Bottle it Up

Chapter Ten

            My room back home was like a sweatshirt, well worn and well loved. My laptop was perched upon my desk, surrounded by piles and piles of knickknacks found in all sorts of stores. There was sea glass, and there were figurines. I could see files crammed with old tests and pens spilling from pouches. It was my home within a house. It was that diamond in the rough of hostile territory.

            Emma’s room was surprisingly the opposite. It was house within a home.

            The Duvall home housed many warm yellows and browns. There were family pictures of Emma and her older sister along with multiple other people. I liked looking at those pictures, my eyes lingering over them as Emma piled soda and snacks in the crook of her arm. They were a family unit, all smiles and perfectly mismatches clothing.

            Emma Duvall’s room was an entirely different story. It was all lines and angles and black and whites. If I were given the task to match personalities and rooms, the pair of Em and her room would’ve been my last.

            “Do you like this top?” she asked, pulling a flimsy blouse from her closet and holding it against her chest. I cocked my head, leaning back into her made bed.

            “I love it,” I said warmly, getting used to the idea of being inside of another girl’s room, and chatting as if we’d known each other for longer than we had.

            My warm tone was rewarded with a toothy smile as she slipped the blouse from the hook and hung it up. As she turned I noticed a small dark spot on her cheek, the size of a small grape.

            “When’d you hurt yourself?” the words leapt from my mouth without thinking. Emma’s reaction was slow. First she processed the words, and then her hand went up to her face, exactly to where the lightly veiled mark has set itself.

            “Oh, this?” she asked, her hand hesitantly leaving the mark. “I just tripped over a pair of heels. Hit the corner of my eye on the dresser.” She shrugged, gulping as she looked back over at the mirror set against her desk. “It’s a little worse than I remember,” she said in an afterthought, giving me a weak smile, and setting the shirt down.

            “Does it hurt?” I felt stupid asking the question, but she wasn’t making a big deal of it. She shook her head as she swiped a vial of liquid concealer from her side table drawer. “You should get something for that,” I muttered, unable to take my eyes off the purple tinged ring of skin on her cheekbone.

            “It’s okay Hazel,” she promised, giving me a thin-lipped smile, “I fell a few days ago. Its looks a lot of worse than it actually is.” She didn’t even look into the mirror to apply the makeup. Her hand mechanically went up to her cheek and applied the layers. A minute, and several coats of concealer and foundation, later, she was picking the shirt up once more.

            “Look,” she ordered, leaning forward so her face was at my level, “I look fine.” Because you just covered up the scarring. I didn’t say what I thought though. I simply bit my lip, shrugged, and let her slip on her blouse. It really was great. The light yellow matched her usual personality.

            “Let’s get you a dress,” she said, peppiness leaking into her voice.

            “A dress.” I looked at her, and then at her more relaxed outfit.

            “Oh shush, it’ll be a casual dress.” She turned and shifted around her closet, finally unhooking a summertime dress with summertime colors. It wasn’t to short … not to tight. It actually looked good. “I think it’ll fit,” she said, squinting her eyes at the waist. Emma was a bit slimmer than me, but the dress had a loose bodice anyway.

            After a minimal discussion it was decided I would wear the dress. I didn’t have the heart in discussing my appearance further, my mind was to insistent on wandering back to Penelope.

            Penelope and her false smile.

            Penelope and her fixation on Mason.

            Penelope and her brother.

            Penelope and her lost father.

            Penelope and her eyes.

            Penelope and her self hate.

            I tried to shake it off, but I was reminded of my past thoughts of the brunette. How I thought what a bitch she was. How I thought she was so nosy. How I thought the only thing behind those amber eyes was hatred was anyone beside herself.

            What I didn’t realize was that the only person she hated was herself.

            The thought made me think it would okay if she hated me, because there’d be a reason.

            She was such a pretty cover. She didn’t have a crack in her spine, and her cover was protected. Though the book jacket couldn’t protect everything. She was such an ugly book though. The words were crossed out and the notes were negative. It started out as something beautiful but it battered and reread and overthought until the words lost all their meaning.

            I judged Penelope by her cover and didn’t even try to read the book. I do that to everyone. I judged Mason, I judged Emma, and I eve judged a gazebo. I thought he didn’t care, I thought she never wavered in smiling, and I thought it was long forgotten.

            Treat people like you want to be treated. It’s such a juvenile saying, drilled into our minds like our own names. We hear it so much it’s lost it’s meaning, just like a story can seem pointless once you’re read it once to many. The words are so true though. They ring through your mind when someone says something mean to you, and you to them.

            I judge people, and I wonder what they think of me back.

            “Are you ready to go?” Emma asked, and I came back from my thoughts. She had been applying some eyeliner, and I realized when I looked in the mirror some had gotten onto my face as well.

            “What do you think?” I asked her, and maybe it sounded playful, but I thought the words out painfully.

            “Let’s go then.”

            I meant no. I didn’t protest though. I must have seemed like the type of girl who wanted to go.

Authors Note ~ Eh, I don't like this chapter much. 

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