If you look up perfect on Dictinoary.com you will find five different definitions. Each one of them all mean the same thing, but in different words. Prefect is something or someone that is ideal – has no flaws and is correct in every single damm way. The problem is that people use the word perfect all of the time and somehow think that they are seeing that object as perfection. The truth is that nothing and no one is perfect.
Maybe it was the fact that I was what someone considered to be the perfect child. You know the little kid who never threw a fit, was cute to look at and behaved all of the time. I really was the every single parents dream child.
The problem was that people saw me as perfect and I was told that I was perfect every single day. It was great to hear and a confidence booster for sure, but it was a lie. How could they know what perfect really was? How could I, a child, even believe them? Well, that was it, I was a child. I had no other option but to believe them since I was the perfect child.
The thing is that the perfect child that once toddled around the tile floors of a mansion was not so perfect once she grew up. Something changed and it scared people badly. It was like a switch was turned on and the world became a playground for me.
I admit that I was naive at first, but I was a fast learner.
The world showed me what my parents had been keeping from me as I was whisked away to boarding schools with high standards or to some extravagant wedding of a family friend. I was sheltered to the extent where I only heard snippets of conversations about the buzz you felt from alcohol, or how so and so got high last night or that someone got lucky. To me I had no clue what any of that really meant.
Then I turned the magically age of sixteen.
Like one could expect I got the sweet sixteen that would be any girl’s dream. I was the princess and I was living in some sort of fairy tale for the next 24 hours. Once that clock struck midnight though, it was all over.
I was trusted enough with newly acquired permit to drive my mother to and from places so I could get in hours of driving practice. Often she would have me take her to the mall or some brunch with all of her friends that had little purse dogs.
While she sipped tea and ate finger sandwiches I roamed from place to place, holding the car keys like they were the key to the city.
One day my mother wanted to skip brunch and head to the mall. I was not complaining, for when we went, I would often end up with some sort new outfit or the latest phone that other teens would drool over. This day was different though.
My mother went off to Barneys and I walked briskly around the mall window shopping. If something caught my eye I would head over and take a closer look. What I did not plan on was somebody catching my eye and flipping my world upside down.
He was what one would consider a bad boy. Over six foot with piercing green eyes that stared at me while I gazed at a wrap dress in a store window. His hair was rumbled to look like he had just rolled out of bed, but somehow it still sent off the bad boy vibe and not the cute and just woke up vibe. Around him floated an imaginary cloud that reeked of alcohol and cigarette smoke. Tattoos were scattered on his body, or at least the parts I could see while he was still clothed. The only thing missing was the leather jacket that went along with the classic stereotype and some sort of piercing.
Yes, he saw me first, but I caught him staring at me with a smirk on his face. I felt uncomfortable since I had never had anyone like him stare before. I was used to my parents or family or friends from boarding school looking at me for a few brief seconds and then moving on with their lives, not ogling at me.
I want to say it was the fact that to the human eye I was flawless on the outside. I had naturally wavy white-blonde hair that fell to the middle of my back. My eyes were Caribbean blue with flecks of brown. On my slim frame was a simple black mini skirt with a pale pink blouse tucked into it. The black pumps I wore were not meant to be worn by a sixteen year old, but they added a good five inches to my short height. Combine that with the makeup on my face, I passed as a girl older then sixteen.
