The Other One {Harry Styles AU}

19. Then

"No, Madelyn, you can't have that!" She snapped, slapping the cookie from my hand. My skin stung where her bony fingers connected with my chubby ones.

"Why can't she? I had some. You had some," he said. It was always all so simple in his eyes, so logical. He tried to use logic to argue with the most obstinate, irrational person on earth.

"Because, Matthew, she needs to lose ten pounds." My mother scanned her eyes down my body. "At least ten," she said.

"She's not fat, mom. She's getting hips. She's getting boobs. That's all." I frowned at him. Stop, I tried to tell him with my eyes. It's not worth it.

"No, look at her thighs," she tipped her head to the side. "You know, Maddie, I've never noticed until now how short your legs are. Hmm." She had long thin legs. Long thin arms. A long thin back. No hips. No butt. No boobs. She was tan; I was pale. The differences were endless.

I wondered how I could be related to this woman, so unlike myself in every way. The only thing about us that was sort of similar was our dark hair, but she dyed hers, so god knows what color it should have been. Matty's was blonde. He was tall and thin, like her. He had green eyes, like her. I was convinced that I had been adopted. I prayed that I had been. I wished for some other woman to come and claim me as her daughter. Someone who would hold me in her arms and tell me she loved me.

"You get those short legs and fat ankles from your father's side." I looked at my ankles. They looked skinny to me.

We were halfway through the third season of Turning Pages, and the critics started talking about how I was growing. I don't think they meant it the same way she did, but she panicked and put me on an all-protein diet, muttering about not getting me fired. I thought, foolishly perhaps, that they meant I was becoming a better actor. Maturing and refining this art.

She pursed her lips and rested that gnarled, leathery hand on my cheek. "You would be so beautiful if you just lost ten pounds." I wanted to cry. But I didn't. I wanted to scream. But I didn't. I wanted to slap her. But I didn't. I should have.

"Goddammit Mom, she's beautiful now!" He shouted, slamming the plate of cookies against the kitchen counter. His hand seeped red onto her perfectly white tile, staining the perfectly white grout.