The Pretty Poison

PART 13 - Chapter 8

PART 13 - Chapter 8

When it’s over, Westley lays beside me and takes a gulp from a bottle I know is Feathers. I can’t even begin to think the worst of that drink seeing as I am too ashamed to think at all right now.

I have become unfeeling.

Turning on my side, I see a mirror on his dresser. If I tilt my head in the slightest and I could see my face perfectly but I don’t think I want to see my face right now. All I’d see would be my miserable face and nothing as attractive as Westley sees me. With my heart uncaring and my mind just the least bit curious, I lift my head and find the bit of reflection.

Lavish black makeup is painted in swirls around my cheeks and eyes. Red glitter did decorate the edges but now the blotches of color make me look more like a molten lava mess. With hope of looking any better than the repulsive sight I am now, a smile pulls at my lips. It completely contrasts everything I feel but I want some sort of beautiful recognition.

I didn’t realize I could look worse than before. The corners of my mouth turn down and my body shivers. I guess I look into the mirror with a haunted expression so often, my smile looks ugly to my eyes.

I wipe at the stains of makeup goo with the back of my hand while Westley rummages through his nightstand. He pulls out a cigarette and lights it, the flick of the lighter bringing my mind back to a certain state of consciousness. I can see the swirling smoke, I can hear the drags of his breath, I can feel the chill without him pressing to my body. But even with my total awareness, I can’t comprehend my surroundings. Death still has grasp on my mind.

With hope to bring back any feelings I may have hidden in the abyss of my soul, I edge closer to his body and rest my head on his chest. The tribal tattoos on his V-lines peak out of the top of his boxers. My finger absently traces them as I absorb the heat radiating off of his chest. He pulls the covers over both of us and kisses my hair. These are the moments where I thank God I have Westley. He is the only one who will take me as I am: ugly mess and all.

His heartbeat pounds a pulse so comforting, I slowly forget life. My vision clouds until I can no longer see anything but darkness. I sink into the black oblivion I wish to be my end with full acceptance.

But of course, it won’t end. Tomorrow will rise and I will still be here, clinging to sanity by my fingertips.

The bed shakes me awake as Westley sits up. His warmth is gone, leaving me alone to fight the chill of night. When I hear the trailer door open and shut, my mind becomes awake enough to realize the red numbers written on the clock. Four in the morning is an odd time for him to be awake, let alone any performer during the night after a show. Now is when everyone is finally asleep or at least crawling into bed.

I pull myself off of my pillow and lean on shaky arms. Yesterday’s anxiety plagues my mind and my nausea racks my body. My hand automatically reached for my stomach as I feel its acid bubble. Waking up before the sun always makes me feel sick and last night’s bug doesn’t help my situation. I rush to the garbage and make it in time to see the nonexistent food I ate spewing into the trash can. This is not my week.

My forehead steams under my cold hands. It feels so cool yet awful. It’s a wonder how I’m still alive with this thing gnawing at my insides. I hope I don’t have the flu. I don’t want Westley or anyone else sick because of me.

I lie back down and wait for Westley to return. He never takes more than a few minutes but soon I see half an hour has passed by. Without him in bed, I feel awkward and my eyes become more awake by the second. I pull the covers from my bare legs and stumble to the window in the dark. Westley’s large button up does nothing to prevent the cool night air from chilling me.