I wrote this in 2017 when this account was still a community, and I loved it so much that I decided to post it again.

I don't care if my writing was bad back then. I want to be proud of my works, no matter how old.

If you are reading this on a site other than Wattpad then you're in a risk of a malware attack. Please stay safe.

: :

378

The marks, they're everywhere. On my hands, my neck, even my chest.

I touch one of the scars, wincing slightly at the memory. I remember that day like it was yesterday. The woman was so brutal, but who could blame her? She was near the brink of death, and desperate for any remedy for the pain.

She didn't have to think about me. I'm not human, am I? If I were human, people would think twice before putting their dirty mouth on my body. People wouldn't hurt me so much. I wouldn't be treated like the tool I am.

My towel drops to the floor.

378 bite marks.

I count them, to pass time, to reminisce, to feel even shittier than I do now. These bite marks are a reminder of what I am, what I am useful for.

378 scars.

What else should I call them? They're only blemishes on my perfect skin. They're not pretty, and would earn repulsed stares whenever they were revealed. It's disgusting to look at.

What else am I useful for other than this? Absolutely nothing.

These scars are ugly.

They make me ugly.

I'm ugly.

“I'm such a downer”, I say aloud, in attempts to stop my mind from saying such things. “I sound like such a damn weakling! So what if I'm ugly? It's not like it matters anyways.”

But it does matter to me. I don't know, but I've never been called beautiful before.

I hate this! I hate this feeling... I hate it. I feel pitiful, pathetic, insecure, you name it. These emotions are weak and stupid emotions, I shouldn't be feeling them–

–But I do.

My reflection mocks me.

“So ugly”, I touch my hair, and feel the bite mark on my collar bone. A sigh escapes my lips.

Every scar took something away from me. I don't just feel ugly on the outside, I feel ugly on the inside. What kind of person am I? Should I even be called a person anymore?

I'm just a tool. Nothing but an old, rusty, tool.

The door flies open and my legs immediately cross while my hands cover my chest. I'm ready to hit Juugo, because I think it's him there. He has no regards for privacy.

But to my surprise, it's Sasuke. He looks at me and blinks, with that same emotionless expression, then he takes in the number of marks on my body, and his eyes widen momentarily.  Fuck no.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?!”, I  yell, “CAN'T YOU SEE I'M NAKED? LEAVE!”

Sasuke accepts my demand and walks out of the tiny bathroom(yay?) but soon after I hear him through the shut door, “You were talking to yourself.”

I huff, “So what? I'm interesting to talk to.”

I can hear Sasuke's chuckle through the door and it warms my heart. Dammit! I wish I see his smile.

“Why did you call yourself ugly?”

Not a question I expected to come from Sasuke, and I wish he would've ignored my words.

“Just my scars... ”, my eyes star at myself in the mirror. Even I recoil at the sight of myself.

There's a long silence, and I think Sasuke must agree with me. Maybe he's already left...

What was I expecting him to say? That he loves me and I should too? That I'm not ugly? Please. Sasuke never tells a lie.

And I don't need lies to make myself feel better.

“But you're beautiful.”

I freeze.

“Scars are something everyone has, visible or not. They can never make you ugly, because those scars shaped the person you are today.”

“Sasuke...”

“You saved a lot of people, despite not needing to.”

“Anyways, we're having a meeting in twenty five minutes. Get ready”, I hear footsteps, then the sound of the closing door.

I slide down the wall, landing on my knees. I'm feeling wobbly.

But you're beautiful.

How? How can one see my body and call me that? How can Sasuke, of all people in the world, say that?

My hands touch a scar on my arm, Sasuke gave me the scar, and unlike the others, it wasn't a scar that hurt me. It made me feel closer to him, like he could depend on me just like I depend on him.

You saved a lot of people.

Did I save him too? Does he appreciate it more than I know?

My body, it's disgusting. I never liked it and I always insulted it. Even Juugo was shocked when he saw the amount of bite marks on my arms, and he seemed a bit concerned. Suigestu too, he even seemed disgusted by it.

Scars are something everyone has, visible or not.

Sasuke, he has them too. I've seen them, but sometimes I feel like I've barely scratched the surface of just how deeply broken he is. Does he need reassurance like I do sometimes? That he's not a monster?

His scars aren't visible. But they're there, and they must hurt just like it hurts for me.

A sigh escapes my lips.

378 scars. I have 378 scars.

And he calls me beautiful.

Those scars shaped the person you are today

How accurate is he? If I never had these marks, would I still be me? Would a part of me be missing? Would it be better or not?

My scars came from saving people.

It came from saving Sasuke, saving those test subjects, those villagers.

I look at them and I see them as ugly. I never thought of it the way Sasuke did, that my scars shaped me.

My scars made me who I am.

I stare at my body one last time before grabbing my clothes. I have twenty more minutes to prepare for the meeting.

378 bite marks.

And Sasuke still called me beautiful.