Separate But Not Equal

Chapter XXIX

Chapter 29 if anyone's lost count.
I did.

So it looks like I have a habit of accidentally publishing unfinished chapters.

Sorry.

Also, this chapter is shorter because (cough cough) the next chapter is gonna be a long one, maybe my longest, and a big event coming up that I had planned out this whole time.

Sitting in the kitchen using my straw to twirl my strawberry milkshake, I stare at the old photo of Mama and Rose hugging in front of the church with wide smiles on their faces.

The milkshake, of which I'm stirring, has turned into an almost foggy liquid due to my endless tears.

I run my hand through my hair getting up and dragging myself to my bedroom.

I'm wrapped in a hurricane of my own thoughts before the view of a nearby mirror stops me in my tracks.

I stare at my dark, ebony brown skin and my tight, shiny curls of hair.

My massive robe covers nearly my whole body making me look like more of a sad mess.

I never thought there was anything wrong with my appearance.

It was my face.

The face I passed everyday in the mirror.

The face I had grown familiar to.

The face I was always grateful for.

But now, the face that I'd always been happy with is the face that's been causing me the most problems.

My off-black hair which looks brown in the mirror used to be the most crazy thing I had to worry about.

My deep, brown eyes that are currently red from hours of crying.

I hold up the slightly worn out picture of my mother up to my face inspecting it in the mirror.

Mama was beautiful.

I've always known that.

When people say I look like her I always take it as a compliment with a bit of confusion.

I never saw much resemblance.

Of course, I knew there was a few similar features.

I understood why people compared us but I always thought my Mama had more of a spark in her eyes.

Now more than ever, I see no similarity.

I see my face as the negative opposite of Mama's gorgeous bright smiley one.

The sound of an abrupt, urgent knock on the door catches me by surprise.

Sauntering to the door I look through the peephole in the door only to see the last person I want to be around.

Blue-eyed, Brown-haired Christopher.

Still looking just as unrealistically gorgeous as the last time I saw him.

"Go away."

"Please, Jones, just let me explain," he shouts as I turn around to leave.

"Explain what? How much you hate me?" I respond bitterly.

There's silence for a few seconds.

"Come on, Jones, you know that's not true, I'd never say that."

No, I don't.

"I said leave."

"Jones? Please."

"Don't call me that. Don't call me Jones."