The Boy Who Kissed My Scarred Face

"What gives a scarred freak like you the right to stand next to him?"

Four years ago, a brutal attack left a hideous burn scar across the left side of my face. Ever since, I've hidden behind a black mask, fading into the darkest corners of St. Oak High. I thought if I just stayed perfectly invisible, I could survive high school in peace.

Then Michael came back.

He's the President of Model UN, an Ivy-League-bound genius, and the golden boy everyone revolves around. And me? I’m just a damaged outcast too terrified to show my own face.

The harder I pushed him away, the closer he got.

But when a video from four years ago surfaces—showing him throwing a punch just to defend me—his flawless future is suddenly on the line. That's when I knew I couldn't hide in the shadows anymore.

This time, even if it means exposing my ugliest scars to the harsh light of day, I will do whatever it takes to protect him.

"What are you hiding? Take off that mask and show everyone the freak hiding under there."

Jason's venomous voice exploded through the hallway. I'd just shoved a few dusty bags of chalky white plaster powder into my locker and hadn't even closed the door when his hand slammed it shut.

The metallic bang echoed down the corridor, sending art festival flyers scattering across the floor. My back pressed hard against the icy steel—nowhere left to run.

A dozen students had already gathered around us. None of them stepped forward to help. Instead, they raised their phones, screens glowing cold and bright in my eyes, making them sting.

Chloe stood behind Jason with her arms crossed, twirling a strand of blonde hair around one perfectly manicured red nail, a mocking smile playing on her lips.

"Jason, don't touch her—what if that rotting skin is contagious?" Chloe giggled, triggering a wave of laughter from the crowd.

My breathing became shallow and rapid. Chilling sweat slid down my forehead, soaking the edge of my black mask.

The hideous burn scar on the left side of my face seemed to throb with phantom pain—Jason's permanent mark from four years ago.

"Move." I kept my voice low, trying to slip past his arm.

Jason grabbed the hood of my sweatshirt and yanked me back. I lost my balance and slammed into the locker, a sharp pain shooting through my shoulder.

"Did I say you could leave, Elsa?" Jason leaned in close, the toe of his shoe grinding contemptuously over one of the dusty flyers on the floor. His eyes glittered with malice.

"I heard you've been creeping around the library, staring at the transfer student. What, you think some art room loser like you deserves Michael? You think a genius like him would ever look twice at a freak like you?"

At the sound of that name, my heart skipped a beat.

Michael.

The name I only dared to watch from the back of a crowd, from dozens of meters away.

"I wasn't." My voice shook despite my clenched jaw.

"No? Then why won't you show your face?" Jason's smile turned vicious. Suddenly, his hand shot toward the black mask covering my face.

"Don't!" I squeezed my eyes shut, both hands flying up to protect my face.

Just as Jason's fingers were about to touch the strap of my mask, another hand appeared out of nowhere—pale, long-fingered, but radiating terrifying strength. It clamped down on Jason's wrist like a vice.

The jeering laughter in the hallway cut off abruptly. The air felt like it had been sucked out of the space.

I opened my eyes.

Michael stood there.

He wore St. Oak High's signature navy blazer, his tie knotted with precision. His eyes were cold as Siberian permafrost, devoid of any readable emotion, but the grip on Jason's wrist was merciless.

"Let go! Who the hell do you—" Jason's face twisted in pain as he turned to curse whoever had grabbed him, but the words died in his throat the moment he saw who it was.

"Michael?" Chloe's expression changed instantly. She dropped her arms and arranged her features into a sweet smile. "You've got it all wrong. Jason was just joking around with Elsa."

"Joking?" Michael's voice was low, cold, laced with an authority that left no room for argument.

He didn't even glance at Chloe. His gaze remained locked on Jason. "If I broke your hand and then told you it was just a joke, would you find that funny?"

Sweat beaded on Jason's forehead. He tried to pull free, but Michael's grip was iron.

"Michael, she's not worth it. Why risk anything for a nobody?" Jason forced the words through gritted teeth. "You just got back here—you don't know what she's become..."

"Shut up."

Crack.

With a slight, sickening twist of his wrist, Michael sent Jason howling in pain, his knees instantly buckling to the floor.

Students around us stumbled backward, nearly dropping their phones.

Michael released his grip. He pulled a pristine white handkerchief from his pocket and methodically wiped each finger that had touched Jason, then dropped the cloth carelessly onto Jason's face.

"If I ever see you within three meters of her again..." Michael looked down at Jason kneeling on the floor, his tone so calm it was terrifying. "...I'll make sure you never hold a pen again in your life."

The hallway fell into a tomb-like silence.

Michael turned around, and his gaze finally landed on me.

Those deep blue eyes—the icy coldness from moments ago had vanished, replaced by something I couldn't decipher, something intense and suffocating.

He looked at my trembling shoulders, at the white plaster residue still clinging to my fingertips, and finally at my hands clutching desperately at my mask.

"You're safe now." His voice came out hoarse and low.

He didn't ask why I wore the mask. He didn't ask what had just happened. He simply reached out and took my ice-cold wrist in his hand.

His palm was warm—so warm it made me flinch.

"Come on."

Under the shocked stares of the growing crowd, Michael led me by the hand down the hallway. The crowd parted automatically to let him through.

I followed behind him like a puppet on strings. The hallway lights danced across his broad shoulders. My vision started to blur.

Four years ago, it had been this same back—standing between me and the flames at that abandoned chemical plant, pulling me out of despair.

I thought he'd forgotten about me. I thought I'd been nothing more than a random good deed in his life.

He brought me to the rooftop on the top floor of the main building. The door was usually locked—I had no idea how he'd gotten it open.

The wind was strong, whipping my hair around my face.

Michael released my wrist and turned to face me. We stood less than two feet apart. I could even smell the faint scent of cedar on him.

"Why didn't you fight back?" He stared into my eyes, his tone carrying a trace of anger and something that sounded painfully close to heartbreak.

I lowered my head, avoiding his gaze, twisting my hands together nervously. "I... I couldn't take him. And if I provoked him, he'd spread rumors about me everywhere."

"What could he possibly say?" Michael took a step closer.

I instinctively backed away until my spine hit the chain-link fence at the edge of the rooftop. "That I'm a monster. That the scar on my face is disgusting. That I don't deserve to be at St. Oak."

"Look at me, Elsa."

I couldn't lift my head.

Suddenly, his cool fingertips brushed against the edge of my mask, touching bare skin. My whole body went rigid. I tried to pull away, but his other hand landed on my shoulder, holding me in place.

"Look at me." His tone sharpened, but his voice was unbearably gentle.

Slowly, I raised my head and met his eyes.

"Everything they said is complete bullshit." Michael spoke each word with deliberate weight. "You're not a freak. You're cleaner than everyone in this entire school."

My eyes instantly welled up with tears.

"But..."

My voice broke, muffled behind the mask. "You shouldn't have helped me. Jason's father is on the board of trustees. He'll come after you. You're the star delegate of Model UN. You're about to go to Yale. You shouldn't get involved with someone like me."

Michael let out a short, bitter laugh.

"Elsa, why do you think I came back to St. Oak?"

I froze, my breath trapped in my chest.

He didn't elaborate. He just looked at me for a long moment, then shrugged off his blazer and draped it over my shoulders.

"Go to class. And from now on, if anyone so much as touches you, tell me immediately."

He turned toward the rooftop door. Just before pushing it open, he paused without looking back.

"I'm not going to let you hide in the dark anymore. Not ever again."

The heavy metal door closed behind him.

I stood alone in the wind, clutching the blazer that still held his warmth and the scent of cedar. Only one thought circled through my mind, wild and relentless—

For me. Could he really have come back... for me?