I felt my heart skip a beat as my chest contracted with pain and tears blurred my eyes. With each word, they killed me a little bit more. Then Paige added, “Oh yeah, I heard my mom talking to my daddy about it. She also said that her dad came to a meeting with scratches all over his neck and face and smelling like alcohol.” She paused. “Anyway, she told me to never be friends with her. I wanted to tell her that she didn’t have to worry because I would never be friends with a girl who looks like a fat duck.”
They burst out laughing, and when they saw me stop and stare at them as tears fell down my cheeks, they began to laugh louder and harder until their cruel delight was all I could hear.
I began to run away from them as fast as I could, but the ringing in my ears and the ache in my chest wouldn’t stop. Their harsh words wouldn’t let me escape my ugly reality.
It all made sense after that. Hearing them talk had brought back memories of all the crying, fighting and yelling. When she mentioned my dad’s wounds, it reminded me of that night, and the horror I’d felt seeing my parents in one of the lowest points in their marriage. I remembered the courage it took that little girl, not even eight years old, to stand between them, and beg them to stop fighting and love each other, just as she loved them both. The tears streamed down her face, and her voice shook with pain.
Suddenly, I understood why their parents wouldn’t allow them to come whenever I invited the pretty and popular girls for sleepovers. I understood why my mother, who was the prettiest amongst all the moms, had no friends. And I understood why my classmates’ fathers always seemed to stare at her like she was something shiny and beautiful to look at. I understood why my nanny, the only person who truly loved me and didn’t find me an annoyance, said that my father had been a good man, a brilliant man. A man who, when left with nothing, battled ghosts with the only weapons available to him—hatred and alcohol.
That day, with Paige’s cruel words still spinning in my head like a tornado, leaving total wreckage in their wake, I grew up and kissed my childhood good-bye.
After that day, I discovered one indelible truth. I discovered that love wasn’t everything that mattered in life. It was an emotion that not many had the luxury of feeling without any pain attached to it.
Many say that love will set you free, but I disagree … love is a cage, a very painful one; its gilded bars made with yearning, heartache, and unfulfilled dreams. And the moment I realized that love wasn’t necessary to one’s survival I became free. No one would have the power to hurt me again.
That realization set me free.
If love had been enough, the love I had given my parents would have been enough for them. Enough for them to want to love me back. Enough for them to want to give our family a chance. Just enough.
But you know what? You can wish in one hand and shit in the other.
So I said, “Fuck them.”
I stopped caring; I didn’t want to care anymore.
I made a decision that no one—no one—was ever going to hurt me like they did. And whatever was left of my heart, I surrounded it with so many thorns and spikes that if you ever came anywhere near it, I would willingly and happily hurt you.
This was the new me.
And then I got pretty—beautiful, really—and shed all the baby weight from my younger years. Like the ugly duckling from my favorite childhood story, I turned into a swan. Though beautiful on the outside, I felt ugly, so very ugly on the inside.
Men of all ages started to hit on me—their attention making me feel high and powerful. A delectable feeling came over me whenever I saw a man’s cock get hard as he looked at my ass, probably picturing himself fucking me, or saw the hunger in his eyes. It made me wet.
Which explains why I gave my virginity away to Mr. Matthew Callahan. I chose him deliberately, and trust me when I say that my heart had nothing to do with my decision. He was the father of the girl who made my life miserable growing up after all. And maybe I chose him for that exact reason.
After “bumping” into each other at the coffee shop multiple times, it became obvious that we both kept going back to see each other. Flirty comments were exchanged, each pushing the envelope of what was right further and further away until we crossed the line unequivocally. The first time, he fingered me as we made out in the backseat of his expensive car while he told me about the many times he had imagined himself doing this.
The second time we had sex that first night, he came inside my body, panting how lovely and perfect I was. As I felt him shake above me, I remember thinking that this was the same man who I’d wished so many times to be my own father. The love and adoration he showed his family was perfection.
What a joke, right?
The paragon of our town had just fucked the shit out of a seventeen-year-old, doggy-style, in a seedy motel an hour away from his house, while his daughter and wife went to a tea function …
I’m a couple of lockers away from mine when Josh intercepts me. Hot and popular Josh. Every girl wants him and every guy wants to be him. He’s the benchmark for perfection, captain of every sport that matters. He is the guy in our high school.
He grabs me by the waist, saying, “Sup, baby? Wanna meet me after school and go for a drive?” He leans closer and whispers in my ear, his hot breath kissing the exposed skin of my neck. “I miss your sweet little mouth.”
Feeling my skin burn with shame, and maybe excitement, I push him away. “Forget about it, Josh. I can’t today … I’m busy.” Of course, I don’t add that I’ll be busy collecting a gift from Mr. Callahan.
“What the fuck? You’ve been giving me that bullshit excuse for the past month!” he exclaims, anger and confusion marring his boyish beauty.
Sounds about right. I believe that’s how long Mr. Callahan and I have been seeing each other in secret.
He pins me with his angry, hurt gaze. “Are you seeing someone else?”
I flip my hair carelessly, not missing the way his eyes land on my boobs. “Whatever, Josh. Stop being so immature … I gotta go or I’m going to be late to class.” I move away from him and begin to walk toward my locker.
“You’re such a bitch, you know? I don’t know why I waste my time with you when I could have anyone I want.”
I turn around and face him once more, half smiling, half mocking him. “Because I’m worth it, and you know it.”
Not wanting to hear what he has to say next, I leave him standing frozen in place with an incredulous expression on his face and begin to walk once more. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a large crowd has gathered around Josh and me. Maybe they decided I was not contagious enough, or maybe they just wanted to hear our exchange. Whatever. It’s not like they don’t already know my dirty laundry.
I’m walking past Paige when I see her scrunching up her nose at me as if I smell like something putrid. I taunt her with a smile while she rolls her eyes and says, “As if,” to her friends. Then I hear her say to the same group of bullies who once pulled my chair out right as I was sitting down, causing me to fall on my ass, “I can’t understand why guys find her so attractive when her mouth looks like it has been punched because her lips are so big.”
Smiling to myself like the cat that ate the cream, I wonder what she would think if she knew how much her dad likes having those lips wrapped around his cock.
He hasn’t complained.
Months later…
IN THE SAME MOTEL ROOM that has become a second home to me, where the smell of mold buried in the green rug has grown to be soothing and comforting like its color, the rough sheets on the bed familiar on my skin, I say good-bye to my first lover, to my benefactor, to a man I’ve grown to care for. But I guess not really since I’m leaving him anyway.
“Please don’t go to New York City. Stay with me … I need you,” a naked Mr. Callahan begs on his knees, his arms wrapped around my waist and his face buried in my equally naked and flat stomach.
With the aroma of sweat and sex still floating in the air and the
lingering taste of his semen on my tongue, I observe how a grown man who I’ve admired for his power and influence in this small town turns into a child at my feet. I want to push him away, but instead I let my hands settle on top of his head, splaying my fingers in his soft brown hair. “I can’t, Matthew … I can’t continue living under the same roof as my mother. I want to get out of this town.”
Soon after I started sleeping with Mr. Callahan, my parents got divorced. Not that it came as a surprise to anyone, especially me. They didn’t really care what happened to me. My dad said I needed to be with my mom, and my mom said I needed to be with my dad. At the end of the day, I ended up living with my mom—but only because she got the house. However, in a week I turn eighteen and I’ll leave this town with all of its ugly and bitter memories and never turn back.
“Don’t … if you need a place to live, let me get you an apartment. I’ll pay for it—I’ll pay for everything—anything you want. I’ll give you the life you’ve always wanted,” he says, bringing me back to this moment.
“How different would that arrangement be from what we have going on, Matthew? You already pay for everything I own.”
And it’s true. As a child, I didn’t want toys—I wanted the love of my parents. But during my time fucking Paige’s dad, I’ve discovered the seductive power of money, of having someone support me and buy me all the nice things I want for sex in return. With Mr. Callahan in my life, there was no need for my parents—he helped me to finally cut the “umbilical cord.” Mr. Callahan gave me that and more just for regular head in the backseat of his Audi while his wife thought he was at work. His money and protection have shown me how independent I can be just by spreading my legs.
“I don’t know, Blaire … I don’t know … please don’t leave me. I love you,” he says, his breath hitting my skin. “I love you, Blaire,” he repeats as he begins to kiss my stomach and every part of me his lips can touch, inhaling me.
I lift my eyes and stare at my reflection in the smudged mirror above the bed, observing how empty my eyes look—like bottomless pits filled with nothing.
Nothing.
“If you love me as you say, you need to let me go. I need to get out of this place …”
“But what about me? What about us? Is it because I’m married?”
I laugh, and the sound is chilling even to my own ears. “I don’t think it matters, Matthew. I’ve already made up my mind and nothing you say will change it.”
He lets go of me and stands up. The big, wide shoulders that I’ve seen so many times shaking with mirth, or supporting my legs as he goes down on me, hang in defeat. “One day, you’re going to fall in love with a man and I hope he breaks your heart, Blaire. When that happens, you’ll know what kind of pain you’re capable of inflicting, and maybe then you’ll grow a heart and hopefully find your humanity.”
I want to say that I doubt it, but I remain silent. Sometimes silence speaks louder than words, and I have nothing left for him. “I’m sorry for hurting you, Matthew, but I thought you knew, like me, that this wasn’t going to last forever.”
Overcome with feeling, Matthew doesn’t reply but simply shakes his head as he takes one last look at me and then makes his way to the bathroom.
With the sound of the shower running in the background, I get dressed. As the black cotton of my dress flows down my body, I allow myself to think of Mr. Callahan one last time. The memory of the way he looked at me before he disappeared in the bathroom makes my heart contract, so I apologize to him wordlessly for causing him pain and hope that one day he forgives me. I’m not worthy, and one day he will see that too.
When I’m ready to leave, I take one last look at the seedy place, but instead of trying to engrave its look in my head, I pour all my memories back into this room. I’m not taking anything with me: not one smile, not one kiss, not one memento. I don’t want them. I don’t have any need for them. What I am taking is everything you can put a price on, everything that I care for, everything that won’t hurt me—all the gifts and money he showered me with.
And isn’t money what makes the world go round?
As I’m closing the door behind me, a small thought crosses my mind that maybe I’m more fond of Mr. Callahan than I care to admit. But in the end, it doesn’t matter.
Once upon a time there was an unloved young Blaire, who made a promise to an empty room with only her stuffed animals and her dog as witnesses. She promised that she would never let herself grow close to anyone; that she would never let love cut her wings and make a prisoner of her once again. That way she would remain safe and unharmed.
Well, it is time for me to fulfill that promise I made so long ago.
One week later…
I’m packing my red suitcase, grabbing every single item of silk, cotton, lace, and leather I have paid for with my body, when my mom walks into my bedroom.
“What are you doing?” she asks, her perfect golden hair looking like a million bucks.
I don’t bother acknowledging her, instead, I reach over my suitcase to grab Winkler, my old grey teddy bear, and put him next to a Louis Vuitton bag that Mr. Callahan bought for me.
She comes to stand next to me and grabs me by the arm so we’re looking at each other. “Answer me when I’m speaking to you, Blaire. Where are your manners?”
I pull my arm free of her hold as her nails leave a burning trace on my skin. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m packing my shit and leaving this fucking town.”
“Watch your mouth, Blaire. I’m your mother,” she replies bitingly.
I snort. “Are you? I wouldn’t have known.”
It happens before I even see it coming. The first physical touch in at least eight years from my mom is not a hug or a caress … no. It’s a slap across my face.
How fitting.
My hand instantly covers the sore spot where she hit me. I rub my cheek, trying to soothe the sting of her palm as it spreads heat across my skin.
“How dare you,” she breathes.
“How dare I what? Speak the truth?” A destructive smile sweeps across my face. It feels good. “You know what? Don’t bother. I’m out, and I’m never coming back. And aren’t you glad?” I look her up and down, noticing the expensive clothes she’s wearing. The clothes she couldn’t have afforded. The clothes another man must have paid for. “After all you’ve never cared about me.”
My mother doesn’t even bat an eyelash. “And how do you expect to pay for this? You don’t even have a job.”
I laugh in her face. “Well … how does that saying go? Oh yes, I remember now.” I tap my forehead as if a bright idea has just occurred to me. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, right? I guess in our case that holds true.” I start packing again. My flight leaves in four hours and I have no intention of missing it.
After some silence, I assume she’s already left my room when her answer comes echoing through the air. “Don’t think too highly of yourself, Blaire. Your looks will fade … and you’ll be all alone.”
I close my suitcase, hearing it click shut, then lift it off the bed and put it down on the floor next to me. After I grab my bag and put Winkler and my old paperback of Persuasion in it, I’m able to finally stare her in the eye. “Just like you, right?”
“How dare—”
“Don’t bother.” I reach for the handle of my suitcase and head toward the door, my shoulder bumping against hers as I walk past her. “I’ll be smart just like you, Mom. I’ll make you proud, I promise,” I spit.
As I walk out of my mother’s house, filling my lungs with clean air, a sense of freedom washes over me. And right now, while I take my first steps into the unknown, I realize that there’s nothing holding me back. Nothing. This is my chance to shape myself into the woman I want to be without gossip following my every step, or memories shining like neon lights on every corner with every item I see.
So here and now is where my story begins. My tale. Will it be a love story or a tragedy? Maybe it
will be a farce. Who the fuck knows, really. Only time will tell, but I can already see it written…
On a breezy summer morning when the birds sang their beautiful love songs and the sun shone brightly in the cloudless sky above, Blaire White turned eighteen years old. She left her old and forsaken town in search of the American Dream—a big fat wallet filled with lots of green dollars.
And why the hell not? With my body and looks, I will conquer the world.
It’s my destiny.
I am beautiful.
I am beautiful.
I am beautiful.
STANDING NAKED IN FRONT OF A MIRROR, I look at my reflection while chanting the litany my brain is trying to engrave in my heart. It isn’t working. Nothing ever works. I don’t believe it. I never will. Instead, my heart keeps telling my mind over and over again …
You are not beautiful. Look at you. You are worthless. You are unlovable. Not even your parents loved you.
But I am looking at myself, and what I see is breathtaking.
It has to be.
The admiration that follows me everywhere I go testifies to that fact. If only I could remove all traces of those childhood memories that constantly crowd my mind, reminding me how unworthy of love I am. If I could, then I know I could make myself believe what my brain has been telling me all along. I know I could make myself believe the words that countless of men have whispered in my ear while they were inside of me.
Lifting my fingertips to touch my face, I trace the soft angles of my chin, the curve of my winged eyebrows, the shape of my high cheekbones. The way the outer corners of my almond-shaped eyes lift gives me a feline look. The face I see belongs to a beautiful, almost too beautiful girl.
I smile into the mirror as I begin to trace my body with my hand. The hand travels a path from my shoulder down to my breasts, caressing the rosy tips, and then it continues down to my smooth stomach. I can’t help but wonder if this is all I’m about.