“We’ve been out here for like five minutes. I’m sure my ride is still here,” before turning around and making my way off the porch.
“Presley,” he calls.
“What?”
“Are you pissed at me?”
I stop and turn to him. Yes. “No. Why would I be pissed?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”
“I’ll see you on Monday, Angel.”
When I get home, the house is dark: all three adults already in bed and Jolee’s still at the party. It’s a relief. I quietly make my way up the stairs and to the third bedroom that has been mine for the last few months. My mom is downstairs in my uncle, Joe’s, former office. I feel bad for him. My aunt, LeeAnn, walks all over him. I think I’ve heard him mutter twenty words since we’ve been here and they’re mostly okay, will do, sure honey, whatever you say.
I flip on the light and try not to think about my disastrous night. I have issues, I know it, but I don’t know how to get over them.
I force myself to open the closet door and stand in front of the full length mirror that’s on the other side. Slowly, and with my eyes closed, I shrug off my hoodie then pull my t-shirt over my head. Looking, one eye at a time, I stare at myself in my beige, thick-strapped bra and the monsters being held inside of them. If I could, I would cut them off. Since the moment they sprang to life on my body they’ve been wreaking havoc on my life.
I used to be cute and petite. I used to hear things like, “You have such gorgeous eyes,” or, “I wish I had hair like yours,” or simply, “You’re so pretty.” Not anymore.
As a twelve-year-old, having gross old men staring at my body was sickening in a way I didn’t understand but my mom did which is why she made me cover them up. As if it was my fault that clothes made for a body my size didn’t accommodate the balloons that were underneath.
But she was right – the baggy clothes helped a little. And also became my new most defining attribute – my dumpy wardrobe. No more pretty eyes or beautiful hair. People started labeling me goth which I wasn’t. But black is the color that hides my body best and I still liked my long black hair and wasn’t about to change anything else just to please the people around me.
It was better at my old school. Yes, I was living in California, but in Santa Cruz there is a plethora of unique kids, especially at my creative arts high school and my differences weren’t that big of a deal.
I never let Cole touch them and I kept my shirt on always. He seemed as scared of them as I was and we both just kind of treated them like a third wheel we couldn’t get rid of.
That’s not gonna fly with Angel though. Especially if Nash is right and he prides himself on pleasuring the women he’s with. I’m pretty sure stimulating nipples would be part of that. I gag a little bit at that thought and turn away from the mirror, undressing the rest of the way then throwing my night shirt on.
I head to the bathroom that connects my room with Jolee’s, grabbing my toiletry bag on the way because she’s made it crystal clear that the bathroom is hers and my crap doesn’t have a place in it. I scrub the black makeup off my eyes and the red lipstick off my lips then brush and floss my teeth, all the while avoiding the mirror.
I’m under my covers, trying to sleep, when my phone dings. I dig it out of my purse and see a text from Nash. Perfect.
How’d your night go?
I roll my eyes at my phone.
Great
Was his performance award worthy?
Despite myself, and because he’s not actually here to see me do it, I smile.
He’s defiantly done a lot of studying
I stare at my phone waiting for his reply. After a few minutes, I set it down and close my eyes gain. Then it dings.
Are you still a virgin?
“Oh my god,” I mutter.
That’s completely none of your business
If you’re not, then he definitely doesn’t deserve an award- you were only gone for a minute
“Stalker,” I
“Presley,” he calls.
“What?”
“Are you pissed at me?”
I stop and turn to him. Yes. “No. Why would I be pissed?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”
“I’ll see you on Monday, Angel.”
When I get home, the house is dark: all three adults already in bed and Jolee’s still at the party. It’s a relief. I quietly make my way up the stairs and to the third bedroom that has been mine for the last few months. My mom is downstairs in my uncle, Joe’s, former office. I feel bad for him. My aunt, LeeAnn, walks all over him. I think I’ve heard him mutter twenty words since we’ve been here and they’re mostly okay, will do, sure honey, whatever you say.
I flip on the light and try not to think about my disastrous night. I have issues, I know it, but I don’t know how to get over them.
I force myself to open the closet door and stand in front of the full length mirror that’s on the other side. Slowly, and with my eyes closed, I shrug off my hoodie then pull my t-shirt over my head. Looking, one eye at a time, I stare at myself in my beige, thick-strapped bra and the monsters being held inside of them. If I could, I would cut them off. Since the moment they sprang to life on my body they’ve been wreaking havoc on my life.
I used to be cute and petite. I used to hear things like, “You have such gorgeous eyes,” or, “I wish I had hair like yours,” or simply, “You’re so pretty.” Not anymore.
As a twelve-year-old, having gross old men staring at my body was sickening in a way I didn’t understand but my mom did which is why she made me cover them up. As if it was my fault that clothes made for a body my size didn’t accommodate the balloons that were underneath.
But she was right – the baggy clothes helped a little. And also became my new most defining attribute – my dumpy wardrobe. No more pretty eyes or beautiful hair. People started labeling me goth which I wasn’t. But black is the color that hides my body best and I still liked my long black hair and wasn’t about to change anything else just to please the people around me.
It was better at my old school. Yes, I was living in California, but in Santa Cruz there is a plethora of unique kids, especially at my creative arts high school and my differences weren’t that big of a deal.
I never let Cole touch them and I kept my shirt on always. He seemed as scared of them as I was and we both just kind of treated them like a third wheel we couldn’t get rid of.
That’s not gonna fly with Angel though. Especially if Nash is right and he prides himself on pleasuring the women he’s with. I’m pretty sure stimulating nipples would be part of that. I gag a little bit at that thought and turn away from the mirror, undressing the rest of the way then throwing my night shirt on.
I head to the bathroom that connects my room with Jolee’s, grabbing my toiletry bag on the way because she’s made it crystal clear that the bathroom is hers and my crap doesn’t have a place in it. I scrub the black makeup off my eyes and the red lipstick off my lips then brush and floss my teeth, all the while avoiding the mirror.
I’m under my covers, trying to sleep, when my phone dings. I dig it out of my purse and see a text from Nash. Perfect.
How’d your night go?
I roll my eyes at my phone.
Great
Was his performance award worthy?
Despite myself, and because he’s not actually here to see me do it, I smile.
He’s defiantly done a lot of studying
I stare at my phone waiting for his reply. After a few minutes, I set it down and close my eyes gain. Then it dings.
Are you still a virgin?
“Oh my god,” I mutter.
That’s completely none of your business
If you’re not, then he definitely doesn’t deserve an award- you were only gone for a minute
“Stalker,” I
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