She was refined in a way that I could never be, her long black hair was smoothed down perfectly into a tight chignon, she was dressed in a slimming black blouse and well cut black pants, and wore pricey heels. At first, I thought she was an agent or music executive, but she laughed as soon as I walked in the room, as if she were waiting for me to come in and discover her.
It was a cruel laugh. The kind of laugh you hear from someone who knows they are better than you. She had to be in her thirties, and I could tell she knew she was smarter, prettier, and better than me in every way.
“Did you think what you had with Sid was special?” she had purred, standing up to her full height. Her legs had been miles long, it seemed. “I give Sid his space, because he needs it. But he always comes home to me, Sugar. He knows a real woman from a little girl.”
She was mean, beautiful, and mature, and I knew I couldn’t compete with her. We were worlds apart.
I couldn’t even speak; I was so shocked and upset. Instead, I ran on stage while Sid was performing and tore out the wires from his electric guitar, before screaming at him like a lunatic.
Sid looked surprised, but not guilty.
That night cost me my boyfriend and my job.
So, for the past two months I’ve been struggling, alone now. And I’m not stupid. I know that word spreads fast in the music scene and people now know me as the “crazy girl” who went nuts on stage. Which is probably another good reason to get out of town and head to New York.
I pull up to my apartment, and park my piece of junk. I walk inside, not even looking at my surroundings as I trudge through. My apartment is quiet, which means my friend and roommate, Elle, isn’t back yet. I strip off my clothes and go straight into the shower. I let the cool water run down my overheated skin, washing away the embarrassment I felt today. I then turn the water to as hot as it will go. The water scolds my skin, but I don’t care. Sometimes I like just feeling. I feel the pain of the hot water, and I focus only on that, nothing else.
I stay in the shower until the water runs cold again, and then I step out onto the fluffy mat and wrap myself in a towel. Since I’m home by myself, I do that thing that girls do when no one is around. I take off my towel and examine my naked self in front of a full-length mirror.
I know my self-esteem is damaged thanks to Sid, and I’m working hard to repair it. I try to look objectively at myself. I have long auburn hair streaked with natural honey tones. It hangs wet down my back, and I examine my tits, pushing them higher, as if giving myself a breast lift. I don’t need it though. They’re a perfect size C, and perky enough by themselves – perhaps my best asset.
My stomach is flat and taught, and my legs are long and shapely. I hold up my arms to see if I have any jiggling skin, and I’m happy to see that I don’t. I step close to the mirror to examine my face. I pull at my skin, giving myself a temporary face-lift that makes me look like an alien. My cheekbones are high and my eyes are a piercing ice blue. I bat my eyes a few times, and I decide that if I do go crazy one day and decide to get any plastic surgery, I will get lip injections. My lips are pouty, but I secretly wish they were fuller.
I’m bored with dissecting my body, and it’s been a rather successful session, considering, so I walk back to my room and pull on my favorite purple lounge shorts, and holey gray tank top.
Now I need to get myself that vodka.
I grab my phone and make my way to the kitchen. Rummaging in the cabinet, I find a bag of Twizzlers, and I mindlessly chew on one as I search the cabinets for vodka.
“What the hell?” I mutter. I know that Elle and I have half a bottle somewhere.
Then I remember the party Elle had thrown two weeks ago when I had a show. Shit. The vodka must have been used then.
I settle for wine, and I pour myself an extra large glass of Merlot. For kicks, I bite off both ends of a Twizzler, and stick my candy straw in my wine glass. I sip the Merlot through the Twizzler and stare at my toes.
I need a pedicure.
I decide right then and there I will give myself a pedicure, because I’ve earned it.
Singing to myself, I refill my glass, pop my Twizzler back in, and take my liquid snack back to my room.
I feel better already.
Just as I find my pedicure kit, my phone rings.
It’s my dad.
“Hey, Daddy!” I say a little too brightly. Hmm, maybe I should have eaten before drinking. This wine is already hitting me.
“Hi Annabelle,” he says.
My dad is the only person who calls me by my full name.
“You sound happy.”
More like drunk.
“Just relaxing.” I say casually.
“Tough day?” He is too perceptive.
“Hmmm,” I say noncommittally. I’ve already had one parent feel sorry for me today, I don’t need two.