Tattered Beauty (Watty Awards 2011)

Chapter 1

Hey, y'all. this is for the watty awards...so PLEASE vote if you like it. Thanks so much :)

And this entire story is dedicated to my best friend Kelsey (who, as you'll notice, has her name given to a character). She's supported my stories from day one, and I don't know where I'd be without her. Thank you so much, bestie :)

Chapter 1

There I was in a red dress, spinning around in circles. There was a huge, million dollar smile stretched across my face. People stared at me, the beautiful girl in the flowing red dress and black high heels. They were thinking, “Gosh, I wish I was her; she doesn’t have a care in the world!”

Except I do.

I can’t afford a single thing in this store. Not even the gum up at the registers. I don’t come here to shop—I come here to dream. Dream of the days when one job interview will finally result with me getting hired; dream of the days when I’ll be able to finally have a place to live; dream of the days when I’ll be able to wear a dress like this somewhere, preferably with the man I’ll be madly in love with.

I’m homeless, you see. Not because I’m hooked on drugs or alcohol—I’ve actually never had a drop in my life, not that I’m against it, but I feel it would only make my situation worse. I’m not a high school dropout, nor am I a prostitute. I’m just a nineteen year old girl who is trapped in the iron grip of misfortune.

 When I was seventeen years of age, my parents sent me to bible camp. One thing you should know about my parents: they are 100% into God, church, and the whole religion circuit. I don’t believe they have ever missed a church service on Sunday. My house was literally covered in religious décor. The décor part was thanks to my mom. After I was born, she started an online business that sold decorative icons for the home. She needed something to do while being a full time mother after all. My dad is an architect.  Both their incomes gave me a pretty comfy upbringing. I remember I got a custom-made Lamborghini for my sixteenth birthday. We spent long weekends riding on our yacht. Needless to say, I don’t go sailing with them anymore. I wished I had appreciated what I had then because of where I was now.

 Anyway, back to the bible camp story. They didn’t send me to your run-of-the-mill church camp; my parents went all out. I was sent to one of those hardcore, bible-thumper’s camps. I, allegedly, had been giving off “anti—God fumes” and as a result: camp. I couldn’t believe some losers actually volunteer to waste their summers singing about God and teaching little kids all the fundamentals. It was brainwash I’m telling you!

Unable to take it, I came home early. That angered them, but I did not particularly care. What were they going to do? Pay $900 for a plane ticket to fly me back out there? Yeah, right.  My parents played it up to be just a case of teenage angst.

A week later I, allegedly, was having sex with my boyfriend at the time and our maid—Rosa—overheard.  I don’t recall this particular event; on the day she told my parents I hadn’t even had a boy over.  I firmly believe Rosa was out to get me. I wasn’t not having sex in my house when my parents were gone…but that is unimportant.  I didn’t deny that I did it other times, but Rosa had been harboring this against me for years, waiting for the right moment to pounce and get me kicked out.

Instead of being grounded, or forbidden to see him, they shunned me! They also chewed out my boyfriend for using condoms—you know how Catholics are about birth control, and it makes absolutely no sense to me; would my parents enjoy me having a child at seventeen? 

Since I was already being kicked out of my own house, I decided to let them know where they could stick their illogical God. My father had said, “Hailey Renée Jameson, when you decide to stop going down this path Satan has laid out for you, you may return home. Until then, you are no daughter of mine.” All the while I gave Rosa death glares. She had caused all of this. I told her right before I left, “You can burn in Hell, Rosa. Oh wait, there isn’t one!” The comment spited her and my parents.

My mom cried a little, but did not even attempt to try and convince my dad to let me stay. No, “Oh, Rob, please let her stay.” Nothing like, “She’s so young!” Not even an, “I love you, Hailey. Good luck out there.” I did not get a hug from either of them. Not an apologetic smile, a dismissive nod, or even a bloody handshake. They sat in the living room watching the nightly news while I left the house through the back door. I looked back once…hoping they were looking out at me—they weren’t.

I left my house on March 13th, at nine o’clock at night. The only thing I had in my bag—my prized Coach tote bag—was a couple pairs of jeans and t-shirts, my life savings—four hundred dollars—some hygienic products, and a few photos for sentimental reasons. It’s been two years and I still have not returned to my old home.

Anyway, that’s my sob story. Nothing depressing bout how my parents died and I was left to fend for myself. And nothing predictable about how I did it to myself by getting into hard drugs and smoked my money away. Just a young girl shunned for her religious beliefs.

Sometimes I think I should believe in God, but then I think: what did I do to deserve this? If there were a higher power, why isn’t he saving me from this? Then I realize that the only “higher” power there is is that of hope.

Note: I am FULLY aware of Hailey's religious beliefs and how they may offend some people. I am in no way asserting my personal opinions onto you, and I don't think that they make this story any better or worse. If you read on, eventually you will find out why she views the world this way, and understand. Thank you.