The story of Belle

Chapter 1:In the Shadow of Perfection

It was the first time I really looked at myself and wondered what I had lost. It was a Monday morning, and I was getting ready for school, staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. My hair, freshly dyed black, clung to my pale face like a heavy shadow. I barely recognized the girl staring back at me.

"Do I look like he'd approve?" I asked my sister, Angel, hoping she'd be honest.

Angel, always part of the popular crowd, was an expert on the latest trends and makeup tips. Usually, she loved to boss me around, giving unsolicited advice about what to wear or how to style my hair. But today, I wasn't asking for fashion tips—I needed her to see me, to tell me I was still in there somewhere.

"Actually... sorry, Belle," she said, wrinkling her nose at my reflection. "You should wear your beanie with the weird band pins in it. It'll hide those... colorful roots you've got going on." She practically yelped as her eyes swept over the uneven shades in my hair.

I sighed, reaching for the beanie out of habit, but paused. My gaze returned to the mirror. My bangs had grown long enough to cover my mismatched eyes—one blue, one green. Heterochromia iridium. The thing that made people whisper behind my back. But what if, just this once, I didn't hide them? What if I pinned my bangs back and embraced what made me different?

As I searched for bobby pins, my phone buzzed, startling me. The opening notes of "Sweet Creature" by Harry Styles played for a few seconds before I snatched it up. Billie's name lit up the screen. I answered immediately, my heart already racing.

"Are you wearing the clothes I got you?" His raspy voice cut through the line, no greeting, just that sharp question.

I glanced at myself in the mirror—ripped blue jeans with fishnet stockings underneath, and a pastel rainbow sweater. "I am," I muttered, "but I... I added a beanie. I'm sorry, please don't be mad."

There was silence on the other end, and my stomach twisted into knots.

"I'll take it off right now, I swear," I yelped, ripping the beanie from my head, my hands shaking as I tried to fix my hair, blending the roots to make the colors less noticeable.

Still, no response.

By the time I walked out the front door, my German Shepherd barked softly, his voice the only comfort as I closed the door behind me. I hesitated for a moment, staring at the rose bushes lining the porch. Their thorns caught the light, sharp and unyielding. Slowly, I reached out, brushing my fingers along the edges, feeling the sting. The pain was small, but it reminded me I was still here, still waiting for Billie.

A familiar red Mitsubishi pulled up to the curb, the tires crunching over the gravel. Billie's car. My heart dropped as I moved toward it, my body stiffening with each step. I climbed into the passenger seat, the door closing with a heavy thud. His expression was unreadable, his gaze flicking over me, calculating.

Then my stomach growled, a low gurgle breaking the silence.

His eyes darkened. "You haven't been eating, have you, kitten?" His voice was tight, words laced with disappointment and something worse—anger.

I turned my face away, too afraid to meet his eyes. "I've eaten," I whispered. "I'm just... nervous."

A week later, after the beanie incident, Billie took me to get my hair dyed black. I sat in the salon chair, watching as the stylist painted over my natural blonde. My reflection changed before my eyes—pale skin, jet-black hair. The only part of me that stayed the same were my mismatched eyes, glaring back at me from the mirror.

"Oh god, I'm so pale," I whispered to myself, barely able to recognize the girl staring back.

When we got home, Angel was waiting by the doorway. Her eyes scanned my new appearance, her lips pressed into a thin line. For a second, I thought she might say something, maybe tell me it didn't look that bad. But she just turned away and walked back to her room without a word.

Her silence shattered me.

I stood there, frozen, clutching the strap of my backpack like it was a lifeline. I wanted to explain why I'd done it, why I had let Billie change me so much. But no words came. The truth was, I wasn't even sure why myself.

When Billie drove off, I was left alone in the hallway, staring at the floor where Angel had stood. Am I doing this for him or for me?

I walked to my room, closing the door behind me as if shutting out the world could also shut out my confusion. The black hair felt heavy, like a constant reminder of the pieces of myself I had given up. I glanced at my reflection in the bedroom mirror. My eyes—those eyes I used to hate—now stood out even more against the darkness of my hair.

The real me was still in there somewhere. The girl who laughed too loudly, who wore clothes because she liked them, not because someone else did. But she was slipping away, piece by piece, and I didn't know how to stop it.

My phone buzzed again, vibrating on the nightstand. Billie.

I didn't want to answer, but ignoring him wasn't an option anymore. I grabbed the phone and saw his message.

"Tomorrow we'll fix the makeup. You'll look perfect soon, I promise. Xoxo."

Perfect. The word made my stomach twist. What did it even mean anymore? Perfect for him? For me? Or was there no difference now?

I turned off the phone and tossed it onto the bed, my heart racing. What was next? What else would I have to give up before I became the version of myself that Billie wanted? My style was gone. My hair. My voice. What was left?

I didn't know when the tears started, but soon, they were slipping down my cheeks. I wiped them away quickly, embarrassed even though I was alone. My chest ached with a mix of fear and something I couldn't name.

It felt like I was losing more than just my sense of self. I was losing everything—my ability to say no, to think for myself. Worst of all, I was losing the ability to care.

The next morning, I woke up early. The sky was still dark outside. I lay in bed, replaying every moment of the day before—Angel's silence, Billie's demands. My body felt heavy, weighed down by dread. Eventually, I got up and ran my fingers through my now dry, brittle hair.

I couldn't keep doing this.

But what other choice did I have?

I ignored the pile of clothes Billie had chosen for me and threw on an oversized hoodie—one of the few things left that still felt like mine. I pulled the hood over my head and grabbed my bag. As I passed Angel's room, I paused, wondering if she'd say something today, maybe offer me a smile, or ask if I wanted to hang out after school.

But her door stayed closed.

The air outside was cold and biting as I stepped onto the porch. The rose bushes had withered, their once vibrant petals fading into the frost. I brushed my fingers along the thorns again, pressing just hard enough to feel the sting. It wasn't much, but it was enough to remind me that I was still here, even if I didn't know who I was anymore.

Billie's car pulled up, tires crunching over the gravel. I swallowed the knot in my throat and walked toward him, each step feeling heavier than the last.

He rolled down the window, his dimples showing as he smiled at me. But today, that smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Good girl," he said, his gaze sliding to my hoodie. "You'll be perfect soon."

I forced a smile, though my chest tightened at the word. Perfect. I climbed into the car, but my mind was far away, drifting further from him than ever before.

For the first time, I wondered if perfect was something I even wanted to be.