A/N: Hey! This is part 1 of my submissions for Nalu Angst Week 2017. I know, I know. I need to update Cataclysm. Don't worry. I have chapter 2 almost done (just have to do one final pass) and chapter 3 is getting on the road. After this week, I'll be dedicating a large portion of my writing time to finishing a few more chapters so that I can be a few chaps ahead and you guys don't have to be waiting for five years for an update. AAAANYWAYYY here is chapter 1!

Prompt: Scars

The Scars That Don't Heal

There was a time where she was looked on with admiration and envy. She couldn't walk down the street without getting catcalled or hear a woman scoff under her breath just because she wore something that made her feel confident, albeit a bit more immodest than some would like. . She'd be able to walk up to vendors and, if she played her cards right, she could land a pretty decent discount. It didn't exactly work half the time, but that was beside the point. She even managed to land a pretty big following when she had posed for Sorcerer Weekly way back when and she hadn't even tried for that one.

That seemed like years ago now

But now was different. Now she couldn't walk down the street without hearing a gasp or a whistle as someone caught sight of her. She had tried to cover it up. Tried wearing her hair differently, buying hats, nothing worked. She hated the looks she got now. Many just stopped mid-step and turned a different direction. There were the spare few, however, that when she caught their eye, they'd give her that look. That terrible look one would give a beat up stray that seemed to say "I want to help but get away from me".

Luckily, she hadn't gotten to the moms-shielding-their-children-from-the-sight-of-her yet, but she had a feeling that if anything would happen next, it would be that. It had gotten to the point where she didn't even bother looking people in the eye. She instead favored the various colored street signs or the cobblestone sidewalks or even the broken Aquarius key she wore around her neck. She tended to stay away from that one the most, lest she invite more unwanted memories back into her head.

She turned a corner and pushed on the glass door that released dozens of sweet aromas of pastries. She took a deep breath of the scent and stepped in. Erza's favorite cake shop had grown on her in these last few months. It was tucked away in a little corner of Magnolia that allowed it to be just out of sight but not quite out of mind. Granted, that was probably not so good for business, but by the state of its colorful awnings, pristine black and white checkerboard flooring, and a bright grin on the baker's face, she would been none the wiser. She took her place at her usual table hidden in the far corner of the shop, far enough away for regular customers to pay her no mind but close enough for her to see their faces and see reactions other than disgust or pity.

"Hey, Lucy," said Karen, placing a pitcher of coffee on her small table. "How're we doing today? Your footsteps seemed a bit heavy when you walked in. Anything you want to talk about?"

Lucy tried to smile, but the action didn't quite reach her lips. She wrapped her fingers around the pink mug she had seemingly adopted and sighed. Karen, sensing her unease, took the seat opposite her and stared at something just past Lucy's shoulder.

"Come on. You know you can't hide anything from me." She taps her cloudy eyes. "They say when you lose one sense, the others are amplified and I have a particularly good ability to tell when people are upset."

Lucy giggled. "You know that's not actually a sense, right?" She lifted the pitcher to her mug and poured.

Karen waved her off. "Pft. If it's not a sense, then what is it?"

"I shrugged," she said as her shoulders lifted.

"Ha! I could tell before you even-hey wait. Stop trying to change the subject."

Lucy sighed again as she sipped the warm, hazelnut blend of this morning's roast. Karen knew exactly what was wrong; the conversation would always go the same direction and end the same way: with Karen having steam coming out of her ears because of her inability to understand why people gave Lucy such dirty looks. Karen may have been blind, but she wasn't stupid. She knew about Lucy's scars, how they disfigured half her face, beginning above her eyebrow and ending somewhere around her shoulder. The thick, light almost-white lines scratched down her face like lightning over her eye and down her cheek, leaving large indents where there should have been regular, smooth skin. Where normal skin had been only a few months earlier.

"It's just the usual gawkers, Karen. Don't worry about it," Lucy mumbled from within her cup.

Karen continued to stare at the place above Lucy's shoulder though the girl could feel the heaviness anyway. After a moment, she sighed and leaned back in her chair.

"Alright, alright. I'll stop," Karen said, beside herself, but continued, "pestering you, that is. I won't stop worrying about you until you're out of this dark corner and out in the sun, for once."

Lucy let out a breath and rolled her eyes but inevitably smiled. "Sounds like a plan."

The old woman smiled that old lady smile where the corners of their eyes crinkle up, and you can practically see the sugar oozing from their pores. For all she knew, Karen was oozing sugar and mixing it in with the batter for the bakery's signature cakes.

Her gaze followed the woman's disappearing back as she slapped at the doorway to the back room with her walking stick and dissolved into darkness.

Lucy turned back to the throngs of people that frequented this shop on early Sunday mornings like this one. There were always so many, and all dressed like they were going to a funeral or something. They weren't of course; it was just church, but to her, they might as well have been the same thing. Most of the time it was families that came in, wanting to sweeten up their weekend a bit with a little something extra. The children were always the funniest to watch; they'd get all excited at the sheer volume of sugary delights crammed into one, small establishment. They'd get that same, sparkling look in their eyes that always managed to drag a grin from Lucy.

A little boy ran up to the glass case where dozens of sweets stood at attention, waiting for their turn to shine. His hungry eyes swept over all of the different assortments of cookies and doughnuts and muffins. He turned to both parents and begged for more than one, despite the adults insisting for only one treat. His smile dropped a fraction as he turned back to the case. He lifted a finger to point, but every time he would figure out what he wanted, his eyes would catch on the frosting or fruit of another, and that finger would go slack. The baker laughed and reached into the display. He placed the filled bag in the child's arms and smiled when the child's face broke into an ear-to-ear grin. The boy practically leaped into the air with joy.

His toothy smile tugged on Lucy's heart, and the image of pink hair and a scarf faded over the boy's features.

Lucy's own grin dropped, and she shook her head. Heart in her throat, she closed her eyes.

It wasn't him.

It wasn't going to be him. Her brain had to stop doing this to her.

She clenched her eyes shut and refused to open them until she heard the ringing of the front door and the sound of faded laughter. She squeezed her half empty mug and pushed her chair back. She passed the display case where the boy's breath marks were still visible, her eyes glazing over. Her body automatically placed the mug on the small counter and reached into her purse. She wished that those memories would just go away, that they'd just leave her to whatever sorry corner of her life she resigned herself to. Granted, she'd still be alone, but at least she'd be in peace.

Gray had insisted that she not try and forget about the whole ordeal; that it was for the best and would be good in the long run. She had scoffed and argued about failing to see any good to have come of it. He was lucky. He got out of it virtually unscathed. He moved on. He grew from it and became a better wizard because of it but left her in the dust. Everyone else was able to keep going, but there was a certain finality to it all that kept her behind. She refused to accept it: that this was her life now, and in turn, she had stayed behind.

"Lucy?" the baker urged.

Lucy blinked and realized that he had probably been speaking to her for some time now. Lamely, she stared back, hoping he would repeat what he was going to say.

"I'm sorry. I'm fine. What'd you say?" she said, her voice thicker than she had hoped.

He merely smiled and repeated.

"I was just asking if you wanted to take Erza's order back with you. I assumed you were going back to the guild hall after this?"

Lucy threw up the brightest smile she could muster, but even she could feel the fakeness of it.

"Sure thing! Did she actually pay this time or will you have to put it on her tab?"

The old man laughed, the sound resonating from his belly and creating a certain warmness that would have typically made her laugh as well.

"Nah," he said, "She's been pretty good these last few times. Anyway-"

He reached into the best lit part of the display case and slid out a cake roughly the size of a human head decorated with small strawberries that lined the edges of light, white frosting. It was complex yet simple in design: white buttercream draped over the sides like snowy curtains held up by small ruby weights. There was no fancy design, no elaborate scripture in the center. Just a crisp, clean white cake with strawberries being the only source of color. The dessert felt wrong in her hands. She stared at it with a particular disdain and jealousy even. Here was something coated in white that others looked at with delight whereas here she was in the same situation but looked upon with revulsion if they even looked at all. She knew it was just a cake and that it wasn't even alive, but she couldn't help but look at it with longing and envy.

"Make sure this one lasts more than a week this time?" he said, another smile playing on his lips.

Lucy nodded and watched as, just like everyone else in this damn town, his eyes involuntarily shifted to the white lines carved into her face. She had gotten used to the stomach drop and embarrassed flush in her cheeks, for the most part, but that didn't stop this one from hurting any worse. Her eyes darted to the floor, and she pushed open the door, barely hearing the chiming bells as the ringing in her ears took over.

Her walk to Fairy Tail had generally been uneventful. Normally, she'd be able to handle them staring and watching her, their deep gazes always stirring something inside her that made her feel both out of place and itching to get out of her skin. Normally, she'd be able to blow off those feelings and hope that they'd just disappear. But for some reason, today just wasn't letting her have it.

By the time she reached the large, wooden doors to the guild hall, she had been on the edge of tears and itching to scream and cry and be anywhere out of public eye. A few more minutes and she'd be able to do just that. She just had to brave them. The guild.

The guild always was the worst to come to. It was just like walking in the streets except they pitied her not only for the scars but who gave them. They had seen what she had gone through. Had been there when she had received her wounds. Had been there when her deepest and still open wound was created. Seeing them used to bring a smile to her face and make her finally feel like she belonged somewhere. Now, she had never been more out of place, like a puzzle piece that you had tried to squeeze into a position only to find out that it wasn't even the right color, to begin with.

She silently crept to the table she knew Erza would be and placed the cake on the edge. The guild hall quieted at her appearance, and that only made her stomach drop further. She turned without another word and started back towards the entrance. She hated encounters like these, the ones where she couldn't open her mouth or else she'd say something stupid or burst into tears. She couldn't face them when they looked at her like that. Wood scraped against wood as Erza stood from her chair, mouth likely agape to say something but Lucy refused to turn and face her. Her now free hands lifted to squeeze her forearms. She trudged back to the doors, eyes never leaving the hardwood floor. She gritted her teeth and refused to cry in front of them, lest they pity her even more than they did now.

"Let her go, Erza," a deep male voice said behind her.

"I can't keep this up much longer. It's been almost a year, Gray."

The frustration and waver to her voice almost cost Lucy right then and there. She closed the thick doors behind her and almost slid down their forms, just as she did a few months ago.

"It's different for her. He wasn't just her friend."

"Yes but she's our friend and she's hurting."

"Exactly. We had to figure out how to cope on her own. You have to let her do the same."

She tried not to hear the tail end of their conversation, but she couldn't help it. Damn doors, despite their size and thickness, were somehow not sound proof. She broke off into a run to Strawberry Street. Unable to deal with any of this any longer. She ignored the staring, the noises of disgust and surprise when she raced past people on the road. She focused on the pounding of her feet on cobblestone, of her labored breathing, of the tears she gritted her teeth to keep in check.

She slammed the door to her apartment closed and leaned against it for a moment. If only she had never gotten these damn scars. If only people weren't so quick to judge and didn't feel so sorry for her.

She ripped her t-shirt over her head and flung it somewhere in the corner of her room. Her bra was next to follow. She stomped over to her full-length mirror and switched on her bedroom light. As she lifted its edges, she bared her teeth. The thick white scaring had only gotten worse as time went on. At least it was covered by bandages when she was first attacked. That way no one could see how bad it really was.

Her fists clenched. A rapid breath of hot air whistled through her teeth. Blood raced past her ears, and she narrowed her eyes on the carvings that dug into her skin like the claws of the creature who had given them to her. She wished that there was something that would get rid of it. Something to finally rid her of one last thing to remind her of when she lost a part of her heart.

The angry tears finally raced down her cheeks, and she screamed. Her fingers clawed at the marks, digging into her flesh and trying to rip the scars from her skin. She knew it was in vain. Magic didn't work. Medicine didn't work. Porlyusica exhausted her resources just to make sure she just survived rather than worry about her skin in the future. She scraped and clawed and scratched at the white marks. She tried to ignore the stinging pain that followed. Her fingers went numb and white became pink became red.

She continued to stare at the white veins, letting what little blood she could draw out dribble into the small crevices and crack in its form. She watched as they turned back from red to pink to white again and suppressed the urge to scream again at its stubborn resilience. Not only had it been able to recover like everyone else in her life but it also left a visible, permanent wound that mimicked the one she felt inside. The emptiness that accompanied her everywhere she went and left her feeling hollow and incomplete. She was a Rubik's cube without color. A dull shell with no worth other than to take up space someone could otherwise use for something better.

A small rapping on her window drew her out of her reverie for all but a moment until she saw who it was at her window. A flying blue cat floated into her room and settled on her pillow silently. She secretly missed the way he would not stop talking about fish, about Carla, about anything. Now it was a chore to get him to say anything, let alone eat. He didn't comment on her state of dress nor the disorganization of her usually pristine room nor the tracks of dried blood trailing down her scars. He only stared at her with wide eyes.

Lucy turned to her dresser and pulled out an old t-shirt that wasn't hers and a scarf that wasn't hers. She padded to her bed and pulled back the covers despite it only being one in the afternoon. Time hadn't been relevant to her for quite a while now, and she wasn't entirely sure it ever would.

Happy plopped down next to her and curled up inside the scaled scarf Lucy had loosely wrapped around herself. She tugged it up and over her nose, trying desperately to smell it again. The unique scent of sandalwood and smoke that used to inhabit every inch of his scarf and shirt but was now slipping through her fingers as he had. She tugged it further up her face and buried herself into it. She squeezed her eyes shut as a fresh wave of tears washed over her. These were the ones she hated the most. They often came to her at night when Happy would show up, and she'd have to get his things out. The tears that left no sound. No sobs, no hysterics. Just her and her sadness.

Her memories weren't done with her tonight, though. Tonight they wanted her to relive every second, every moment that had changed her life. Tonight, they wanted her to suffer again. Maybe it was because of all the thought she had about it today. Maybe it was because of her inability to block out the stares today or maybe it was just because of that boy whose smile so much resembled his. Maybe it was a sign that she just needed to move on. Maybe. Or maybe it was her own sick way of making herself finally feel something. She just wished that it hadn't been because of him.

A/N: Damn talk about a heavy chapter. Poor Lucy...can you believe that I just want my baby to be happy? What'd you guys think? What do you think of Lucy's mental state in this chapter? What could have affected her so much? And what gave her her scars? Let me know in the reviews what you think!

(please make sure to leave spoilers out of the reviews!)