My Personal Hell, D. Richardson [ebook reader browser txt] 📗

I hit middle school I started making a name for myself. So I’m not looked down on anymore.” She looked absolutely miserable.

“Well, what about Jake? He doesn’t feel the need to be rude to everyone so the minority likes him.”

“He’s also the one that everyone thinks is pushing drugs. Drake won’t even allow him to train to be an enforcer. Which is the only way for him to have a place in the pack.”

“I thought you had started the rumor about Jake doing drugs?” I asked. She looked at me like I had just spit on her grandmother’s grave.

“Of course not! He’s my brother, what kind of person do you think I am?”

“The kind that would start a horrible rumor about her brother to further her own standing,” I said honestly. “That’s the reputation you have, Christine. That’s what people expect from you. Jake was the one that told me you had started the rumor.” With that said, I walked away.

That night Lori opened my bedroom door. When I told her to come in, Christine was with her, holding a plastic bag. She was wearing plain jeans, a tight blue long sleeved shirt, and tennis shoes. It was the first time I’d ever seen her in anything but pink and heels.

“Hey, what’s going on?” I asked. Lori leaned against the door frame, while Christine stepped inside.

“Actually I was wondering if you could help me with something.” For some reason she blushed, but pulled a box of hair dye out of her bag. I took it from her to look at it. It was brown, not blonde. I shot her a questioning look. “It’s my natural hair color,” she informed me as she sat down at the foot of my bed.

“I thought about what you said. And then I asked Jake if it was true. He actually believed that I had started that rumor,” she shook her head sadly. “I never intended to hurt anyone, and I would never degrade my brother like that. I just got so sick of everyone looking down on me just because I was born to the wrong family. I guess it got away from me. So I’m going back. Back to the way I look, and back to the way I was. When I had real friends, even if they didn’t have a high standing.”

“That’s great, really it is. But I don’t know how to use this stuff,” I laughed. She laughed with me.

“I can help,” we both turned to Lori, who blushed. “I’ve been, uh, apprenticing at a beauty parlor, for the past couple of months. I don’t get paid, but I get to learn how they style and color hair.” This surprised me. Lori had always just wanted to keep her hair short so she didn’t have to worry about it. She never told me that she had an interest in being a cosmetician. Then it occurred to me that I had never asked.

“You’re learning how to do hair?” Christine asked, her voice taking on a far away tone.

“Yeah, why?” Lori asked, suspicion coating her voice.

Christine looked at me, the meaningful glint taking a moment to click in my mind. Then I looked at Lori in a whole new light. We had recently found out that Camilla had a gift for makeup, as well as, drawing. Looked like we found our hair stylist.

Over the next few weeks, Christine had held true to her word. Turned out that she actually really hated the color pink. And invited several people to what she called her ‘Barbie burning’. Where she burned all of her pink clothes, skirts, blouses, and heels. She actually had a much simpler taste in clothes than she had always bragged about. She even started having people call her Chris, instead of Christine. It was weird, but I was proud of her.

And then one day I was looking in the mirror while I was getting ready for school. I had just finished my braid, and I took a good hard look at it. It was something I had always done, ever since I hit puberty. It was my solace, my shield, what I used to emotionally protect myself when I physically couldn’t. In that moment I realized I hated it.

It was a reminder of everything I had done, that had been done to me. I finally understood that it was my way of symbolically holding on to something. My past. It used to be that I thought I could convince myself that I was strong, that I was admirable, or even respectable. That I wasn’t as damaged as I knew I was, and the braid was the way I did it.

I looked down at the scissors sitting on my counter. It occurred to me that I didn’t need to convince myself anymore. And if Christine could let go of everyone that treated her badly because of her last name. Then maybe I could stop trying to talk myself into being strong, and just do it.

So I picked up those scissors, holding my long braid in my hand, over my shoulder. Pulling it tight, I looked into my own eyes, as the blades closed over it. Two feet worth of hair came away in my hand. My head instantly felt several pounds lighter. I found I could actually turn my head easier. I looked in the mirror again, and I didn’t see any regret or sadness. I felt free.

I hid the braid in the back of my closet, in an old shoe box. As a reminder. Then grabbed my bag and headed out the door. Knowing I would be late to school.

By the time I got out of the salon and to the parking lot first period had just ended. I walked into the school, and most of the people I talked to on a regular basis, which thanks to the benefit there were several, stopped to stare. My hair was now to the middle of my back, and it turned out to be naturally wavy. I had had the stylist part it down the side, and I almost looked like a new person. When I finally made it to my locker I was bombarded by those that I counted as good friends.

“Oh my god!”

“You look amazing.”

“Holy crap!” And it went on and on while I got my books. Even though it was way more attention than I ever wanted, I couldn’t stop smiling.

“Ailith?” I turned at the new voice. Sadler stood there staring. It looked like he was just passing by when he noticed me.

“Hey.”

“You look…different.”

“Yeah, spur of the moment decision,” I mumbled, as I tucked my hair behind my ear.

“I like it, it looks good on you.” I smiled my thanks and he kept walking.

His reaction was completely different from Asher’s. Which came out as more relief than shock and awe. I was kind of disappointed, he did compliment it, it just wasn’t what I was looking for.

Then the next thing I know I’m being shoved into a dress for my birthday. The time had flown by as the benefit progressed. We now had everything planned out and were rehearsing and practicing whenever a large number of us had time.

Which was every night of the week, depending on the group. We ended up doing a lot of round abouts. You know, when everyone calls each other’s parents to say that they’re staying at this friends house or that one’s. With the end of school sneaking up on us, the parents were being unusually understanding. Those parents that knew what we were up too would usually field any calls from concerned parents who didn’t.

Which Becca did a surprising amount of checking up on me. It was a mild concern, as she was among the group who didn’t know. Since I claimed to be with Chris so much, her mom was nice enough to make sure she was the one that answered the phone all the time. When Jake had let it slip, what we were doing, she was shockingly supportive. I had never met such a rebellious adult.

I didn’t have much time to dwell on it, while I was primed and poked with this utensil or that. I had let Becca plan my party. I really just didn’t want to deal with it, since it was just for show anyway. But in retrospect, I probably should have had a hand in it after all.

She wanted me to look elegant, as was custom. So she chose a floor length black dress. That didn’t bother me, in fact, even with my braid gone, I still preferred black. But the skirt was so narrow that I couldn’t take a full step. I had to practice for a few minutes before I could walk without overstepping and stumbling. The bodice had a square neckline, without dipping too low, and my arms were bare. The back had a diamond shaped hole right in the middle, the only spot that wasn’t riddled with scars. There was a long expanse of loose fabric that hooked onto the middle finger of my right hand, and attached just below that diamond.

They had twisted my hair into a neat bun at the back of my head, and added enough makeup to make me look at least five years older than I was. Jen at least had the decency to tell me that it was so I would appeal to the older males. Which skeeved me out to be honest.

By the time I made my way downstairs, Asher was already standing at the bottom. He looked very handsome with his simple black button up and black slacks. His hair was slicked back in a pony tail. But it made him look slightly mob-ish. When he watched me slowly maneuver the stairs, he looked pleased. Which was not a very confidence inspiring look. In my mind he was supposed to look at me with awe at my beauty. Not like I finally looked how he wanted me to.

But I smiled all the same when he wrapped my hand around his arm. Turned out that I really should have explored the house more. There was a secret door under the stairs that led to a whole separate wing of the house. When we made it to the other side we were in a long hallway. At the other end there was a door that led to the outside, which was where the guests were entering. There was a large archway to the right just in front of the outside door, that led into a large ballroom.

I could hear a band playing classical music and several of the guest’s voices made their way out to me. When I heard Drake announce me, Asher led me into the room. I smiled graciously at all of the guests, as I was supposed to do. Though Asher’s voice in my ear, coaching me on how I was supposed to act, got on my nerves quickly. But he had to drag me around the room to introduce me. It was custom after all.

There were about four other packs in the room, along with every wolf I worked with on the benefit. They greeted me with a polite nod and conspiratorial smile. Christine and Jake were there, along with their parents, thanks to their father being the mayor. So I wasn’t completely alone. I spotted Sadler standing with his mother and sister in a far corner and he shot me a nod and smile. Though his mom and sister actually waved.

Asher didn’t look to pleased by that, though when he had done his job as my escort he left to go talk to his friends. None of them I knew. None of them I wanted to know. I was more than content to let him go his own way, as I desperately wanted to go mine. However, mine didn’t seem to be possible.

All I wanted was to stake out a corner and stay there. But every time I took a step there