My sophomore year of high school almost saw me get killed. It's mind-boggling how simple words can change your whole output of life. Before realizing that I did not have my life together, every day, I would strut through the hallways of the school with my head lifted high (perched on a throne that didn't belong to me). I'd wear fishnet stockings that were too small solely to accentuate my meatier-than-average thighs and have them spill out.
Whenever I spoke, I flipped my hair back as if I were the center of attention. I made myself out to be this supreme lustful goddess that everyone wanted, an old-fashioned idol. The only difference between me and an actual one was that no one worshipped me. Men and women alike didn't gasp in awe whenever I passed them, sashaying my hips provocatively. They turned and looked at me with disgust.
As if they said, without mouthing a word or exchanging letters, "That girl is not it." My 17-year-old butt couldn't take a hint, and come Homecoming season; I put my selfish, inappropriate behavior into teeth-grinding overdrive. On the first day of that week, I wore a sports bra with no shirt, a pleated skirt, and lavender thigh-highs. My makeup was extra mature, with pink-dusted fake eyelashes and embarrassingly extravagant lip plumper. To this day, I don't know who or what I was trying to impress.
Heads whipped around, of course, but not for the right reasons. A girl, the most popular in my grade at the time, Kelsey Malory, known for her brutal teasing, stood straight up and addressed the elephant in the room (me, of course). "OMG, Violet!" She said, speaking loud enough for my ears to ring. "What is all that?" She reserved nothing, and I knew what she was talking about. While my lip trembled and my hands gripped the black matted material under the desk, she made me reel in humility. "Have you ever heard of a gym? The sophomore 30 must've caught up to our star cheerleader."
That was all it took for me to turn over a new leaf. No, I didn't hit the gym and burn all the fat off, but I did take a week off from school. I pretended to drive away but would spend my days hanging out at the local drugstore or reading at the library. Kelsey's voice echoed in my head every couple of hours, and I'd curl into a pitiful ball and cry until my mascara ran to my knees. When I returned–after the persistent nudging from my parents and circle of friends–my slutty outfits had taken a 180, and now I couldn't bring myself to show more skin than was necessary. Summers called for shorts and baggy T-shirts. And winter introduced me to extra-large male hoodies and oversized joggers or sweatpants.
Never again did I return to the intricate fashion sense I longed to make a part of me. The fun had run out long ago. Kelsey's face appeared anytime I considered making a dramatic comeback. Her obnoxious curls, that fake smile, the even faker cortège of boot-kissers she hung around, everything reminded me of what I was and still am. I'm a loser; not even a deity could erase that from my resume. It's stuck to me, and I to it, like a curse that wasn't your fault, but you're stuck dealing with the repercussions.
That experience caused a part of me to die. I couldn't break free from worry's grip; whenever I got remotely close to becoming my past self again, a soft tug on my soul lured me back to safety. I'm two-dimensional. I'm scared of stepping outside my neighborhood because I can't predict what'll happen. Pathetic, yes, but it's the life I lead now.
Will I be kidnapped?
Am I going to be shot?
These looming questions don't matter because I'm trapped against my will, destined to remain a shell of my former self forever.
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"So, listen, taking humans to the Tether always has some risk," Minerva deters from her straight-line pacing, staring at Zander. "You, there, you're athletic." She singles him out. Locking eyes with him like he's the love of her life– the man she wants to spend the rest of her days with. "It'll take more than athleticism to manage the Tether." Minerva reminds me of an army sergeant, except for no obscene yelling or name-calling– as my parents are asleep in the two chairs by the window. She doesn't take any chance of waking them. Smart move for a girl that's hellbent on satisfying her inner desires. "Think of it as climbing the highest mountain in this world," Apollo leans over and whispers something into her ear. "Mt. Everest."
YOU ARE READING
Parasite
Fantasy"You're pregnant." Certainly not the words a lowly highschool girl wants to hear. But what can I do about it? Nothing, absolutely, positively nothing. How do I cope with being pregnant with a parasite? I contemplate ways to die. Hell, that's all I...
