You're The Fire To My Ice

Chapter 2: Just Wear That Smile Well

As I set up, stretch my arms, and yawn from the little sleep I gained that night I realize it's just another day, another day of pretending. I must be a good actress though, because everyone believes my smiles, even though they're entirely false. I've always had this idea that life is a play, the greatest play of all. Everyone are actresses and actors acting and intertwining themselves in other people's stories as well as their own. The story of being born, living, and dying, or in my case being born, dying, and becoming even deader. 

I look over my shoulder curiously at the 30 second fast wall clock hanging slightly over my queen sized bed. "Time to get the show on the road." I mumble under my breath to myself. Hanging my feet over the edge I place my feet one by one on the cold oak wooden floorboards. Creaking lightly as I stand up and walk over to the dim lit bathroom. I look into the old vanity mirror noticing the black circles under my almond shaped eyes are getting even darker from sleep deprivation. Make-up has always tended to be my best friend when it comes to pulling off fake happiness. I reach across the snow white marble sink into my make-up bag to find my fair complected concealer, and rub it under my swelled up, dark eyes. It covers well enough to only be slightly noticeable. I continue and put my long strawberry blonde hair up into a high ponytail. And lastly add a final touch of mascara. Good enough, but then again nothings ever going to be enough to drag my patient soul back from the depths and shackles of my inner demons. They just have too tight of clutch, and don't like letting go. I pace over to my paint chipped vintage dresser with Polaroids strewn on top of, and pull out my old, paint covered, ripped up jeans from the back of the deep bottom drawer. I used to wear those jeans all the time when I started my first year of junior high. They hold some of my most treasured memories. My favorite being the summer before 7th grade. My parents agreed to my constant begging of them letting me stay the summer at my Great Aunt's penthouse in New York with her. I remember it being such a big deal to me to be able to travel on my own, it was the first time I felt like a grown up, and a little sliver of joy. My Great Aunt Eileen has always been my favorite out of the many people I admire, I don't know what I'd do without her. Mostly because when I'm around her she completely takes my mind off of things, and helps me escape into my own little universe where nothing or no one can interfere. Also I just look up to her, and her wacky, free spirited personality. Everything she says is just breathlessly honest, even the most simplest manners. Although her saying the song "Come On Eileen" is written about her, I'm not entirely certain but I believe her anyway, even if it may not be true. My most favorite line she's ever told me would probably be, "If anyone hurts you, or says anything that you know is truly wrong, just walk up to em' say I don't give a shit what you say you little fucker, fuck you!" I remember her telling me the day I felt like a freak, because I had just gotten braces, and was afraid people would make fun of me. No one did of course, because many kids in my grade had braces too, so sadly I've never got to use that line. I hope I do get to use it though one day, it would be quite delightful, in a sick twisted way. I remember when I first walked through the door's of her fancy penthouse suite in up town New York, the first words to pop out of her bright red lips were "Pick up a brush dear, I need your help." Not a "hello", or "I've missed you", just an instruction and demand. I of course did so, and spent the whole summer being her trainee, and assistant. I was fine with it though, and enjoyed every second of it. Even the captivating art galleries, that sometimes made me sneeze, but never bore me. Or even the up-tight, prissy, posh, rich artists, they always managed to fascinate me even though they acted slightly snobby, and gave me glares on occasions. I'll always cherish that time spent, and hold it dear. She didn't just take my mind off of things, she opened my mind up to whole new world full of dreams, imagination, and beauty. Beauty that you can simply create yourself with a quick swipe of a brush. Even though that summer made a few paint stains, it still made some good memories. It took me away for awhile, away from the evil, the evil trapped inside me. I slip the memory filled jeans hurriedly over my pink and white striped underwear, and zip them. I reach over to the squeaky top drawer and throw on my old Smith's shirt swiftly. Knock, Knock! "Come in." I say startled, jumping back from the knocking. My big brother Kit opens the door, and walks in brightly. "Mom wanted me to tell you breakfast is ready." He says cheerfully. I pause looking at him strangely, and questioning my mom's reasons for her sudden interest in fixing breakfast. "Since when does mom fix breakfast? Is she like sick or something? We're like the cereal, pop tart type family, well at least I thought anyways." I ask wearing my held back fake smile. Kit leaps over and throws himself on my recently disheveled bed. "I have no idea what's up with her. She just woke up super duper early and started mixing up some pancake batter, like she's Betty Crocker, or some shit. The only reason I can think of that's making her act like this is her and dad." He says chuckling. I walk over and set on the edge of the bed next to him. "What does dad have to do with this? They aren't together...well at least I thought." I say confused, looking into his big bright eyes. "All I know is that dad stayed the night last night, and now suddenly mom is in a good mood. Which is totally odd because she was a total rag yesterday and grounded me because of the fight between me Patrick. But strangely enough she un-grounds me, grabs my cheeks like I'm 5 years old again, and tells me how much of sweet boy I am. I'm guessing her and dad had some fun last night. He laughs, making an inappropriate gesture with his hands. I giggled along with him even though I felt like I wanted to get sick just thinking of my parents "having fun." He pushes me jokingly against the pillows, and tackles me. The memory flashes right before my eyes, but just for a brief second. He continues, and gives me a rough noogie, messing up my neatly put up high pony tail. I manage to maneuver my foot up to his hard chest and push him off. He fumbles laughing, and runs slipping through the cracked door. "Ugh! I'll get you!" I shout annoyed, trying to put my tangled hair back into its place. "Good luck with that." He shouts back chuckling, knowing I won't be able to, as he slides down the steep, slick staircase into the kitchen. I push myself off of the bed, and pull my wrinkled covers over the flat pillows with an indent from where my head laid. I walk into the bathroom to look into the hair-line cracked mirror for one last glance to make sure I wear my false smile well for the day.