Behind Her Veil

I kept my head down, eyes fixed on the floor.

“Charlotte,” he said, his tone over-flowing with worry and anger, “please talk to me.” I didn’t respond, didn’t bother to shake my head.

Instead of facing Michael like I knew I should, I ignored him like the true coward I was. I hid from him, choosing to pretend I wasn’t there like a child. I hid behind my own personal wall. It was like I was wearing a veil of some sort, one that protected me from the truth.

Behind this veil things were so different. Michael loved me. I was pretty and skinny, like those models in magazines. The world was much nicer, not so cruel and judgmental. My veil changed everything.

It let me see what I wanted to see. It told me lies that I wanted to hear. And there, behind my veil, I believed every one of them. Once I left my pretty little haven though, reality set back in, always, and I’d find myself sobbing in the bathroom. The tile always felt so cold and hard against my skin, unforgiving and nowhere near consoling.

The tile wasn’t the worst part about that room, though, the mirror was. The mirror told me the truth, always, and it showed me every flaw I didn’t want to see. My eyes were too boring, my lips were constantly dry, my hair was too dark, my body too large. The mirror was too honest with me sometimes, and then I’d just collapse under the weight of the world. My body would suddenly feel too heavy for my bones to carry, and my head would pound and I’d be overcome in a rush of emotions and memories.

Things used to be so much easier. Nobody would laugh at you because you were fat. Nobody would make snide comments behind your back because you were fat. But we all grow up eventually, and then it changes. People sometimes give me sympathetic looks, now. It makes me feel so ashamed. So dirty, so useless and undeserving. Am I really that fat? People pity me?

“Charlotte,” Michael said again, bringing me back to present time. I still didn’t look at him. I just couldn’t meet his eyes, I wasn’t worthy of that. It’d be shameful to do so.

“When was the last time you actually ate?” I still didn’t move. I remembered the last time I ate, and it was awful. I could practically see a bunch of fat come back right away. I’d never do that again, ever.

“You’re killing yourself, Char, don’t you see?” He earned no answer from me other than the tear that rolled down my cheek. I heard him come closer, and then he pulled my chin up so I had to look at him. I quickly turned my head, distraught. He sighed, and let go of my face.

“Look at me.” Michael said. I kept my head turned, and I bit my lip.

“Charlotte,” he repeated softly, “look at me.” Slowly, I let my gaze fall on him. I took in his clear blue eyes, his perfect and angelic features. Why couldn’t I be as beautiful as Michael? Maybe then he’d love me.

“Let me help you,” he said miserably. See, though, Michael couldn’t help. He’d caused so much damage already. He was my trigger, that one thing that eventually pushes you over the breaking point. He always had chosen gorgeous, size zero girls over me. He never got that I loved him. He never understood that some of his ‘joking’ remarks hurt me in ways he could onlydream have nightmares about.

“You can’t,” I said quietly, letting my head go down again.

“Yes, I can, Char. I can.” He said, his face changing from a melancholy beauty to a fiery and determined one.

“No,” I said, louder this time.

“I don’t need help.” I told him.

“Char, look at yourself! You’re starving yourself to death!” I covered my hands with my ears, as if that’d block out his voice. Shaking my head fiercely, I said, “goodbye, Michael.” I kept my hands over his ears, squeezing my eyes shut tightly as he tried to reason with me. Pretending not to hear him, I walked out of the house, and started wandering. I had no idea where I was going, but it didn’t matter, as long as I was behind my veil and there were no mirrors.

--

Getting on a train is a lot harder than it looks. It seems like all you’d do is step up, and walk to a seat. Oh, but it isn’t even close. I was weighed down, making it harder. I wasn’t weighed down by luggage, though—I had no belongings with me except for the clothes on my back—I was weighed down by my guilt. My indecision, my doubt. Did I really just want to leave Michael like this? What about my family?

No, I didn’t want to just leave, but I didn’t want to face them, either. I was too cowardly to even consider that. My phone buzzed in my pocket and I picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Char, come back home. Please.” Immediately a lump formed in my throat, making it hoarse. The sound of Michael’s voice was too much for me to handle right now. I coughed uncomfortably, not responding.

“Char. I’m begging you, please.” His voice cracked, as if he were as close to crying as I was. One hot tear made its way down my face, and I said, “I’m sorry, Michael, for being such a horrible person.” My words weren’t sarcastic or mad, I was genuinely sorry.

“Charlotte, you aren’t. Just come back.” I shook my head though he couldn’t see me.

“Forgive me for what I’m about to do, Michael.”

“What? Charlotte, you aren’t committing suicide, are you?” His voice now rose in panic, and I shook my head once again, saying, “No. But say you’ll forgive me.”

“I’ll forgive you,” he said, “just come back, please.” I took a deep breath, and smiled wistfully, as if it was just too late, and there was no going back.

“Thank you, Michael. This is why I don’t deserve someone like you in my life.” I hung up, and quickly after, it vibrated in my pocket again. I ignored it, and stepped onto the train.

Remember you promised to forgive me, Michael, I thought.

--

Six Months Later.

I was in a worse state now than I had ever been. I wouldn’t ever admit it though; I had a hard time realizing it myself. I was always tired, always weak, and I looked like shit. I was probably fatter, too.

Michael stopped calling when he finally got that I would never answer. In a way, though I wasn’t picking up, it made me feel horrible. I felt hurt that he’d give up on me.

But I was the one who ran away. I’m the one that pushes the ‘ignore’ button whenever he calls. So, really, it’s stupid of me to feel this way, but I do, of course, like the selfish person I am.

I’m engaged now, actually. My fiancé’s name is George, and he’s quite nice, a real gentleman.

The wedding is tomorrow, in fact. George and I aren’t allowed to see each other right now. Everyone’s complimenting me lately, telling me how pretty I am. It baffles me, since Michael thought I was too small. As if. I’ve still got so much weight to lose.

No one notices or cares about how I don’t really eat. It’s probably because they know I need to lose the fat, too. But anyways, I’m nervous. I know only one person in the world could calm me down right now, but I haven’t spoken to him in months. Michael. I sighed, and decided I’d call him, maybe.

Maybe.

--

The day of my wedding. I can’t believe it. I thought I was nervous last night? Oh, boy, it’s not even close to how I feel right now. Michael’s sister Lindsey was helping me into my dress, and she was also doing my hair and makeup. She was really good at that kind of stuff.

She had me looking like a angel, minus the fat around my face. Most of it was in my cheeks. The dress was lovely, but it showed all of my rolls and insecurities. I don’t know why I had even picked it. Lindsey told me I looked gorgeous, and that every man there would be ‘so insanely jealous of George.’ She was supposed to tell me that bull, though, she was a bridesmaid. She helped put on my headpiece, and when the veil went over my head I inhaled sharply. This was a different kind of veil than the metaphorical one I usually put over my face. This told me everything was real. The one I usually had let me see what I needed to, let me pretend. This did not.

Lindsey didn’t notice my mini freak out; she only smiled at me once more and walked out. I followed, breathing shallowly. The music started playing, and I felt as though I could’ve just collapsed then and there. My stomach turned, my head ached. Did I really want to do this? Did I want to marry George?

Of course I did, I told myself. Deep inside though, this was not the case, and I knew it. But I couldn’t do anything else now, other than run away again, and show that I’m a scared little child, really. No, I wouldn’t do that again. While I battled with myself, bridesmaid after bridesmaid and groomsmen after groomsmen went down the aisle together, each step they took made it closer to my time to walk.

Before I knew it, they were all gone. I took in a deep breath, and started my slow descend down the aisle. Like a slow song, I marched on—my rhythm steady, but so melancholy. I cannot explain the dread you feel as you walk down, knowing you like the person at the end, but knowing that you could never love them as much as they loved you. Wait, no. Stop saying that. I love George. Now at the end of the path, I faced George, my face blank. He was smiling like a fool, and without thinking, I found myself feeling sorry for him. I knew how it felt to love someone who didn’t quite love you back.

I surprised myself with that thought. Of course I love him, don’t I? As George said “I do,” I realized I didn’t. But could I really bail now?

“And do you, Charlotte Black, take George Smith to be your lawfully wedded husband?” Swallowing hard, I shakily said, “I do.” Honestly, I was appalled with my own answer. Although, I guess I would’ve been either way. George kissed me, and I barely kissed him back, pulling away quickly. All I saw in my head was Michael. All I really heard was his voice, telling me I was killing myself.

Today should’ve been the happiest day of my life.

Right?