Ugly Betty

Ugly Betty. That's my name. At least that's what I'll legally change it to when I'm 24 because everyone ignores the fact that my real name is Maria. I was born as a normal baby, but as I grew older I developed a facial deformity that's apparently 'temporary.' And now, I'm about to give up my life for some 'criminal' celebrities named Zayn and Harry who were accused of attempting to kill Niall Horan. What have I got to lose...


1. Chapter 1

The name's Ugly Betty. Well... that's what my school calls me. And though I'm 17, I still can't speak up for myself. Maybe it's because my lips are swelled shut and twisted together. Not permanently I hope. The doctor says that my lips will unseal themselves around the time I turn 19. So yes, I don't speak. I can listen though. And sign. My ears are the only normal thing attached to my head along with my hair. I hate being like this. It hurts me to see normal looking people pitying me. You'd think you'd have someone that could always be there for you when you're struggling like this. 

Not me.

My parents dropped me off when I was four at a hospital in Florida and never came back. I've been living in this hospital for 13 years because of my harmful everyday occurrences caused by my face. Most of them are breathing problems. And apparently, my face will be a normal face after I've been 19 for half a year. It's just a theory though. How would that even work? I'm no doctor, but I'm pretty sure you can't undo what's been done to my face. They can't even explain why it happened.

I long to sing. I long to dance. And I most definitely long to eat without a feeding tube up my nose.

Do I have any friends? Nope. Not one. Everyone's too petrified of me and the only people that talk to me are the nurses, doctors, and teachers. They make me go to school, no matter how much I sign to them that it isn't a good idea and that I'll just be made fun of. I already have enough therapists. I don't need anymore.

Mostly I like to be alone, though I dream of true love and new beginnings. Music is my escape. 

I'm obsessed with the internet and singer-songwriters because they are just oh-so relatable. All of the girls my age in the hospital listen to those new cheesy boy bands that are coming out. One Direction is one of the top things they talk about. I heard that two of the members tried to kill another one of their band members... but it's sort of hard to believe. I mean, what's their motive? I have these debates with myself a LOT of the time. And I believe that it's just a load of bogus. All these editors of magazines are just trying to make money. It's as simple as that. 

These girls never know that I'm listening to them. It's probably because my eyelids shut themselves randomly at times, and it takes a good five minutes for me to open them again. 

I've seen this band, and though they're fairly attractive, I pity them more than myself. No one will ever know who they truly are. And they'll always be watched.


"Maria, time to take your pill sweetheart," I hear Sarah say. That's one of my main nurses. She's 55 years old and has been here ever since I came. If I could talk to anyone, it would be her.

"Do I have to?" I sign to her. "Yes honey, you know the routine."

I've always hated doing this. If I could control the muscles in my face, I would be frowning right now.

This is the pill that I have to take once every two weeks. It's a painful process that I would rather not explain.

But of course, it's one of the joys of being me.


Chapter 2? Comment if you're interested in this story :) 

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