AN: If anyone is interested in my idea of what Laurens outifts might look like I will post the polyvore links here. This is my first fanfiction so go easy on me, but please favourite, follow and review! I appreciate all comments and constructive criticism. cgi/set?id=191586175
Being beautiful is hard. Sounds cocky, I know, but in truth it really is.
The sleek black Chevrolet Corvette purrs down the highway like a kitten in front of an open fire. The wind whips through my hair, and tickles my goosebumped skin. The sun blazes down on my already olive brown skin, and warms my whole body. I tip my head back and let the sun's rays beat down on my closed eyelids, across the high points of my face. My forehead, cheekbones, nose and chin almost glisten in the sunlight. In a perfect world I would have been enjoying myself, but all I could think of was that this journey would end and we would arrive. A new beginning, a new life, a new school, new friends, a new house. All over again. My life was ever changing, never constant, never the same. I couldn't be like the other teenagers. It made my blood boil. It wasn't my fault, it never is. I can't help it.
Hours later the car pulls to an abrupt stop, and I jerk awake suddenly. I yawn groggily and wipe the sleep from my eyes.
"Welcome home, baby!" my mom exclaims excitedly. I turn to face her confused.
"This is it?" I ask in confusion.
I glance back at the house. I mean it wasn't bad. Not too small, two storeys, nice shutter windows, blue and white paint job. It was cute. Quaint, you could say. But it wasn't what I was expecting.
"Are you being serious right now?" I scoff indignantly. Hazel averts her eyes. I instantly feel guilty when I see the smile drop right off her face.
"Honey, this is a new town. A new beginning. This time will be different I can feel it. I just think we should start fresh, not revert to old habits. We need to live as normal people, in a normal house, in a normal town. You understand, right? Beacon Hills will be good for us. I know it."
I shake my head at my crazy, sentimental mother. As much as I would have liked to call bullshit; I knew she meant well. I force a smile and nod humbly.
"Yeah… right," I breathe quietly.
Hazel leaps out of the car and claps her hands with glee. Her long jet black hair swings behind her like a satin curtain. Her hazel eyes, for which she was named, glint with mischief. I watch as the light hits her face, illuminating her features. Her cheekbones could have been chiselled by the angel Gabriel himself. Her nose was long and straight and turned up slightly at the end. Her lips were luscious, full and pink. There was no denying it; she was the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on. And unfortunately for me, she passed that gift on to her daughter. Of course we are different but alike in many more ways. I have huge emerald eyes, framed by eyelashes that are thick, long and black. Longer than those of any supermodel, I've ever known. My hair is chestnut and falls in ringlets to my waist. I also am slightly shorter and curvier than my mother, much to my disappointment. But these differences aside, we could be twins.
We're often asked if we are sisters, which of course comes with being one of us. The aging process is different. My mother has lived for almost 50 years, but she doesn't look a day over 25.
We quickly lug our suitcases out of the car and dump them in the living room. The moving van will come tomorrow. The clock strikes midnight and Hazel gives me a stern look.
"Bed," she orders. "You're starting at the high school tomorrow, and you'll need your beauty sleep." She smiles at me, and I am once again dazzled by her beauty. She plants a loving kiss on my forehead and whispers in my ear.
"Sleep well darling, tomorrow is a new day. Don't worry, it'll be different this time."
I plod slowly up the stairs to my new room and collapse on the floor. Another frickin' school, a repeat of last time. I can't do this. My heart is pounding through my chest, and I feel the panic rising in my throat. I swiftly swallow it and tell myself to man up. You're Lauren Tate. Of course you can do this. I take a deep breath before heading into the bathroom to brush my teeth. I scrub vigorously, until I draw blood from my gums, and my teeth squeak when I touch them. I splash some water on my face to cool myself down. I tell myself over and over. Don't be nervous. Don't panic. They're just people. I look up into the mirror to notice my pupils are starting to widen rapidly.
"Shit." I mutter. I take slow and steady breaths until I see they return to normal. I rip off my sweatpants and t-shirt in frustration throwing them on the floor. It's not like I have a laundry basket to throw them into anyway. The moving van won't be here until tomorrow evening at the earliest. I gaze down at my body. I look really good. I'm not saying that because I think I'm hot or I love myself or anything. But it's the truth. All part of being one of us. From my point of view my stomach lies flat and toned, before sloping upwards at my hipbones and curving out into my thighs. I sigh inwardly. Same as always, never changing. I hop into the blow up bed on the floor, in my underwear too lazy to open suitcases just to search for pajamas. I slip into a dreamless sleep, tossing and turning all night, anticipating the horrors of tomorrow.