Sugar, Spice and Anything But Nice

Filthy

Alexis

It didn't look right. It was still too clean, too careful. Everything I didn't want to be. Everything was always too clean and on point here. Life wasn't like that. What was the point of living in this beautiful bubble, far away from the real world? Well guess what, living in a bubble wasn't that great either.

I hated it.

I hated every second of it.

With a loud thump my hairbrush fell on the ground and I didn't bother picking it up. I'd bought a cheap brand of hairdye and colored my hair bright red. Fire engine red. My-parents-are-gonna-kill-me-red.

It still looked pretty. My long hair had subtle curls at the tips and even my bangs seemed too perfect, like I'd sprayed a few cans of hairspray in it to keep it all in place.

A frustrated scream escaped from my lips as I violently pulled my hair. I saw the shining object in the corner of my eye and suddenly I felt a sense of relief. Yes, exactly what I needed. I brought the scissors to my hair and made sure I wasn't careful while chopping off my beautifully coiffed hair. It made me feel free when I noticed the red locks falling on the floor.

When I was done, my hair didn't even reach my shoulders anymore. It looked red and wild. It looked right.

"Miss Emerson, breakfast is being served." I heard Donna yell. I quickly coated my eyes with a black eye pencil and went downstairs.

"I made pancakes but if you'd prefe-"

I looked up at Donna and noticed she'd stopped doing whatever she was doing and looked at me with her mouth wide open. Shocked. Good.

"What's wrong Donna? Did daddy forget to pay you?" I asked with a sweet voice laced with venom.

"Your hair, Miss Emerson." Donna gasped. The old Italian woman looked as if she was staring at a fucking ghost. Maybe she should retire soon or at least close her mouth if she wasn't planning on catching flies.

"It's much better isn't it?" I addressed her with the same sickening tone in my voice. That's what was appropriate living in this bubble; being fake.

The woman I'm forced to call my mother knows everything about being fake. From her hair extensions to her plastic boobs. Not to mention her attitude or her abilities to care about anything else other than herself.

Even Donna was closer to a mother but the old hag probably didn't think more of me than being a pain in the ass and the cause of future heart attack, judging by the shocked look that seemed permanently attached to her face this morning.

"Your father won't approve." She said while I quickly shoved the pancakes in my mouth so I could leave sooner rather than later.

"Who?" I asked with my mouth filled with food, a sacrilegious act in this house, might I add.

"Oh dear, he'll be back in two weeks." Donna said in a comforting way. Cute how she figured I still missed my dad being away after all this time. Honestly, I didn't even know if I really was the biological daughter of the great Eric Emerson, CEO of Emerson Groups, the number one company in the Petroleum Refining industry.

I was rich. Filthy rich.

The I-could-wipe-my-ass-with-money rich.

"Great." I replied, got up and went outside. From one hellhole to the other. I went to my car and drove to school. I usually had a driver but I paid him off. Fuck being dependent on those old bats while I could drive myself perfectly fine.

People were staring and for a moment I'd forgotten all about my hair situation from this morning. Of course they were staring. I was being an ungrateful bitch by keying my car when I got frustrated or chopping my own hair off while I could get a celebrity hair dresser to do it for me.