Imperfections

Chapter Two

I was a liar.

I can’t say it was a way of benefitting others like heroines in films and books seem to, because I wasn’t doing it for anyone; it was completely for me. When the guy who sat next to me in English asked to borrow a pen, I lied and said I didn’t have one because I knew he was a pen-chewer and I wouldn’t be able to use that pen again after the torment it had been put through. And when Lizzie Bennet asked me if I want to join the lacrosse team, I lied and said I don’t have enough time when really it’s because lacrosse sounded boring as fuck and the shorts looked too small.

The only time I lied to make others feel better or make their lives easier is when I said that I’m okay. “How are you?” “Are you alright?” “You look like you’ve been crying, are you sad?” Different people, different questions, all with the same answer: “I’m fine, I’m okay, I feel great.” No one wants to have the answer be “I’m horrible.” It kind of puts people off. That’s why I lied.

I don’t think anyone noticed that I wasn’t, that I was lying, that I wasn’t fine. That I pretended that I was okay and then lay in bed most nights and cry. There was never usually a main reason for it; it was just there. Like, for a moment my control would snap and all the pain that I’d ever felt would spill out until my cries filled the air and I’d start to beg for someone, who I wasn’t even sure existed, to take the pain away. No one ever comes.

I also lied when Mia Tyler asked me how I managed it.

Sitting across from me, her head slumped into hand, picking blue nail polish off her thumb with the other; Mia looked the epitome of boredom. The cake that we had made together in Home Ec lay out in front of us, half-eaten with crumbs everywhere. Hungry from skipping breakfast and nibbling at dinner the night before, I ate every piece like it was my last. It was disgusting and I wanted more.

Cutting off a slice, I placed it on my paper plate. I hesitantly took a bite out of it, hating the thought of having to eating front of anyone. I had eaten three pieces in front of Mia, the one in front of me was my fourth, and it felt like she was judging me. A small moan of pleasure emitted from my mouth as the taste filled my mouth; it was delicious. But with every bite, the guilt outweighed the pleasure more and more, until I was almost finished. The sight of the cake in front of me was almost sickening; all I wanted to do was eat more. It was so tempting to just leave Mia and go to a private place to finish the rest of the cake. A little voice in my head was encouraging me to do it, but I knew I couldn’t, not with Mia around.

The interruption from demolishing the rest of the cake came in the form of Mia. “You’re so lucky, you can eat anything you want and you don’t seem to gain weight,” she groaned, picking at the few stray crumbs on her plate. “How do you do it?”

I figured she was lying, so why couldn’t I? I knew that I gained weight, I always seemed to. Every diet that I had been on, and even my new recent method, didn’t seem to help. If anything, I gained weight. For a second, I wondered what it would be like if I told her everything, the whole truth. Looking up, I searched her face and came to a decision. She was lying, everyone knew it. Not everyone knew that I lied back.

“I guess I just have a fast metabolism,” I lied, plastering on a fake smile as I nibbled on the chunk of cake that remained. It wasn’t the biggest lie in the world, in fact it was a long way off from being so, but it sure felt like it was to me. 

She shrugged, running a hand through her newly dyed, aqua hair. (It looked better than the candy pink that she had tried last month.) Nothing ever seemed to really bother Mia, and I liked that. It was nice to know at least one who looked like they knew what they were doing with their life.

Later, when I was walking to my locker, I wondered if anyone had ever picked out that I was lying and just didn’t say anything. What could you say, anyway? I didn’t know; I didn’t want to know. Lies were all that kept me together.