her face, silently assuring her he doesn't mind.

Now, here she is, finding the man who made it all worthwhile. CeCe forgave the 'Big Guy' for putting her through this, her point of view on life changed afterwards. She accepted her flaws, the withered patches, the ash that filled her lungs, the departure of her long fiery tresses.

Her 95th scar was the kryptonite of her inner conflict of her complexion.

95 days he reassured her that it only made her even more stunning.

The 95th note gave her hope that her life wasn't over, and someone out there cared for her,

and not her 95 scars.