Beauties and their Beast

Chapter 1

I stand there, staring, willing myself towards another day, another photo shoot, another pool party, to last just even another minute without shoving pills down my throat, slitting my wrist, or even from curling in a ball and never moving again, letting the darkness finally overcome me. My shaky hands touch the face of the girl in the mirror, mascara streaking down to hollow cheeks, trying it's very hardest to reach past the runny nose to the red smudged pouty lips. Disheveled mahogany hair is pushed out of the way to reveal painstakingly beautiful mixture of blue and green eyes that show the truth of the truth of the scared nineteen year old behind them, eyes that have seen the world too early, eyes that wish to be bright and happy again, my eyes. They wander from my reflection to my wrist covered in slash marks, and I almost cry at the sight. I place my forehead on the cool surface of the mirror and it relaxes me for a second making me forget my troubles. All until I hear a banging on the door followed by a voice yelling,"Caroline are you in there? Malcolm needs to get to school."

"Yea, I'll be just a second!" I cry back as I begin simultaneously washing my 'mask', the layers of makeup I usually wear to off as I clean out the bath containing the mixture of whatever food and alcohol that I consumed yesterday. I throw on a robe hanging off of the door, making sure to hide my wrist as I open the door met with the beaming expession of the chocolate hair of the only joy in my day.
"Aunt Carrie, Aunt Carrie!!! Can we brush our teeth together?" He squeals.

"Oh I don't know, I only brush my teeth with boys that are this many" I say as I lift up four of my manicured fingers.

"But Aunt Carrie, I am this many!!!" He says with delight lifting four of his own plump stubby fingers.

"Are you sure?" I ask with a disbelieving tone only to be met with his giggles.
"Yes!!! I a big boy now!!" He protests.
"But your not too big for me to do this, I say as I lift him up and spin him around, despite my pounding head.

We head back into the bathroom grabbing our toothbrushes, his Jake and the Neverland Pirates, mine electric blue. And begin to brush our teeth making gurgling noises until we stop and spit.

At that time, he finds it suitable to ask,"Why did you sleep in the bathroom Aunt Carrie?"
Not wanting to taint his childish innocence the least bit, I reply with,"Because I was really tired last night, it was past my bedtime."

He seems to find this a good answer, and goes back to brushing his teeth until he immediately stops and asks, what's that?

My heart drops as I follow his finger towards my wrist that was now completely visible. I cover it with my hand and to my chagrin stutter out,"O-oh t-this. I-it's nothing." I wince at my struggle to let out the words taking a deep breath. I respond with a better answer of,"I mean, Aunt Carrie just accidentally scratched her arm on something and made a boo-boo. It's no need to worry Mal."

He moves my hand out the way and kisses the marks, melting my heart and resulting in a stray tear sliding down my cheek. "There, now all better!" He says.

I hug him until he cries out,"Aunt Carrie! Your squeezing me!!" I immediately drop him, aching to hear his heartbeat again, to have the reminder of what life is. Of what I used to be. A little girl, running down dusty roads with the whole world at my fingertips. The definition of innocent.

"Remember when he was at your knees, now he's all ready to grow up," BB says as she rounds the corner.

"I know I feel so old." I reply thinking about the little two year-old Malcolm that was just as much smiles as he is now.

"You? You're only nineteen! I'm the one that should feel old! I'm his mother!" She laughs pretending to check for wrinkles in the mirror.
"I know right! Your so old Bernadette" I say dragging out her name that she hates so much."I even see a few gray hairs!" I call out as I run out of the bathroom. She knows that Im only joking and her strawberry-blonde hair is as full and bouncy as ever, but she chases me anyway. She has a deep hatred for her first name, usually going by, Bella (her middle name) or by B with her friends. I'm the only one she lets call her BB. She thinks Bernadette makes her sound like a frumpy old lady, though she's only 20. The fact that it was also her great aunt's name whom she also hated probably makes the name worse also; for good reason too, the old hag always called her fat and stupid. B always says,"It doesn't bother me, I'm on the cover of a magazine and she's six feet under. She's the devil's problem now." but if I ever saw the old bitch I wouldn't think twice in knocking her cane out from under her.

BB finally catches up with in my room tackling me onto the bed. I laugh as she tries to pin me, attempting to hit me with a pillow. Despite my meager and carefully watched weight, I flip her over and begin hitting her with a pillow of my own.

I'm so caught up in the fun that I forget, until she cries out in pain. I leap off, guilt immediately flooding over me, as I realize I hurt her.

I curse under my breath and try to apologize,"God BB I'm so sorry."

She looks embarrassed and I they guilt washes over me again which quickly turns to anger.

"The bruises hasn't healed up yet? Let me see how bad they are." She tries to protest, but I quickly lift her shirt to be met with the horrifying sight of black, blue, green, and even yellow tinged ribs.

She looks down, ashamed, and attempts a joke saying,"I guess no bikini shots for me any time soon." She almost seems normal, excepts her voice cracks and she can't look me in the eye.

"God I'm going to kill him." I whisper under my breath, but obviously loud enough for her to hear because she begins her list of excuses, one that I've heard too many times before.

"It wasn't his fault Car! It was me-"
"He had a rough day at work, he came home and Malcolm was being rowdy, I didn't cook dinner, he had a little too much to drink, it doesn't hurt that much, he didn't mean it." I say cutting her off, mimicking her every time I ask about the always occurring bruises. "The sad thing is B, I'm tired of you lying to me and yourself." I snap.

She glances away, tears streaming down her face as she whispers,"I'm sorry, I was going to tell you that me and Malcolm are heading back today, make sure to tell Rodney I won't be at work the next few days."

I ball my fist and prepare to retort something when I hear a little voice in the doorway say,"Mommy I'm going to be late to school!"

"Just a second sugar, Mommy will be there in a second," she calls back wiping her face as she pulls her shirt back down and gathers her things into her purse.

"Think of Malcolm," I say, latching onto her wrist.

And finally being able to look at me in the face, she answers truthfully,"I am."

I sit there on the bed as I hear the four-year-olds chatter, and the soft close of the front door.

I wait a few seconds then scream, ignoring the thoughts of what the neighbor might think. It feels good to let it out, the anger and sadness transferring into a single sound, releasing the build up inside of me. I remember something I learned in sixth grade, in Miss Magoo's class: energy can neither be created nor destroyed, although it may be rearranged in space. This is what that scream felt like, energy being transformed. I sigh thinking of B going back with Bart, and poor little Malcolm. How do you explain why your ribs look like a rainbow to a four-year-old. If only she will listen to me, I don't care if he supposedly is her husband, and that's her where she lives. No real husband acts like that, and that's definitely no home for a anybody to be put in, boy or woman. I throw on a sports bra and workout tights telling myself that a run will soften my anger. I put my hair in a high pony, and apply makeup to my wrist, knowing the procedure all too well, though this time, it's a lot harder to cover. I head out the door and to Central Park, the perfect place to run away from my problems.