“Honey,” my mom’s sweet, calming voice calls from the kitchen, traveling through our non-soundproof, thin walls, “have you seen my makeup?”
I look up from my homework, annoyed that I was interrupted. This project was worth 60% of my grade, and I couldn’t afford to be distracted. “Which brand?”
Caroline Adams, my wonderful and beloved mother, is a makeup addict. Correction: not just a makeup addict; no, she’s obsessed with being beautiful. She constantly loses her makeup, because she leaves it around the house all the time, always reapplying it to make sure it’s perfect.
“Mary Kay, of course!” she says, genuinely surprised that I hadn’t already guessed.
Rolling my eyes, I let out a deep sigh. “I apologize. I forgot that your current makeup ob—“ I cut off, correcting my words. She doesn’t like it when I say she’s obsessed. “That the current makeup brand that you like is Mary Kay.”
“Yes, yes,” she says in a rushed manner, “now where is it?” Cheeks pink, Mom sticks her head into my room. She looks around frantically, as if her Mary Kay will magically appear on my dresser.
I would hate to break it to her, but I don’t wear makeup. I’m all natural, and I’m not ashamed. I just believe in natural beauty opposed to the faked, make up beauty.
“It’s not in here, Mom,” I say softly, trying not to make her angry. She doesn’t like it when I don’t answer her question the way she wants it to be answered.
Her head turns toward me, worriedness in her eyes. “Then where is it? Presley, I can’t find my makeup!” She leans into my room a little more. “I don’t know where it is!”
Personally, I think that my mom goes overboard when it comes to makeup and being beautiful. I think that it’s getting to become a serious problem. If only Dad wasn’t so wrapped up in his own world maybe I could talk to him, and we could discuss ways to approach Mom about her issue.
I shrug my shoulders, hoping that she’ll just leave me alone.
“Presley,” Mom says, straightening up her posture and becoming serious. “I’m not kidding around here. I really need that makeup.”
Taking a look at her appearance, I see that she’s all dolled up, and her face already has excessive amounts of makeup on it.
“Where are you going?” I ask her, wondering if she’ll even tell me the truth. I doubt she will.
Her eyes flicker toward my dresser again where the invisible makeup is. “Out.” She says it in an offhand manner, like she knows that I can see through her lies. “With friends.” She tries to clarify, but I’m not stupid enough to know that she lied the first time.
I bet she even lies when she tells me that she loves me.
“Have fun,” I mutter, going back to my homework. I hope she catches my drift and leaves my room before I can get even angrier.
“I will,” she says defiantly and then stomps out, making her exit dramatic. I can hear her footsteps throughout the house – they’re thundering and angry. I can only begin to imagine how her life is. She constantly lies to her family, and she feels the need to be beautiful.
It’s not that she isn’t already beautiful, because I know for a fact that my mother is one of the most beautiful people that I know. If only she was beautiful on the inside too, then maybe I’d look up to her like most daughters should.
YOU ARE READING
Dead Hearts
Teen Fiction"Even though his family is broken just like mine, he won’t understand what I did. If I tell him what I did, he’ll think I’m just like the rest of them – fake. But then again, maybe I am just like them." Presley Adams' doesn't know what to do with he...
