Unbeautiful
Page 9
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I nod. “I understand.”
She spins on her heels. “None of this really matters anyway. Like I said, I highly doubt your father is going to allow this, so don’t be surprised when he shows up here.” She strides for the door and examines the locks—one deadbolt and one twist lock on the doorknob. “Make sure you lock up at all times, even when you’re in the house. This living situation needs to be just like at home.” She waits for me to nod then whisks out of my apartment, slamming the door shut behind her.
I breathe in deep gulps of air, as if her absence has instilled an abundance of oxygen into the room. There was a brief time when I was about six where I actually believed she had the superpower of sucking away all the air from a room so no one could breathe. When I grew up, I became painfully aware that I just had an anxiety attack every time I was near her.
But I’m not near her anymore.
I’m free.
Sort of.
I stare at the bracelet on my wrist. I used to have one just like it, but my father took it away from me when I spoke during dinnertime, something that’s not allowed. He also revoked my privilege to leave the house unless I was with Evan.
I momentarily consider removing the bracelet just to see what’ll happen, but I don’t want to risk anything ruining my moment, so I tear my attention off the bracelet and focus on the room.
I left a lot of stuff behind in Ralingford, in that home that slowly fed off my soul. Remnants of my old life still exist in every box, though. Not just the contents, but in the perfectly stacked, even rows of boxes. Neatly taped, neatly labeled. Neatly. Neatly. Neatly. Like my shoes near the wall. Just how I was taught.
No. No more. I didn’t move out so I could continue down my parents’ road.
Biting my lip hard, I kick my sandals onto the carpet and toss the pills onto the countertop. Then I cross the room and start rearranging the boxes into uneven rows of chaos. It’s a painful process, considering how neat and orderly my life has been for the last eighteen years, but I manage to make a mess.
In the middle of my mess making, I receive a text message from my boyfriend, Evan.
Evan: Wow, I never knew you were a traitor, Emery. Thanks for shaming me and your family.
Our story is pretty simple. We met in high school during sophomore year after he ran into me in the hallway. His smile won me over. He was the star quarterback, and I was the head cheerleader, so according to everyone, we were the perfect match. Our parents pushed us together, encouraged us to grow closer, which we did. We were nominated the cutest couple. Homecoming king and queen. We wore plastic crowns on our heads that shined perfectly with our smiles. Together, we looked like plastic figures on top of a wedding cake, surrounded by fondant, flowers, and ribbon. So pretty.
I’ve never been with anyone else, but have often wondered what it would be like to look at someone and want to kiss them.
Me: I’m not a traitor. I just moved out, Evan.
Evan: Considering who our families are, moving out makes you a traitor.
I frown and move my fingers to text back, but then stop and delete the message, deciding to just ignore him for now; otherwise, he’ll put a damper on my move.
***
After I finish unpacking, I’m sweaty and gasping for air. The sun has gone down and darkness blankets the tiny apartment. I flip the light on and look at what I’ve done. The way the boxes are strewn about creates madness in my body. If my mother were here, she’d more than likely punish me for what I’ve done.
Needing to calm down, I turn to my outlet that has saved me over the last eighteen years. I rip open the box labeled notebooks and retrieve the tattered spiral book on top. Grabbing a pen from my purse, I flop down on the unmade bed in the bedroom and allow my hand to release the pressure trapped inside my chest, release the truth I’ll never be able to tell anyone except for this piece of paper.
They say my father was a hero.
That he saved lives.
He wore a heart of gold.
In his world,
a doctor was his calling.
My mother, she was saint,
my father’s pillar,
with a smile so bright, so flawless—
So perfect.
She shined for the world.
Me?
Most saw me as an angel
with a halo primed of gold,
radiating beauty,
skin of flawless porcelain,
rounded eyes reflecting the soul.
Ideally, I was perfect on the outside.
Which meant I had to be perfect on the inside, as well.
My heart had to carry warmth.
It just had to.
Since beauty only meant good.
Worth.
Perfection.
Little did they know
the perfection was only an exterior trait.
Inside, I was flawed.
Scarred.
Ruined.
I carried the darkest of secrets.
I was dangerous.
We all were.
But no one was ever allowed to see that side of me.
They only saw my beauty.
My flawless traits.
My trained behavior.
It’s all anyone ever wanted to see.
In everyone’s eyes,
the three of us created the perfect home,
the perfect balance.
The perfect family.
We fit into the perfect town.
Perfection was scratched into our walls.
Engraved into our skin.
Branded into the minds of everyone who knew us.
Just how my parents wanted.
But then there was my brother.
My brother, he was different.
He was the cloud that cast shadows
and darkness over our home.
She spins on her heels. “None of this really matters anyway. Like I said, I highly doubt your father is going to allow this, so don’t be surprised when he shows up here.” She strides for the door and examines the locks—one deadbolt and one twist lock on the doorknob. “Make sure you lock up at all times, even when you’re in the house. This living situation needs to be just like at home.” She waits for me to nod then whisks out of my apartment, slamming the door shut behind her.
I breathe in deep gulps of air, as if her absence has instilled an abundance of oxygen into the room. There was a brief time when I was about six where I actually believed she had the superpower of sucking away all the air from a room so no one could breathe. When I grew up, I became painfully aware that I just had an anxiety attack every time I was near her.
But I’m not near her anymore.
I’m free.
Sort of.
I stare at the bracelet on my wrist. I used to have one just like it, but my father took it away from me when I spoke during dinnertime, something that’s not allowed. He also revoked my privilege to leave the house unless I was with Evan.
I momentarily consider removing the bracelet just to see what’ll happen, but I don’t want to risk anything ruining my moment, so I tear my attention off the bracelet and focus on the room.
I left a lot of stuff behind in Ralingford, in that home that slowly fed off my soul. Remnants of my old life still exist in every box, though. Not just the contents, but in the perfectly stacked, even rows of boxes. Neatly taped, neatly labeled. Neatly. Neatly. Neatly. Like my shoes near the wall. Just how I was taught.
No. No more. I didn’t move out so I could continue down my parents’ road.
Biting my lip hard, I kick my sandals onto the carpet and toss the pills onto the countertop. Then I cross the room and start rearranging the boxes into uneven rows of chaos. It’s a painful process, considering how neat and orderly my life has been for the last eighteen years, but I manage to make a mess.
In the middle of my mess making, I receive a text message from my boyfriend, Evan.
Evan: Wow, I never knew you were a traitor, Emery. Thanks for shaming me and your family.
Our story is pretty simple. We met in high school during sophomore year after he ran into me in the hallway. His smile won me over. He was the star quarterback, and I was the head cheerleader, so according to everyone, we were the perfect match. Our parents pushed us together, encouraged us to grow closer, which we did. We were nominated the cutest couple. Homecoming king and queen. We wore plastic crowns on our heads that shined perfectly with our smiles. Together, we looked like plastic figures on top of a wedding cake, surrounded by fondant, flowers, and ribbon. So pretty.
I’ve never been with anyone else, but have often wondered what it would be like to look at someone and want to kiss them.
Me: I’m not a traitor. I just moved out, Evan.
Evan: Considering who our families are, moving out makes you a traitor.
I frown and move my fingers to text back, but then stop and delete the message, deciding to just ignore him for now; otherwise, he’ll put a damper on my move.
***
After I finish unpacking, I’m sweaty and gasping for air. The sun has gone down and darkness blankets the tiny apartment. I flip the light on and look at what I’ve done. The way the boxes are strewn about creates madness in my body. If my mother were here, she’d more than likely punish me for what I’ve done.
Needing to calm down, I turn to my outlet that has saved me over the last eighteen years. I rip open the box labeled notebooks and retrieve the tattered spiral book on top. Grabbing a pen from my purse, I flop down on the unmade bed in the bedroom and allow my hand to release the pressure trapped inside my chest, release the truth I’ll never be able to tell anyone except for this piece of paper.
They say my father was a hero.
That he saved lives.
He wore a heart of gold.
In his world,
a doctor was his calling.
My mother, she was saint,
my father’s pillar,
with a smile so bright, so flawless—
So perfect.
She shined for the world.
Me?
Most saw me as an angel
with a halo primed of gold,
radiating beauty,
skin of flawless porcelain,
rounded eyes reflecting the soul.
Ideally, I was perfect on the outside.
Which meant I had to be perfect on the inside, as well.
My heart had to carry warmth.
It just had to.
Since beauty only meant good.
Worth.
Perfection.
Little did they know
the perfection was only an exterior trait.
Inside, I was flawed.
Scarred.
Ruined.
I carried the darkest of secrets.
I was dangerous.
We all were.
But no one was ever allowed to see that side of me.
They only saw my beauty.
My flawless traits.
My trained behavior.
It’s all anyone ever wanted to see.
In everyone’s eyes,
the three of us created the perfect home,
the perfect balance.
The perfect family.
We fit into the perfect town.
Perfection was scratched into our walls.
Engraved into our skin.
Branded into the minds of everyone who knew us.
Just how my parents wanted.
But then there was my brother.
My brother, he was different.
He was the cloud that cast shadows
and darkness over our home.
