Cursed

3. Belle and Her Father

3. Belle and Her Father

Something loud. Annoying, ringing. Will somebody turn that OFF? Gawdammit! Blink, blink. Ceiling. Wall, curtain, window. No. Table. Yes, alarm clock. Whack! Oops. The poor piece of plastic clattered to the floor in three parts, with the batteries rolling away in different directions. I picked up the two of the four batteries that were within reach without having to get out of bed along with the broken pieces of alarm clock. I placed them gently on my bedside table.

I noticed that I had knocked over the picture frame that sat on the little table when I had slammed down on the alarm clock. I picked it up and sighed as I stared into my mom's perfect smiling sapphire eyes. The awkward five year old in her arms was me. We found out about the cancer two months later. She was beautiful. Even after she started chemo and her hair started falling out, she was still beautiful.

I wished that I could have been more like her. It's like I got all of her best features and they just seemed to mesh wrong with the ones I got from Dad. My eyes were the same color as Dad's but the same shape as her's. The brown he passed to me almost clashed with my pale skin tone. They were too big for my face and my nose was too small. She had these gorgeous full lips but I only seemed to get her bottom one. It was way too full for the top one. And my chin... well let's just say I got it from my dad and leave it at that.

When my friends got boyfriends in middle school I would look in the mirror and wonder I why I couldn't look more like someone boys wanted to date. More than once in high school, I got hit on by the designated wingman so that his friend could hook up with one of my friends. My grandmother always said that I was just a late bloomer. She said my mom was, too and that I would grow into my pretty features eventually. She was wrong.

I sat up in my bed and picked the eye gunk out of the corners of my eyes. The light peeking through the purple curtains above my bed was vague and soft. Pulling aside the curtains revealed a gray clouded sky and a damp world. Sad and gloomy, as usual.

I stepped into my bathroom and stared groggily at the mirror. I washed my face with my citrus face wash, squeezing a dab of it onto the tips of my fingers and foaming it in my palms, then smoothing it in circles on my face. I turned the left and right knobs on the faucet and held my pinkie under the water until it was warm. Then I cupped my palms under the running water and splashed it on my face until it was soap free.

I brushed my teeth quickly and threw on jeans, a green tee and a black baggy hoodie. I grabbed my bag and left the house. I arrived to school with no time to spare, timing it perfectly so that I wouldn't have to hang around by myself awkwardly until the bell rang. I ran to my first class and gaped through the rest of my lessons.

When the bell rang after my final class I bolted for the door and waited for Dad to pick me up. Soon enough a car pulled up beside me.

“Hey kiddo, you ready for gloomy London?”

“Sure.” I hopped into the passenger seat and we drove off.

“Here,” he handed me a paper bag, “Saundra picked it out, I think you'll freeze though.” It was a thin off-white blouse of mine with flowy lace sleeves and a low back. He was right, I would freeze, but it was perfect none the less.

“So what's a good place for photos? Your the one taking the train all around town,” he said, keeping his gaze focused on the road. We were both still getting used to the idea of driving on the left.

“Well my favorite place is the–” I began.

“Library,” we said simultaneously. And off we drove.

When we arrived, my dad dropped me off at the entrance and went to go find a parking spot. I entered through the majestic front doors and said hello to Mr. Hughes. I told him what Dad and I were up to and he readily agreed to let us work anywhere we please and if we needed anything, we were not to be afraid to ask.

I needed a book. An old book. I don't really know why, it just seemed to fit. I remembered the book I had read the day before and ran to the folklore section to grab it. By the time I was back outside the library, my dad had all of his equipment set out and ready.

He had me sit on the porch steps and lean on the black iron rail. I was to hold the book open in my lap and my foot closest to the door was to be on the same step as the one I was sitting on while the other one was to be on the step below it. I tucked one side of my hair behind my ear and let the other side hang. I looked down at the book and pretended to read. My dad scurried around me like a mouse, taking a photo every thirty seconds from every possible angle and distance.

Next he had me stand up and lean over the rail with my elbows resting on it, hands hanging with the book in one of them. I held the book so that my middle finger was in between two pages somewhere in the middle, as if I were saving the page I was on. I started by looking out and later looked down. The wind blew my hair incorrigibly around my face and ruffled my light blouse. I shivered and developed goosebumps all down my arms and back. My face flushed as it always did when I got cold.

When we finished up, I returned to the front desk to say bye to Mr. Hughes and decided to check the book out.

“These photos are going to turn out great, Belley,” Dad said, as we pulled out of the library parking lot, “but I think that we need to take advantage of the beautiful wilderness we have here.” I groaned.

“Dad, if you're gonna drag me along on one of your jobs...”

“C'mon Belle, there is this adorable little town Northeast of here. It's surrounded by such beautiful greenery. I'll wake up early to do my work and we can do some wilderness shots together in the afternoon after we have lunch. How does that sound?”

“What about Saundra?” I asked.

“She'll be coming with us of course. What do you say?”

“This weekend?” he nodded, “Do I have a choice?”

“Well I would say you could stay at someone's house for the weekend, but since you don't seem to have any friends, your choices are come willingly or come grudgingly. Either way you are not old enough to stay alone.”

“I'm seventeen, Dad,” I gaped at him, “a few months and you won't be able to force me to do anything.”

“But until then, I can.” There was no point in arguing. I sighed through my nose and pursed my lips, turning towards the window to stare at the damp road.

Back at the apartment, I went to my room to do my homework. Around seven I was called and my somewhat of a family and I ate another regular dinner and then I went back to my room and did not come out until the next day.