I knew it was cruel, but I didn't care. For some reason, I just had this unexplainable hatred and passion for ruining everything associated with this sad excuse for a human. I could see her smile sag, and her shoulders fall as my words absorbed into her veins, pumping from her heart to her brain. It was finally clicking. For so long she had just taken me for some messed up angry person, and up until this moment, she had never figured it out —that I had something against her personally.
I'd made plenty of rude comments. Made fun of her stupid skirts and fluffy girly blouses. She was like a walking barbie. Fake and plastic. My hatred was like a flame, and I wanted to melt that stupid frozen smile off her smooth, flawless lips. I wanted to yank her shiny, synthetic hair from her oval shaped head. Strip her of her precious jewels, expensive shoes, and make-up enhanced face. She was the epitome of phony. The stereotypical good girl that had herself put together from the inside out.
She had everything I would never have, and everything I would always want. What made her so special and untouchable? Why was her life so spotless and carefree? To have a fragment of the joy she produced would keep me sane and satisfied for the rest of my high school days. And I hated it. I hated everything she represented. I hated her!
"You know it's true," I said as I watched her fumble with the books in her locker. "You'll never amount to anything."
She mumbled something under her breath, but I couldn't understand it. There were no tears, but I could tell my words were getting to her.
"So, you don't deny it?" I snarled at her, my teeth grinding against each other as I clenched my fingernails into my palms. "Trying to cover up your worthlessness by caking on your face and decorating your body with cute clothes doesn't change the fact that you're nothing. People can see that you know? We know what you're hiding."
She ignored me as she pulled a textbook from inside the metal contraption.
"There's nothing in there, Barbie," I joked as I poked my finger against her naive little head.
She shook my finger away and shot a glare in my direction.
"Oh, so you do have some fight in you?" I was egging her on. I so badly wanted to start something. Get her really riled up. So often I was hit with the realization that I didn't actually know why I felt the need to harass her, but every time I'd push it away. She'd never done anything to me except show me kindness. And I believe that's where she made her first mistake. I didn't want kindness. Kindness was just a messed up way of showing the damaged and corrupt population that you were better than them. Whenever she smiled at me or looked at me with pity, I knew she thought she was better than the rest of us, that inside she was secretly praising God Almighty that He never handed her that kind of wretched, waste of a life.
She wanted to fix me. That's why she kept coming back. That's why she kept pursuing me. It was sickening really. You can't just put new batteries in me and expect me to start dancing around the hallways. I'm more like a glass doll that has to be carefully and precisely put back together, and even once I'm whole again there will always be missing pieces.
She'll never get it. She'll always come back. Except for today. Today I had reached my new record. I had broken her just enough to shatter her outside wall. Her strength was failing her, and it was causing all kinds of wicked madness and twisted jubilation to erupt inside of me.
"You are a fraud," I muttered with disgust. "Do the others realize that you're hideous under that mask? That all you desire is to feel high and mighty?" I watch her shoulders tremble, and I know I'm on a roll. "Does Daddy tell you that you're his little princess? That's obviously his way of telling you that your head is too high up in the clouds. How could you be a princess when you're not even strong enough to look me in the eyes? You're weak and pathetic. Nobody wants you. The world will continue to bow down to your wretched, plastic body, but nobody will ever want your heart."
And that's when I saw it. Just a single tear, and for just a split moment I was mesmerized by the slow fall of the droplet as it explored the contours of her innocently flawless cheek. I had so much more to say, but it was suddenly stuck in my throat, and I was frozen as I watched her crumble in front of me.
"Someday I hope you're happy," she hiccuped as she flung the tear off her cheek.
She never lost her calm as she gently pressed her locker door shut, slung her bag over her shoulder and strolled away. And all I could think about was the fact that even when I had done my worst damage, and thrown my most brutal ammunition she had quietly accepted each insult, and yet still felt more concern for me than herself. What was the matter with her? Why couldn't she just hate me? That's what I wanted. I wanted her to hate me like everyone else. The fact that she cared ruined everything.
Because if a stranger could care for me, then why couldn't my own father.
--
Pretty brutal, huh? Emma was a completely different person in those days, but she's changed a lot since then, and is still changing now. :)
Please vote and comment your thoughts. :D I'd love to hear them.
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Porcelain Skin (NOW ON AMAZON KU)
Teen Fiction"When I tell you that he hates me, you'll probably assume it's because he's a jerk...but you'd be wrong. He's not a jerk. I am." --- Several years ago tragedy struck Emma's home, leaving her broken... like a cup with cracks spiraling and sli...
