Tourmaline

Chapter Two

I awoke the next morning to the sound of a lawn mower. Its strangled cries rattled the glass of water on my table like some suburban reenactment of Jurassic Park.

I glanced at my clock. 7:14AM.

I stood up, teeth clenched in frustration. The sound began to dim to a dull hum, and I decided to let it pass.

I hauled myself out of bed to get dressed. I reached underneath my bed and pulled out two bins, both containing my clothes. I popped the lid off of one and began throwing articles aside when I encountered something familiar. I reached inside and picked up the black bejeweled bra, quietly evaluating its worth.

When was the last time I wore this? I thought, letting out a quiet sigh. And then it hit me. Wyatt.

I threw it to the side carelessly. 

I settled on a turqoise tank top and a pair of North Apex High sweatpants. I pulled the sweatpants over my heels for maximum softness, allowing its fleece to envelope my raw legs.

I padded to the bathroom and pulled out my makeup bag. I glanced in the mirror, my alabaster reflection staring back at me. I looked at my ripe, plump lips and my blue, owl-like eyes. I looked like myself. I just didn't feel like it.

I shook away the thought and pulled out my gel liner, swooping the detail brush along my lid and ending with a perfect, crisp cat eye. I repeated my routine on the other eye, smudging away a bit of the crooked tip.

I shifted focus onto my hair. My burgundy, chest-length mane sat in unruly curls, framing my oval-shaped face. I prodded at the round mark slightly above my mouth, wrinkling my nose in dislike. My mom used to tell my it was a "beauty mark" and that Marilyn Monroe had one, though I always took it for a glorified mole.

I let out a sound like a growl in the back of my throat and applied a porcelain-colored foundation to my face, rubbing it in small circles. After that was done, I gently padded on powder and finished. 

But dark circles still lay beneath my eyes, their purple rims making me look old and fatigued. I straightened my back and lifted my chin but it did nothing to help my dejected disposition.

I paced out of the bathroom, my bare toes sticking gently to the wood with every step. I crept downstairs silently as possible. The last thing I needed was to wake any members of my family.

I was greeted by the olive green walls of my family room. Our sturdy, two-person leather sofa stood in the corner, facing the same clunky TV we've had since 2004. A faded oriental rug sat in the center of the room, its fabric pilling from excessive use.

The sun peered out from the blood-red curtains, its rays casting whimsical shapes and spots on the floor. I paced to the windows and tore open the curtains, allowng sunlight to spill into the room like tons of liquid gold. Warmth caressed my skin and for a moment I just stood there, basking in the sun like a bird on a bough. 

That illusion was shattered by the deep crackling of a familiar voice.

"Close the curtains, you're letting light in."

I turned around, facing my seven-foot brother in nothing but his plaid boxers. I averted my eyes. "Please put some pants on."

He chuckled, plucking a lukewarm Coke off the counter and bringing it to his lips. "Close the curtains."

I clamped the colorful curtains shut, still refusing to expose my eyes to my brother's thinly masked business.

"Put some pants on, Cornelius."

"Make me, Tourmaline."

"Why are you awake?" I said, walking to the kitchen.

"Oh, you know, just got back from a crazy night of drugs. Alcohol. Brazilian prostitutes. The usual."