a heart's end

Three

Anaelle

    "What do you mean they're not coming? I would've never thought they were serious!" Anger coursed through my veins like narcotics at the thought of my parents not being here. Here, at this airport, saying goodbye to their only daughter who was about to start a new chapter in her life. It sickened me at how much they never cared for me, only showing affection at the company of others. I asked my mother about this once when I was a little girl, about how she only told me she loved me or gave my a kiss only when we had company over.

    "Anaelle, it's not love I'm showing you. It's an image. You'll understand the difference when you get older."

    Those words still flow through my head after all the years. And I still don't understand what she means. An image of what? Of what a mother was supposed to act like all the time, not just to keep the talk of the town low? I shook my head at the thought and looked at Donte. It is not his fault that my parents are that way, he's just the messenger. His parents, or, parent is almost as bad as mine.

    I remember our conversation last night. They had told me that they would be out all night and Donte was to pick me up. That they "may or may not" be able to make it. The thought pissed me off beyond belief, yet my face was hard. It was near impossible to pull any emotion out of me when it came to my parents. They are the only people who bring out my rage the most. Everything can bring out my rage, though. Rage, uncontrollable sobbing, self loathing are some of the grand qualities that make up Anaelle Lafayette.

    "I'm sorry, Anaelle. They just don't know how to be good parents. My dad isn't here, remember? He didn't even make it out of bed." As Donte was rubbing my back, I wanted nothing but to be alone. Away from him. He was pitifully trying to comfort me, but comfort is nothing I needed.

    "Yeah, your dad doesn't know you. You've never lived with your dad, you haven't told him multiple times how important it is to be at this airport. He's never even met you. Besides, your mom is here and that's more than I can say." Donte's eyes narrowed and he stormed away. Fine, he can be a baby. It's the truth, though. I don't feel bad at what I said. I feel like drowning myself in the toilet, but I dont feel bad. He needs to go find his mom, anyway. Preferably drag her away from the airport bar which is probably where she is at. Throwing down hundreds with rum. Her sparkly jewelry and tight clothes in stow as she places an order of another round. I hate her.

    I leaned my head back until I drifted off. I cannot wait to be in New York. To live a normal life as a normal college student. In a dorm, not a mansion. With friends who actually wanted to be around me, not my snobby handful of friends back in Maine who never wanted to be around me because of my "mood swings and attitudes".  It's the fresh start i've seen in movies and read in books. Perfect for me.

       "Anaelle, we're about to board." I felt Donte gently tap on my right shoulder. My stomach growled in hunger, but I ignored it. I was already topping the scale at 140 pounds, and from the looks my mother gave me everytime I made a plate, I should probably stop eating everytime I'm hungry. But you know what? My mother isnt even here! I can indulge myself anyway I want! I'm about to be 100% free and the power that comes with that excites me.

    "I should get a tattoo when we arrive." I tell Donte. He looks at me and smiles. He is to kind for me. No judgement is behind his eyes, just a slight pang of humor.

"Ha! Yeah right, sweetheart. You cant take pain. You'd cry like a baby and embarress yourself." Donte's mother commented with a smirk. I've never wanted to slap this woman more than now. She has no idea how much pain I can take. I chose not to comment, instead I give her a roll of my eyes.

    We board first since we are first class, as always. When we can't get our own private jet we have to settle for first class. I wanted to tell Donte to stop spending his mother's money and to start being more independant, but I know he just wants me to be comfortable. And I can't say much myself, since no matter how much I didn't want them to, my parents are wiring two thousand a month for me to have fun on. I'm not going to touch a dime.

    My brush is in my luggage at the bottom of the plane, which I really wish it was with me. Brushing my hair calms me down and it relaxes me. My hair is my biggest assest which makes me confident. I'm pretty slim, a staggering 5'10, and my face has never seen a pimle, thankfully. Call it luck, I dont care, but I couldnt be on the bathroom floor after my third emotional breakdown in a day threatening to cut off my height, could I? Or my weight? Well, I could. But it would hurt. Yep, I couldve cut my hair off like i've seen a thousand times before. I didnt, however, and that is an accomplishment in itself.

    About an hour in, Donte was getting anxious and it was really pissing me off. Tapping his fingers, bouncing his knee, sighing every third breath. It was getting old and annoying. I know he's nervous about the plane, or college, or the city, but it's no excuse to be so... himself.

    Finally he fell asleep and when I could get some peace I started thinking about my new roomate. Or I think I have only one, at least. I haven't recieved the background on any other girls so I haven't the slightest idea.

    My roommate's name is Kalena and she is Hawaiian. I want to think that we'll hit it off great and i'll have my first college experience to be a good one. My hope for college is to high, I fear. What's probably going to happen is that I will not be able to stop myself from screaming at her. Not right off, but it takes time. Maybe a month or so. The second she sees me crying in my sleep she'll want to "help" me and that will just annoy me further. I've tried help. I've tries talking, I've tried medication, therapy, jounals, nothing works. I'm stuck inside myself with my own demons. I'm afraid that just like me, my new roommate will soon learn to hate Anaelle Lafayette.