Love Is Hell

“You’re wearing that?”

I nodded and smiled as I examined my reflection in the mirror. “Yeah, why?” I asked. It was a cute dress; I didn’t see anything wrong with it.

“Well, I don’t know… it just looks tight. Doesn’t really flatter your shape.” My mother said as she scrutinized my appearance.

My smile faded. I looked back at the mirror. She was right, I looked bloated and my arms looked flabby. I started panicking, what was I thinking when I bought this? I didn’t look good in it at all. And now I was stuck with it, I don’t have enough time to change.

“Oh well, just wear it.” She said waving her hand. “The limo will be here in five minutes so be ready and downstairs before then.” She said before leaving my room.

When she left I quickly ran into the bathroom. I looked at my reflection one last time before I walked over to my toilet. I kneeled down and forced myself to empty the contents of my stomach into the bowl. I quickly flushed the toilet when I was done and stood up. I brushed my teeth and then looked in the mirror. I frowned, I still looked horrible, but I didn’t have enough time to do anything about it because I heard my name being yelled from downstairs. I rushed back into my room and grabbed my purse before I made my way downstairs.

My parents were already outside waiting in the limo. I quickly got in before the limo drove away.

“You look nice Lorraine.” My father said.

I forced a smile and said thank you.

About ten minutes later we pulled up to the venue where the benefit was taking place. Of course, like every other event that we attended, there were paparazzi waiting outside the front of the building, waiting for our arrival. We quickly got out and made our way towards the entrance. To my dismay and to my mother’s delight, we were forced to walk down the “red carpet” that they had set up in order to go inside. The cameras flashed as we walked down.

“Smile.” My mother whispered to me through her smile.

I sighed and put on a fake smile and posed with my parents. I could already tell this would be torture.

&&

“So Lorraine, what did you think about Thomas?”

I rolled my eyes. I could already tell that she was going to try and set us up. I just met the guy an hour ago and here she is, ready to set us up.

“He seemed nice.” I replied as I stared out the window.

We left the benefit about ten minutes ago. I’ll admit it wasn’t as bad as the dinner parties, but it was still torture. I met so many people and then my mother forced me to meet Thomas Daniels, the son of some person who works with my father. He was handsome, but so boring to talk to.

“He’s graduating from Harvard this year.” My mother continued.

I nodded, “That’s nice.”

“I gave him your number too.”

“That’s ni—wait, what?” I turned away from the window and looked at my mother.

She nodded, “He seemed to be interested in you, so I gave him your number so you both can hopefully get together some time.”

I glared at her, “Are you serious? You can’t just go around and give my number to people mother!” I exclaimed.

She shrugged, “Why? Mrs. Daniels and I thought it would be wonderful if you two started dating.”

I groaned, “No, no we’re not going to start dating! He’s not even my type.”

“What do you mean? He’s a wonderful young gentleman who’s graduating from Harvard and following in his father’s footsteps. It’s perfect, and his family is a well known and respected family.” My mother explained.

“I don’t care mother! He’s boring and just not my type!” I yelled.

She scoffed, “Oh please Lorraine. If you actually cared about our family and our image—”

I interrupted her, “I don’t care about my image! If it were up to me I wouldn’t go to any of these events because I. don’t. care!” I shouted.

“Well that obviously shows! At least attempt to make yourself look presentable!” she shouted back as she eyed my dress with disgust.

I opened my mouth, about to yell, but instead it was my father this time that interrupted.

“That’s enough. From both of you,” he said sternly.

My mother and I both huffed and it was silent the remainder of the ride home.

Right when we stopped in front of our front door, I jumped out and went straight to my room. I slammed my door closed and jumped on my bed. I hated her. She always did this. We would fight all the time and mostly about the most ridiculous things. We just couldn’t get along. I couldn’t remember the last time we went a day without fighting. I just couldn’t stand it anymore.

I sat up and looked around my room. When I found what I was looking for I got up and walked over towards my desk. I sat down in the chair and looked at the pictures that sat on my desk. There was one of me and Amy, one of my family and then one of my mother and me when I was first born. As I looked at all the pictures I could feel my eyes begin to sting. I stared at the picture of my family. We all looked so happy and loving. All of us.

My vision became blurry as I looked at the picture of me and my mother. I sighed in frustration and wiped my eyes. I was not going to cry. I hated crying. Like mother always said, crying makes you weak.

Of course I didn’t always listen to her, but there were certain things that left an impression on me. I remember when I was twelve and I scrapped my arm. It was after my father joined politics and all my mother cared about was money and status. We were at some event and she was talking to other women when I ran up to her crying. She took me aside, away from everyone.

“Stop crying. You’re embarrassing mommy. Do you want to embarrass mommy?” she asked me.

I sniffled and shook my head no.

“Ok, then stop crying. Andrews don’t cry. They aren’t weak. You’re being weak and embarrassing mommy.”

Ever since then I’ve never liked crying. I never liked showing any sign of weakness. I didn’t want to be a disappointment to my parents, but somehow I still always felt that way.

I opened my drawer and searched through it until I felt cold metal. I pulled out the scissors and admired how they gleamed in the light. I opened them, feeling the cool, sharp metal blades.

I then softly placed them against my exposed wrist. One deep cut would be all it takes. I didn’t like pain, but if it was deep enough, I wouldn’t have to feel it for very long. I exhaled shakily as I continued to press them harder against my wrist. I could feel my heart racing in anticipation.

“Shit!” I dropped the scissors and grabbed my wrist. It stung and I was pretty sure I could feel my hand become sticky. Sure enough when I took my hand off my wrist there was blood on my palm and a straight cut on my wrist.

I ran to my bathroom and turned on the faucet. I held my wrist under the water and winced as it stung. I examined the cut as I rinsed it under the water. It didn’t look deep enough to worry about getting stitches. I then found a bandage in my cabinet and wrapped it around my wrist, using my other hand to apply pressure on the cut.

I walked out into my bedroom and picked up the scissors. I put them back in my desk and sat down. I sighed and laid my head on the desk. I couldn’t believe I just did that. I didn’t even mean to. I groaned as I lifted my head. I was about to get up and go lay down when I noticed something lying on my desk.

I took my good hand off of my wrist and picked up the piece of paper. I read the number over and over again, contemplating what to do.

He said to call him. But that was Friday, three days ago. Did he still remember? Maybe he was drunk when he gave me his number. Or was just trying to be nice, but didn’t want me to ever actually call him. I looked at the clock, it was almost ten. I didn’t want to bother him. He was probably busy anyways.

I thought for a moment, deciding whether to call him or not. I could faintly hear yelling coming from downstairs. I walked over to my door and opened it. The yelling became louder. They were arguing. Again. And like most times, they were arguing about me.

“If you weren’t just so hard on her then none of this would happen!” I heard my father yell.

“Well if she were like the other girls at those events then I wouldn’t have to be so hard on her!” my mother yelled back.

“You always do this Stephanie! Always! We had this exact same fight five years ago and look what happened.”

My mother was silent.

I closed my door, not wanting to hear anymore and walked back over to my desk. I picked up the piece of paper and threw it in the garbage. I

then took off my dress and changed into jean shorts, a plain white tank top and an off the shoulder sweater. I quickly put my straightened hair into a side ponytail. Then I quickly went to my closet and pulled out four bags. I opened all my drawers and threw clothes in two of the bags. I went back to my closet and grabbed some shoes and stuffed them in the third bag. I grabbed toiletries from my bathroom and shoved them in the bag. I went around my room, taking items I thought I might need and tossed them in the bags.

Finally, I opened my underwear drawer and dug to the back. I took out two wallets. One wallet I used all the time and had a few twenty dollar bills in it and then my second wallet held money that I saved from birthdays and holidays. I took out the wad of cash from my second wallet and stuffed it in my other one. I then made sure I had my credit card in my wallet before I stuffed that in my bag.

When I was finally finished, I quietly went over to my bedroom door and opened it. I silently walked down the hallway to the railing that overlooked the family room on one side and the front hallway on the other. I didn’t see or hear my parents anywhere.

I went back to my room and grabbed my bags. I carefully walked down the stairs and towards the front door. I grabbed my car keys from off the table that sat near the front door. Quietly I opened the front door and walked out, shutting the door silently behind me. I then ran to my car. I tossed my bags in the backseat and jumped in the driver’s seat and started the car. I took one last look at my house before I drove down the long driveway towards the street.

As I pulled onto the main road, I couldn’t help but smile.

I was free.