Dollhouse

.one.

My name is Beatrice Carter and I'm perfect. At least that's what everybody tells me. There's a certain amount of pressure to be perfect from my mom, my dad, and my friends.

 I've grown up being mostly obedient and extroverted. As I've grown older I try to keep to myself, even in my own home. At least when I'm alone I don't have to be perfect. There isn't anybody around to judge me or to test my perfectness. 

When I'm alone I read books. I have a special place where I like to read; it's where I am right now.

Whenever I have my friends over, which I try not to do anymore, they tell me that my house is huge and my parents must be super rich. Which makes me a rich kid.

I'm not perfect. I'm very far from it, if only they could hear my thoughts. I spend my life convincing people that I'm perfect. All I want to be is away from the expectations and the people who have given them to me.

I read to get away from my reality. The perfection that everyone expects, and my thoughts.

 My mom knows that I'm almost always in here. She thinks I'm perfect too. Mainly in the way that I look; she isn't concerned about anything else. 

She says my light skin, blue green eyes, brown/ginger hair, and perfect complexion will give me many options for a husband. To be honest, I don't really care about getting a husband, because all the guys that have ever taken an interest in me are shallow, and think I'm shallow too. Guys are concerned about how you look and less about how you act and how you think.

I reach for my phone to check the time; I have about an hour before either of my parents get home. One more hour of freedom before my façade covers the real me again. I don't have anybody that knows the me, I have someone who knows more than most but he doesn't know the whole story. It sucks constantly covering up who you are to live up to other's expectations. In public, I'm polite, considerate (when most of the time I could care less), extroverted, and inclusive. In reality I'm not always like that, because I'm human.

I should eat before my mom gets home. She doesn't let me eat very much. It's so I don't get fat. Usually I eat before she gets home so I don't go to bed hungry. I reach up towards my eyes and wipe the tears that have been cascading down my face. 

I put the book down that I've been trying to read, unsuccessfully, I might add. I stand up, brush off my skirt and head to the kitchen. It's a fairly long trip considering how big my house is.

Once I'm in the kitchen I ask the chef, "What's for dinner tonight, Ed?" He's been cooking for my family for as long a few years now. He understands why I eat before my mom gets home. 

"Your favorite, spaghetti!" He tries to cook my favorites every night, but I don't have many favorites, so i tell him to make whatever he wants and I'll eat it. He slides the plate towards me, and I thank him.

 I immediately start eating, like a real person not like someone with extremely good table manners. "What have you been doing all day?" I ask Ed in between bites. I enjoy his company, I feel less pressure to be who I'm expected. 

"Oh you know, fighting the stereotype of old chefs," he chuckles. Ed is my closest friend, he's two years older than me. I admit I do have a crush on him, but I wouldn't want him to have to deal with all my baggage. He understands my situation (the part I've told him), more than others.

 The only reason he found out is because he caught me sneaking around the kitchen one night, at that point he had only worked for my family a year and a half. Now he makes me a meal before dinner with the family, every night. He is so understanding because over the years the meal my mom wants me to eat have gotten smaller and smaller. 

Ed and I don't even have to talk very much, we just enjoy each other's company. The alarm that signifies the return of my mother sends me into slight panic. "Thank you again for making me food. I would love to stay and chat but, that would be mother," I say hurriedly, hug him and nearly run out the door. 

I make my way down the hall slowly, and straightening out my skirt and fixing my hair. "Good afternoon, mother!" I smile widely welcoming her home. "It's so good to see you after a long day at work, Beatrice." She tells me half heartedly and continues walking toward her room expecting me to follow her. I follow after like a puppy, and ask her, "How was your day?" To which she replies with an exasperated sigh and motions for me to sit on a small seat by her bed so she can brush my hair. 

I sit down and she starts explaining her day as she brushes my hair. I tune most of her out, but every once and a while a polite nod or acknowledgement of her bad day. She is very gentle with my hair as she wants it to look as good as possible.

I've been her dress up doll from the beginning. I don't know what she would have done if she would have had a boy. My mother parades me around too. All of her friends are jealous and that's exactly what my mother wants. 

My mother will let me have whatever I want. I know that sounds awesome but, if I ask for something she tells me not to let it get to my head. "Anyways, your father called me to tell me he'll be working late tonight, so we shouldn't wait for him before we eat. I imagine you have talked with Ed to see what was for dinner tonight?" She continues. "Actually, I didn't have a chance. I was trying to see if I could enhance my looks with a new hair color." I lie and tell her what she wants to hear. "Well, what was the result?" 

The amount of impatience within that woman astounds me so I force a smile and tell her, "My natural color is the color that best complements my features." "I knew you were born perfect," my mother gloats and puts the hairbrush down. This is exactly what I'm talking about. I really don't want to let my mother down so, I think through every single thing that I do or say. It's exhausting.

I wanna get out of this room so badly. "Mother, I have to start my skin care routine, so if you want me to be as pretty as possible I should go start that now." I stand and straighten my skirt and she says, "Okay, dear see you in the morning." She stands, walks me out and closes the door behind me. As soon as she closes the door my façade drops and I'm jogging towards the end of the hall crying. Until I'm stopped by Ed, of all people. Why him? I could lie my way out of this if it were anyone else! "Bea! What's wrong?" He says and reaches for my hand. I have to tell him. I can't carry this burden alone. 

He'll understand, or maybe not. Either way at least I'll have told one person. I tell him everything: the perfection, the expectation, and the aloneness. Somewhere in the middle of that I start sobbing and can't stop. 

He pulls me into a hug and I fall into him. "Bea?" I look up at him and he continues, "I don't expect you to be anything." It's almost like a whisper but, it was the best possible thing he could've said to me. Of all people, it was him. He lifts up my chin and kisses me. A sweet and gentle kiss. My first kiss.