1: Scars - Erin’s POV

I was doing what I usually do when I get dragged out shopping. It’s not that I don’t like it; it’s that after about six hours or so of the same process of looking around, picking clothes up and trying things on, it gets a little tedious. My best friend, one of the more sarcastic and cutting of our race, was a complete shopping maniac, as hard as that may be to believe.

So, now that I had gotten utterly bored of shopping, I was waiting outside the shop Chloe was in, waiting for her to finish trying on the mountain of clothes I was sure she’d picked up. It was hot out, but I didn’t mind. I like the heat.

I was sprawled out on the front step that led into the shop, in the corner though, so that I wasn’t in anyone’s way. And I was doing what normally keeps me entertained when I get bored of shopping. I was observing people as they walked past.

I always thought that there was something fascinating about people in general. Every single one of us is different, be it in looks, or personality, the way we walk, talk, laugh. Have you ever just sat there and watched a crowd of people? How they all interact differently, how they look, what they do? It can be very entertaining.

Chloe and I were in the High Street near where we live. It’s basically a long path, with shop after shop after shop on either side. The pavement was a light grey, and at the moment was glaring with the bright light of the sun, which was out with full force today.

There were people walking both ways, going about there business, walking into different shops and walking past others. A lot of them looked flustered, bothered by the heat.

I pushed some of my auburn, curly hair out of my eyes and smiled as I observed a young mother with two children, walking past me. The mother had a white skirt on that floated around her and came to her knees, and a light blue top. She had shopping bags up her arms and was holding a child’s hand in each of hers. Her hair was up in a messy bun, and her face looked hot from the sun. She looked tired, I observed, with slight shadows under her eyes and no make up on her face. The children looked to be only a couple of years old, and appeared to be twins. I wondered how hard the woman had found motherhood to be. I wondered if she had a husband to help her with it.

As they walked past me I focused on another woman, going in the opposite direction. She was elderly, with her face lined with wrinkles and her stance a little hunched. She had light clothing on, a thin white blouse and beige trousers, a small handbag hanging off her shoulder, which one arm was holding to her body protectively. Her hair was dark grey, and curly, too short to reach her shoulders, and she had pearls around her neck. Who gave them to her? Did her husband fight in World War Two? Was he still alive? What kind of things had she seen?

I focused on a group of teenagers after the elderly woman walked past. There were four of them, all a few years younger than me. I almost wrinkled my nose in distaste, but managed to keep my facial movements under control. All were wearing very short denim skirts and tops with plunging neck lines. Three of them were blonde, and two had dark roots, proving that the Barbie look was fake. They were all tanned, and skinny, and looked like little replicas of each other. There was nothing individual about them. I watched them curiously as they walked past. What made them feel like they had to dress like that to get attention? Why was it necessary for them to look like everyone else their age?

The next person I focused on was elderly. He was bald, with a very cheerful expression and a smile on his face. With a T-shirt and a pair of shorts on, he strolled past as a reasonably quick pace and was soon out of sight. He made me smile, wanting to know what had made him so cheerful.

I moved my eyes in the other direction again, and then, they locked on to someone that immediately made an impression.

He had scars on his chest.

That was the first thing I thought when I first saw him. His shirt was half undone, the two sides opening wider slightly as the breeze blew into him as he walked. It exposed the tanned, muscled skin of his chest.

And he had scars.

He was tall. His body was long, lean. A light blue shirt graced his torso, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Black combat shorts that stopped at his knees covered the majority of his legs, but tanned, strong calf muscles were visible. On his feet was a pair of beaten up black converse, the laces undone but pulled tight enough to stop them from coming off his feet. His face was strong and angular. His nose was straight, his jaw hard and his cheekbones razor sharp; sharp enough to cast small shadows on the sides of his face. His hair was short and dark, cut army style, yet it only enhanced his appearance. He had roughly two days of stubble on his face.

He looked rough, hard. All sharp edges and shadows.

And he had scars.

He was reading as he walked. The book was opened to the middle, and he’d look up occasionally to make sure he wasn’t getting in anyone’s way. The book had a red leather cover, and the pages were lined with the colour of gold. One hand was holding it, his long and slender fingers spread under the book to keep it balanced. The under side of his forearm had a tattoo. It was a tribal symbol, coiling from the inside of his wrist to the crook of his elbow.

And he had scars.

They covered his chest, the only part of his torso I could see. Dozens of small, vertical white lines, and I was intensely curious about what had caused them.

In the quick few seconds it took for me to analyse his appearance, I became completely fascinated. I wanted to know where the scars had come from. I wanted to know what words were written on the gold rimmed pages of his book.

I’d become so curious of him that I didn’t even notice I was staring.

He looked up again, to make sure he wasn’t about to bump into anyone or anything, and once seeing the way was clear, was just about to look back down to his book when his eyes flickered in my direction. Instead of looking away, he looked straight at me.

He slowed to a stop and stared at me, his eyes locked with mine. I was surprised, but couldn’t find the willpower necessary to pull away. His eyes were an incredibly deep, dark brown, so dark they almost looked black from this distance.

I watched as those eyes took in my appearance. The short, skinny girl sitting on the step outside the shop, with a small pile of shopping bags on one side and a purse on the other. He took in the appearance of my pale legs, my black shorts, the converse on my feet, and the pale yellow top covering my torso. His eyes noticed my unruly curly hair, auburn and naturally streaked with lighter strands, long enough to extend past my shoulders. And he noticed my light green eyes, as his brown ones reconnected with them after a few seconds.

He stared at me. Feeling uncomfortable under his scrutiny, I tried to lighten the moment by offering him a weak smile. He saw it, but didn’t return the smile with one of his own. He just looked at me, locked me under that unnerving gaze. He stared intensely at me for a few more seconds, and then started to walk away, turning his attention back to the pages of his red leather book. He didn’t look back at me.

I sat there, shocked for a second, wondering why he’d looked at me like that.

Who was he? He was so…intense.

“Oh for God’s sake Erin, you’re sitting on the floor again.”

The exasperated voice of my best friend and the sound of my own name brought me out of my reverie. I looked up at where she was standing over me, looking down at my sprawled out form, with a small, amused smile on her face. I smiled back distractedly and got up.

“Anyone in their right mind would want to sit down for a few minutes with the amount of shopping you do, Chloe,” I told her frankly. She poked her tongue out at me in response. I wasn’t paying much attention though. I was looking in the direction the man had gone, and trying to see if I could still see him.

I got up off the floor and noticed Chloe giving me a funny look.

“Alright, what did you do?” she asked me accusingly, dark blue eyes narrowed. I rolled my eyes.

“Nothing, don’t accuse me like that. This guy just stared at me funny, that’s all, it was weird.”

At the mention of a guy, her eyebrows rose suggestively and a smirk plastered her face.

“Don’t even think it,” I ordered, pointing at her menacingly. “I’ve got Luke, remember?” I said, referring to my boyfriend.

She grinned at me. “I know, I know, I’m just playing around. Come on, I need coffee,” she said. Her abrupt change in conversation didn’t surprise me; she’s always been a little random.

I sometimes wonder why we’re friends. We’re practically opposites, most noticeably in appearance, but also in personality. She’s the same height as me, which is a ridiculous 5ft 2. Her hair is very short, cut in a choppy style to just below her ears, and black. Her eyes are dark blue, and incredibly hard to look away from when she’s glaring at you. Her skin is fair, and she has a slim frame. She has a bit of an attitude, and a dry, sarcastic sense of humour.

I’m different. While I’m the same height and build, that’s about the only similarity appearance wise. My hair is long, reaching the middle of my back, and insanely curly. My eyes are light green, and I have a button nose, which irritates me a lot. How can it be considered a real nose when it’s that small? It’s ridiculous.

I’m a lot bubblier than Chloe, and don’t use sarcasm all that much, she does that enough for both of us. I’m pretty much a cheery person. I laugh at most things, and can’t pull off that sarcastic edge and serious look the way she can.

But somehow, we work. You would’ve though that two people like us would not go together, but we’ve been best friends for years, and it’s always worked for us. It’s strange, but I’m not about to question it.

She grabbed me by the arm and dragged me off the step I was standing on, heading up the High Street and undoubtedly towards the coffee shop we always go to.

She let go of me once she was sure I was following her, not wanting to drag me the entire way there.

“So did you buy anything in there or was my sitting on the step in boredom all done in vain?” I asked her with a bright smile. She looked at me with a similar smile.

“All in vain, my friend.”

I pulled a face, and then smiled again. I didn’t bother acting annoyed, it wouldn’t have lasted. I can’t hold a grudge. I’m not sure if that’s a character strength or a weakness.

We reached the shop within a few minutes. Looking at it from the outside, it looks like a complete waste of time. Turning off of the High Street are dozens of little streets, with more overlooked and rundown shops. The little street we’d walked down was my favourite place to come if I wanted to get out.

The coffee shop, fittingly named The Shack, resembles its title. Well, from the outside at least. There’s only one window at the front of the building which is kind of grubby on the outside, but always spotlessly clean on the inside. The outside walls were originally painted white, but with England’s erratic weather, and general daily occurrences, it can’t be expected to stay that way for long. Now, it’s a very dull white, a little dirty. The sign on the wall has ‘The Shack’ on it, the letters painted a bright orange, which look hideous with the dark green door you use to enter the shop.

It looks a little run down, and highly uncoordinated in its choice of colours and decoration. Most people would look at it and walk straight past in order to find something that looks a lot more high class. I never would have even ventured inside if Chloe and I hadn’t been stuck in the middle of a thunderstorm one day while we were shopping. But once we got inside, we both fell in love with the place. And after exploring the rest of the street, and discovering the clusters of shops around here, it somehow became a regular spot for us.

Right next door is a second hand bookstore with hundreds of books lining the shelves. Most are old, and quite a few of them are a bit battered, but I always ended up spending more money in there than I should. Next to that is an old music store with vinyl records and CD’s from way back when, most of which I’d never heard of or never remembered. That was Chloe’s favourite shop, she loved old music.

On the opposite side of the road was an alternative clothing store. Again, Chloe loved that place. It’s a lot more her style than it is mine. Another thing that’s so different about us. There was also a hairdresser’s, a DVD rental place, and a few more shops down here. I loved the entire place.

As we walked inside, Chloe turned around and shoved all her shopping bags in my arms.

“I’ll get drinks,” she said, and I nodded, walking towards our usual table, waving briefly to Ethan, the guy behind the counter, and trying not to drop any shopping bags. He knew us by name, we were regulars here. He smiled and waved back, then carried on wiping down the counter.

I arranged myself in the squishy chair I’d thrown myself in, thankful to be out of the heat and sitting in an air conditioned room. Some of my curls were sticking to the back of my neck, and I pulled them away with a grimace.

The inside of this place was a lot more put together than the outside. The walls were red, with lamps situated in certain places, over tables, in darker corners, to keep the room lit. The floor was wooden, and a little grubby from the constant abuse it received from various people’s shoes. All the tables were black, places haphazardly through the large room, and the chairs were red, very comfortable and nicely padded. This place did fantastic coffee as well. Anyone could just sit here for hours and be quite comfortable.

After a few minutes, Chloe walked over with our drinks, handing me a mocha and placing an espresso down for herself.

“Are you staring off into space again?” she asked me. I have a tendency to drift into my imagination and get lost there for minutes at a time.

“Perhaps…” I answered mysteriously, and she laughed.

“How is it possible for you to spend half of your life in la la land?” she asked me curiously.

“It’s more interesting than the real world,” I replied indignantly. She raised an eyebrow at me.

“Erin, you have a steady job, you share a flat with a gorgeous guy you’ve been dating for years, and you have me. What could possibly be uninteresting about that?” she asked, while I laughed.

“Alright fine, but still, daydreaming is fun. If you ever stopped moving for five seconds you’d see that for yourself.”

Chloe is one of those up and go people, just in an extreme manner. She is almost constantly on the move, doesn’t need much sleep, has a demanding job, that sort of thing. If someone told her she had the day off she wouldn’t know what to do with herself.

She pulled a face at me and ignored my comment, then smiled in amusement.

“How’s Luke anyway? I haven’t seen him in ages?” she asked, referring to my boyfriend.

“He’s fine, a little tired but other than that he’s ok. The club has got really popular all of a sudden and he’s in a bit more demand than he used to be,” I told her.

She sighed heavily. “I may have to go harass him at work sometime and see how much I can wind him up,” she said with a grin.

“Like you could stand being in a club for more than five minutes,” I replied. She rolled her eyes, but knew I was right. She hates clubs. I don’t bother going into the subject in more detail with her anymore because all that ends up happening is that I get a lecture and a list of reasons why they’re rubbish.

“What’s wrong with clubs?” I turned at the sound of the masculine voice, and found myself looking at Ethan. He grinned at both of us and waited for an answer.

“I can’t believe you just asked that,” I moaned, while Chloe had a wicked glint in her eyes. “Now we’re going to be here for hours while she answers.”

Ethan grabbed a chair and sat down with us, obviously on a break. He brushed some brown hair out of his eyes and leaned forward, pretending to be undeniably interested in what my best friend had to say.

He was an average looking guy; there was nothing unattractive about him, but there was nothing remarkable either. He was tall and skinny, with light brown hair, light brown eyes and a cheeky grin. He’s a reasonably easy person to talk to, a nice guy, and over the months that we’d been coming to this place, he’d gotten to know us a little and had taken to sitting with us if we happened to be here while he was taking a break.

I zoned out as the pair of them talked, staring out the window. I didn’t need to listen to her opinions on this particular subject again; she’d already exhausted them on me.

My mind drifted back to the guy from earlier, the one who stared at me with those intense dark eyes. I wondered why he’d done that. He hadn’t smiled, or looked away. His face had just been…expressionless, apart from the heavy weight of his gaze. And those scars…how does a person manage to get those on their body?

“Earth to Erin…” I turned my head back and saw both Chloe and Ethan looking at me, and both looking amused.

“I have to get back to work,” Ethan said, not bothering to ask why I’d been staring absently out the window. “I’ll see you girls later.”

We said our goodbyes as he walked back up to the counter and went back to work. Chloe turn and looked at me and asked, “Alright, what is it?”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, feigning innocence. She just raised an eyebrow and waited for me to give her a proper answer. I rolled my eyes at her insistence.

“I was just thinking about that guy that stopped and stared at me earlier. It was freaky. I was wondering why he did it. He didn’t smile or anything.”

She looked contemplative for a second.

“Maybe he was captivated by your beauty,” she said dramatically after a few seconds of silence. I laughed a little, but shook my head.

“No, he wasn’t looking at me like that; he didn’t have any sort of expression on his face. He just…stared at me, and then walked off, without a smile or anything.”

“Well, that’s creepy,” she said, sipping her drink. I thought for a second.

“Do I have something on my face?” I asked, rubbing my nose self consciously. Maybe there was a big black smudge on my face or something, and that’s why he was staring. Chloe started laughing.

“Don’t be an idiot. I would have told you by now if you had,” she replied.

I shrugged it off, and she changed the conversation. I tried to forget about Mr. Mystery Man, and put it down as some sort of weird experience that had no explanation. I tried to make myself forget all about him, but I couldn’t do it. Something about him intrigued me. He kept popping up inside my head and I wondered once again how he had gotten those scars. What was the book he was reading?

Why did it feel like he’d looked right through me?

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A/N: Well, first chapter. I just want to point out to any new readers, and remind any possible returning ones, that I'm from England. Although it won't come up as much in this story as it did in Letter Tag, I want to explain the school system early on. It's different over here than it is in America. Kids here go to school until they're 16, then have the choice of either going straight into work, going to college, or going to sixth form (basically the same as college, just taught at schools). The average college course is two years, and once that's over, there's the choice of either going to University or into work. Typical Uni course is three to four years. Hope all that makes sense. Anyway, hope this is ok. The scene with the guy and the book happened to me over the summer while I was out shopping with my sister. I was really interested by this guy so ended up writing this because of it. The next chapter will be from his POV, I'll be switching POV's the same way I did with Letter Tag. Oh yeah, Letter Tag, I've started editing that now. Thought I'd mention it. And also, I've finally sorted out my sorry excuse for a profile, although it's still as tragically uninteresting as before. Thank you to all those people who reviewed my one shot. I did not expect so many people to comment on it. It was a lovely surprise. Until next Saturday :)