«Rouge Point of View»
Beep! Beep! Beep!
I shoot up out of my bed, and grab my curling iron to arm myself.
“Who’s there?!” I squeak nervously, waiting for my killer to pop out of nowhere. Not that I could see them, seeing as my glasses were still on my bedside table, and my bangs were covering my face. I attempted to hide them behind my ear, but failed. They fell into my face once more, and I heaved in defeat.
Great, I think, mentally face-palming myself. I couldn’t show any fear though, just in case the killer fed off of it.
The beeping was nearly deafening, and now I was concerned.
“Wow nice weapon you have there,” I heard the reassuring voice of my mom say.
“What the heck is that beeping?” I ask in a nearly inaudible groan.
“Your alarm clock, love,” my mom replies in a laughing tone.
“Oh. Duh,” I respond. Because every morning should begin with a heart attack.
“It’s 6:20, darling. You should start getting ready,” states my mom, handing me a cup.
I immediately knew it was my daily dose of Starbucks®. I knew exactly what she had gotten me without even tasting it. Inhaling through my nose, the sweet chocolate smell wafted out of the mug and through the air, followed by the fresh sent of peppermint. I took a leisurely sip, savoring the rich flavor as a warm and soothing feeling washed over me. Oh the wonders Starbucks® can perform on a soul…
“These are the times I love you,” I smirk to my mother, turning on my heel into my room. I set my cardboard mug on the bedside table, and finally get my alarm clock to shut up, which was going berserk after being left on for three minutes. I grab my glasses, and push them far up onto my nose. The world was much clearer now.
I saunter over to my window seat, pull back my curtains, and open my windows. Instead of seeing the striking sunrise which most people expect in the morning, I saw the London skyline, hiding behind an ominous fog and overshadowed by rain clouds. A typical, yet beautiful, morning in London. The tree outside my flat was frosted over, and the wind whispered the promise of winter; however, a few orange and red leaves still dangled on the branches, refusing to let fall die just yet. The cool, damp breeze brushed my face, leaving my skin yearning for its touch. The scenery was brushed with frost, which glittered off the streetlamps like a bedazzled costume in the spotlight.
I sighed in pleasure, wishing I could stay here forever, but reality ruined the moment. I start to get ready for school, selecting an outfit, hopping in the shower, and attempting to apply makeup as well as style my hair to an acceptable standard.
I stared into the mirror and thought, Why do you even try? I could point out countless flaws. My skin was pale and pasty, my chestnut hair couldn’t be tamed, my eyeliner wings went out too far, my eyes weren’t a distinct color, just a mix of green and blue and grey, I had dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep, my skin was red and raw from crying, I had only one freckle positioned under my lip, and my outfit had been torn and frayed over time. It was only a matter of time before my peers would add more imperfections to the list. Just the thought of it gave me goose bumps and sent a shiver down my spine
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the one thing I knew would help, my guitar. I checked my alarm clock; it was 7:13, which was just enough time to play the instrument and sing a song before school.
I pick up my guitar and sling the leather strap around my body, and slouch in my window seat, comfortably leaning on a pillow. I strum the first few notes of Torn by Natalie Imbruglia.
“Nothing’s fine I’m torn
I’m all out of faith
This is how I feel
I’m cold and I am shamed
Lying naked on the floor
Illusion never changed into something real
I’m wide awake and I can see
The perfect sky is torn
You’re a little late
I’m already torn.”
“That was beautiful, Rouge,” speaks my mom from the doorway in my room, disturbing the silence.
“I didn’t know anyone was listening,” I mumble under my breath. I don’t like anyone listening to my play or sing. It is just uncomfortable, because I’m really not that good. I am aspiring to do this professionally one day, but I knew deep down I couldn’t ever make it.
“Well that’s me. Secret agent ninja mom,” she winked.
“Wonderful.”
“Love, its 7:29. You better start heading for school.”
“Do I have to?” I whine.
“Yep. Sorry, babe, but I have to go to work. Oh, and I have a doctor’s appointment after work today, so I won’t be home until about 6:30 or so,” explained my mom.
“Mkay.”
I pass my mother stepping out of the safe sanctuary I call my room. I amble down the stairs, frightened by the fact I need to go to school again. I avoid the kitchen, skipping breakfast. After all, it certainly wouldn’t hurt me to miss a meal.
I step out onto the curb of the hectic London street on which my flat was located. The chaotic hubbub of the city, chattering of pedestrians into their cellphones, and the opening of the double-decker bus doors was all I’d ever known. The sounds and sights were basically a second home to me.
I knew the walk to school like the back of my hand; therefore, it took me hardly any time to get to school. I stared at the cold glass doors of this wretched building. To any outsider, this looked like an inviting place that some children would enjoy being in, but in my eyes, it’s the one place that I knew I wasn’t safe. A dark alley at midnight was more appealing.
I take a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling in a systemic rhythm attempting to calm myself. It didn’t take the fear out of me, but it helped me put on the façade I wear every day. That smile masking how I feel underneath. The grin that says to the “I’m fine,” to the people oblivious enough to see through it. Although it was obviously fake, it fooled everyone, since no one cared enough about me to dig deeper and discover the truth. Nobody ever had, and nobody ever would.
