Lost Along The Way

Chapter Two

That summer was tainted with my sisters suicide attempt. I abandoned the few friends I had back then, glad for the excuse of exams, or later, my summer job at my Grandmother's florist shop.

My father, predictably threw himself headfirst into work. Unable to cope with a depressed, suicidal nineteen year old daughter, or a quiet, undemanding sixteen year old one, he may as well have moved out he spent so much time at the office. My mother, on the other hand, embraced the role of the concerned, doting mother to the eldest daughter, and didn't seem to have enough time spare to even say more than a few words to me over dinner. I didn't blame them, because how many people really know how they should act when they know that their child would rather be dead than sitting with a therapist, working through their problems?

It was just after the end of my exams, sitting at the cash register in my Gran's shop that I realised it was my own fault I was ignored so much. My whole life I had had no problem with being just average. I didn't care about being the prettiest, smartest, or the most popular. It just wasn't me. I wasn't that girl who went out and came home four hours late, drunk off my face and my lipstick smeared all over my face. I had my small group of friends, three just as average girls. I had never had a boyfriend for my mother to adore and for my father to hate. I never brought home bad grades, and I never asked for anything I didn't already have. I was Delilah Morgan, average at best.

So it was there, sitting at the cash desk practically melting in the late June heat, that I decided I would change.

I would grow my hair, bleach it, and invest in a whole new wardrobe. I would trade in my old jeans, faded t-shirts and worn converse for short shorts, pretty dresses and cute sandals. I would throw away any existing makeup (which wasn't much) and buy it all over. All kinds of shades of eye shadows, volumising mascara, and glittery lip glosses. I would allow myself to fall prey to all those advertisements that promise their new foundation would hide my every flaw, or that their new perfume will enchant every boy I come across.

But most importantly, I would change my character. I would become that girl. That girl with the pretty laugh, and the sway to her hips when she walked. The girl with all the friends, the girl that allows herself to go off the rails for a night, and pick up the pieces in the morning. I would be that girl with the mysterious smile, with the eyes that hide a thousand secrets. I would go out, have fun, and live my life the way they do in movies. I would be wild, but not ridiculously so. I would be disarming, shocking, adorable, fun, perfect.

I would be completely different.

I would be the girl that all the boys want and all the girls want to be.

I would be a girl made up of a million lies.

And that's how Delilah Morgan became Lies Morgan.

I won't take credit for inventing my new name. When I was younger, around five or so, my name was shortened to create a load of little nicknames. Lilah, Dee, Lala, Lies.

It just seemed to me that Lies was the most apt.

I left work that day with a months pay in my bank account, and a debit card ready to be used and abused. I panicked slightly at the thought of blowing so much money in one evening, but I was committed to becoming this new person. I didn't bother going home, I went straight from the shop to Westfields in Stratford and started my new life.

I came home weighed down with big shopping bags from stores I would never have been caught dead in before. Forever 21, River Island, Topshop, New Look... every shop I thought would fulfill my need was visited, browsed, and at least fifty pound richer when I left. My mother, having seen me enter on her way down the stairs, hurried over to help me.

"Finally taken an interest in your appearance, Delilah?" She asked. She might think it an innocent enough question, but it annoyed me. My mother was still beautiful, in a coming-on-forty kind of way. She was a perfectionist - professionally highlighted hair, precise but understated manicured nails, plain but expensive wardrobe. Before the Olivia incident, she had frequently tried to persuade me to let her take me shopping, or go to the salon with her. It always ended with me declining, her insisting, and me up in my room with music full blast and her downstairs with a bottle of wine. It had been a while since she had shown any kind of interest towards me, and now that she had, I knew it would be critical. You can't just ignore your daughter in favour of the other, then come and interject your opinion when she finally decides to something for herself.

"You could say that, I suppose." I said, and sighed. I could see already that my mothers interest had waned, and it only irritated me further.

"Well, maybe I could take you to the salon sometime soon, when I'm not so busy with work, and Olivia" she said, already turning away and walking down the hall. I didn't bother answering. Even if I knew what I wanted, she was obviously done listening. I hauled the bags up the stairs, and into my room.

My bedroom was another thing that required a makeover, if I was to do this properly. It was quite plain now, me being a bit of a minimalist. White walls with only two posters; One My Chemical Romance one, and one Ed Sheeran one. The contrast was not invisible to me.

My single bed, with its simple wooden headboard and plain white sheets, would need replacing. Suddenly, I had a vision of the kind of bedroom a girl like Lies would live in. A double bed with an intricate metal frame, a beautifully simple white wooden vanity set. A pin board filled with memories, flyers for gigs and festivals, photographs of parties and days to the beach and pretty things I couldn't bear myself to throw away. 

I would make this work, I promised myself. By the time summer was out, I'd have a new st of friends, and I'd be prepared to start sixth form at a new school. Boys I didn't know would ask for my number, or wink at me as they passed in the street. Girls I didn't know would stop me and ask where I got my jeans, or stare enviously as I slipped effortlessly into a tiny size six. Which reminded me - I was going on a diet.

Although my current size ten figure was still slim, it just wouldn't cut it. In my head, i had a vision of perfection. And that perfection was a size six. I would drink nothing but water - not only is it calorie free, it would help keep my skin clear. As for food, fruit, vegetables and rice crackers would have to suffice.

If I had been planning this diet six months ago, I would be worried about my parents finding out. My mother relied on her therapist, and believed Dr Avelen could fix any issue the world presented her with. I, personally, found the woman condescending and unhelpful, and I detested wasting my time speaking to her. So, before I was being ignored, I may not have considered the diet. I didn't want to end up in Dr Avelen's office, diagnosed with an eating disorder.

The truth was that I had been forgotten about though. And I was perfectly willing to take advantage of that. I would lose the weight, and be that picture of perfection, airbrushing out any flaws myself.

I wrote down this plan in a pretty white and pink notebook I had picked up in Paperchase earlier in the day. I made it a checklist, easy to see where I was achieving my aims and where I needed to focus more.

It would be hard work, but I had never been so determined to work at anything in my life. I would go from being ordinary, to extraordinary.