ESTELLE

1 ~ Prom Is Not For Princesses

There I was.

In my full length mirror, I saw a beautiful creature that stood before me. With her hair swirled up into an intricate bun, her makeup was minimal but highlighted the strong, striking features of her face. Covering her short, slim body was the shimmering silk fabric of a pale pink mermaid dress, that hugged her curves in. Her feet were slipped into silver sparkling heels, greatly increasing her height, and added to her already beautiful appearance.

She wasn't the small, frightened girl I was used to; but instead she stood as a woman. She, was myself.

I couldn't stop the smile from exploding across my face. I felt so... so beautiful. And maybe Lucas would think so too.

"Estelle!" I heard my mother yell from downstairs, "Lucas is here!"

I smiled again. "I'm coming!"

I swept out of my bedroom, my gown swirling around my every movement. The large windows along the upstairs hallway let in generous amounts of the setting sunlight, casting patterns of rays over me. The sky that lay behind the glass of the windows melted perfectly into the greenery, and the birds sang a bright melody only meant for them to understand. This was a scene out of a fairy tale, where I played the princess, and downstairs, my prince awaited.

But of course, the moment I created with my imagination was shattered by another shriek from my mother. "Estelle! Get down here; it's rude to keep people waiting!"

I sighed. "Yes, and it's rude to make a loud scene in front of guests as well," I mumbled.

But I obeyed and continued downstairs, where possibly the most handsomest man in the world stood, grinning at me. My heartbeat increased at the sight of him, and my skin was dotted by the goosebumps and shivers only he could deliver. In the midst of my salivating over him, my very high heel caught on the last step, and I ungracefully tripped.

"Oh!" I gasped as I tumbled downwards. But no, I didn't meet the hardwood floor I expected to crash into, but instead the strong, steady arms of that handsome man. Lucas.

"As beautiful as you look tonight, I liked you better when you were shorter and wasn't as clumsy," he joked.

I smiled widely, ignoring his playful insult, and collapsed into a warm embrace. "Lucas," I sighed.

He smiled against my neck, and his lips just touched the spot that made a rush spread throughout my body. "I missed you," he said.

"I missed you too..." I whispered softly against him. This was one of those moments when I knew that I wouldn't be the first to let go.

Time stood still as we continued to hold each other, oblivious to our surroundings. Then my obnoxious mother cleared her throat. "Shouldn't you be leaving?" Clearly she didn't want us there.

Lucas and I reluctantly parted from each other, and a bright pink colour spread onto his cheeks. "Sorry Mrs. Reylas, I think I was just intoxicated by this gorgeous girl's presence, that I just couldn't help myself." Then it was my turn blush.

"It's Miss Williams now. Didn't my obviously clueless daughter inform you about my little divorce I went through?" she snapped. "And don't even try to flatter me with your adorable compliments towards the ungrateful Estelle over there. It will be all over with you two soon enough, anyway."

I shot a rude look towards my mother, the anger flaring throughout my eyes. Couldn't she go a single day without criticizing me, and the people I love?

You're most likely wondering what caused this invisible wall to form between my mother and me. She used to be your wonderful stereotypical mother that tucked you in at night, baked chocolate chip cookies for you, and told you how much you meant to her. Then one day, she didn't come home from work at the usual time she always does. My father, who was married to her at the time, was reassuring at first, claiming she probably had to stop somewhere. But when she wasn't answering her cellphone, he gradually became worried, to the point he was saying he would call the cops to search for her if she didn't respond in the next hour. "I just need to hear her voice," he said. "She's over four hours late, and I just want to hear she's okay." He really loved my mother, and I knew he would take a bullet for her if he could. But she never returned those emotions.

When finally, at 3AM, my mother came home. She was over nine hours late. Her face was pale and the skin seemed to be sagging over her skull. The usual warm hazel eyes my father loved so much were dark, bloodshot and sunken. She looked worn, but beneath that stress, I saw a kind of happy, thrilled person lurking underneath. It was strange, seeing someone so physically damaged, but you could see a sort of glow surround them.

My father was ecstatic, pulling her into his arms, weeping. She didn't wrap herself around him, though. Instead she screamed at him, "Get your hands off of me, Anthony!"

He pulled away, bewildered. "Sierra, I.. I was so worried. You were gone for so long. I t-thought that something happened to you!"

She sneered. "Something did happen to me, as a matter of fact. You know what happened, Anthony, huh?" She leaned in closer, slurring her words slowly. "Someone gave me the best present in the world. Something better than you could ever give me."

I just stood in the corner, my body frozen in fear. What did she mean? A present? Was she crazy? Was she drunk?

My father blinked his confused expression away, it disappearing immediately as if he had clicked the pieces of a difficult puzzle together. "Are you cheating on me?"

There was a twinkle in her eye as she spoke. "I wish, but nooo, keep guessing," she said, exaggerating her words as an alcoholic who was intoxicated would do.

"What did you do then, Sierra? Don't tell me someone sold you some drugs or something!" his voice boomed loudly throughout the house, echoing off the walls.

She giggled. Then she held up a packet of white powder that would be the end of my parents' relationship, and the end of the wonderful stereotypical mother.

"You're doing drugs now, are you? What made you do this? This morning when you left for work you were so happy!"

"This is what makes me happy," she informed him, as she took a pinch of the white powder, which I judge to be cocaine, and snorted it up her nostrils.

She was high. My mother was high. Maybe that was why she seemed so happy underneath her abused body.

After more rounds of insults and fighting, my father finally packed a suitcase and left. He just exited out the door, without telling me, without one last "I love you." I never saw him since.

Their divorce was finalized soon enough. My father couldn't live with a self destructing mother, and probably thought I could take care of myself, considering the fact he left me in her hands.

To this day, I don't know what drove my mother to her drugs. Maybe she decided our boring, average family life wasn't enough for her excitement level.

But I do know that I will not let her drug paradise and horrible remarks ever faze me. I'm not going to go down without a fight. Even if it means I have to lay down my life to do it.