BEING ANITA

As It Blooms

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐛𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐲 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫.

The frail and tender line between happiness and regrets broke apart; it faded underneath her nails and her body lay as a crime she committed not once, not twice, but several. All that beauty, all that distorted perfection, crumbled down the moment he laid eyes on her. She saw the disappointment. She saw the truth. She saw his heart. It was broken, wondering what had happened to his dear Anita. Gwen saw the confusion in his soul, his desperate desire to see her again, to get in his Mustang and drive back to the hotel where she waited and waited. Naked and growing thinner every day.

Asher was free.

Anita was lost.

And Gwen watched as those two lovers eyed her with disapproval. She was drenched with a liquid of disgust and unfairness. Her edges turned to sand and swirled with the dust above, curling around her virtual shape, her ideal, a plastic picture that was mistreated and neglected. This sensation of detachment and abandonment corrupted her, invaded the pores that only breathed through happiness. They shrank and turned dark. Her flesh was heavy, so ungraceful and vile, a mass of viscous concrete smeared on her body. She wanted to quickly tear it apart but the shock of his cold reception froze her in place, petrifying her in that wrong gruesome statue with no attractive silhouette.

And then she understood that now that Asher was free, her freedom was over. She was imprisoned in a body she didn't want, in a context she had disarranged, in a friendship she wouldn't be able to sustain, in a life that had a close ending. Her voice faded away, her throat locked, compressing her spirit into layers of boxes. She became a vault of stained memories, the terminal point. It would all end right now. He didn't look at her again. Rather, he hugged Noah and thanked him for his help and support. He didn't hold her hand; he patted his father's shoulders, celebrating their lives. And in that circle of humans, she understood that she was the only woman. Facing the strength and flexibility of males. They could do whatever they wanted. They were always so cool. Always so free. Free to make every damn mistake they wanted without being severely punished. They could get away with anything.

Not her. Her 'little blunders' left marks on her skin, stretched and ugly edges. She was filthy, broken, staggering for a solution that didn't involve dying. The valley was so deep she free fell into it, clueless of what to do. Asher fell out of love with her. He avoided her. He preferred to focus on re-establishing Anita's Choker band than to care about her. He was still in love with Anita. Gwen could see it in his eyes. His dreams had remained untouched. He was loyal to her. He sang every old song. The band was back in the game. The Hawk's and the girls wanted to meet them, but none of them cared to greet Gwen. Maybe because she had killed Claire; maybe because nobody understood when a beautiful girl simply ceased to be beautiful.

Noah was still there, yet less alive. Asher monopolized the environment and demanded things from Noah, who couldn't say no. Gwen watched as the one that loved her for so many months straight forgot to ask if she was hungry, if she wanted to hang out again, if she was in the mood for doing whatever crossed their minds. Noah turned into a headhunter, looking for a new drummer and a better bassist. Asher focused on composing more songs, and he'd stay at Ethan's house for days straight. It was also a father and son moment. Nobody should interfere in that.

This motivated Gwen to stick around her mother, as well. The woman had recovered, had her nails trimmed and done, her hair was soft and long, her lips red. Her high heels shone again, her elbows swayed with skill and grace. Ivonne was a ballerina of work. She danced among her tasks with defiance and strength, with some delicate turns. All this spectacle hurt Gwen. She was nothing of that. Her plump body was a fixed being, immobile, uncertain, insecure, lost, desperate, screaming. And just like Asher, Ivonne didn't look her in the eye. They preferred to mind their businesses. Their so irreplaceable passions.