Picture Perfect

Jimmy’s POV

I groaned as a searing hot pain ripped through my head. You’d think that I would be used to it by now, but no…hangovers suck just as bad as the first one you ever get. I didn’t want to open my eyes. I knew that I would get blinded by the lights, no matter how dull they were, and get another, bigger, headache.

“Argh, what the fuck did we do last night, man?” one of my best friends, Zacky asked from beside me.

I grunted at him as I slowly opened my eyes. I was oblivious to my surrounding for a few seconds as more pain seared through my head once again. When I did become aware, I was met by the poster covered walls of Zacky’s bed room.

“Zachary James Baker, what the hell have you done?!” his mother screeched from the doorway.

“Wha?” he asked. I could tell that he was pretty much in the same state of delirium that I was in.

Mrs. Baker looked over the room once before her eyes settled on me. Her eyes flashed in anger and her hands balled up into fists by her side. “Jimmy, I think it’s time for you to leave,” she said calmly. “Zachary and I need to have a talk- alone”

“Alright,” I replied, getting my long form up after discreetly grabbing the rest of my stash. “See ya later, Zack.”

“I highly doubt that.”

I just ignored her glares as I made my way out of the house. I was pretty used to the idea that some of my friends’ parents hated me. They would be insane not to. After all I am the one who “corrupts” them by giving them illegal drugs, as well as fake IDs and whatever their black little hearts desire. I have a few tattoos already. I have “unrespectable” piercings. I fight with everyone. I’ve spent a night in jail more times than I can count (all the HB cops know my name). I don’t have relationships- I have one night stands. I don’t listen to anybody. I don’t follow the rules. I skip school, as well as detentions. I’ve spent the majority of my high school existence either at home, or in the woods behind the school getting high, rather than in the actual building itself. I had only one life’s ambition: to play drums in my band. I didn’t have any back up plans. I didn’t need any back up plans… It would take a miracle for me to even graduate this year…

“James, where have you been?” the woman who gave birth to me asked.

I grunted and walked up the stairs.

“James, I’m not done talking to you!” she shouted to my back.

I waved her off.

“ James, I’m warning you.”

Rolling my eyes at the top of the stairs, I turned around to face her. “And what the hell can you possibly do?”

She set her hands on her hips. “I just want to know where I went wrong in raising you.”

I scoffed. “We’re not having this conversation.” I stated before turning around and walking to my room.

“We wouldn’t have to have it if you weren’t such a screw up in the first place,” she muttered, not intending for me to hear it, but I did. What’s bad is that I didn’t feel any remorse for what she said. She was right. I was a fuck up.

Anna’s POV

“Oh, honey! You look beautiful!” Mother cooed from her spot on the plush couch.

I tried to hide my grimace. I could barely see through the ripples and the layers of the dress. “Mother, I can hardly see, much less walk.” I complained.

“I do not know what you are talking about. You look stunning. Don’t you feel beautiful?”

“I feel like Disney threw up on me,” I muttered to myself. Apparently one of the shop girls heard me because she was trying to keep from laughing.

“What was that, dear?”

“I just don’t feel like me.”

Mother scoffed. “Well, keep looking.” She waved her hand at me.

Nodding, I turned around and shuffled back into the changing stall. This was at least the twentieth dress I tried on…all of them being either really poofy or really skanky looking (all of which mother adored). It wasn’t until the last dress that I was finally satisfied. Grinning ear to ear, I burst out of the room.

“This one. I choose this one.” I told her hurriedly, spinning around so that she could get the full view.

Mother scrunched up her nose. “Does it not look a little plain?” she asked.

“I like this one.”

“Annaliese, you are born to privilege, and with that comes specific obligations. One being that you need to dress the part. You should feel sophisticated, beautiful, and above all, like a princess.”

“And I feel all of that. Please, mother.”

Wordlessly, she stood up and walked over to me. She thoroughly looked at how the dress fit me before going around behind me and pinching my sides. “Well, we need to take it in an inch on each side… and you will definitely have to lose some weight. I will call Emmanuel and tell him to come three times a week now instead of only twice. Other than that, I do not see why we cannot get it.”

I nodded my head, truly grateful that I was allowed to wear something comfortable. “Thank you, Mother.”

She waved me away. “You will always look perfect, Annaliese, even if you are dressed as a pauper.”

I was too used to her talking down on me like that for me to give it a second thought. Instead, I looked at myself in the mirror and smoothed down the dress.

“I think that you are beautiful just the way you are,” Mrs. Robinson, the owner of the shop, told me with a large smile.

I smiled at her. “Thank you.” I said genuinely. “But mother demands perfection.”

She shook her head and grabbed my hair, piling it up on top of my head. “I think you’re perfect just the way you are. Your mother doesn’t realize what a wonderful daughter she has.”

“Annaliese!” mother called in a shrill voice. “Hurry up! I refuse to be late for our dinner with the Michaelchucks!”

I sighed before returning to the stall and changed back into my street clothes. This was actually the only dress that I could get in and out of by myself. Formal dresses are so ridiculous these days. I looked over at my reflection in the mirror again. My eyes weren’t as bright as they used to be. My skin was oranger than I remembered, my hair was about to become straw with all the bleach that mother poured on to it. My nails were trimmed to perfection. From the outside, I looked like any other “sophisticated” California girl. Inside, I was screaming.