I arrive home feeling overheated with adrenaline. I push up my glasses, which have slipped off in the hurry. It’s amazing how much it meant to take them off for the ride. I was still dizzy, and a hair away from screaming, but at least my vision wasn’t covered in a white mass. I saw blurry, but it was nowhere near as bad as I expected. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll even enjoy the wild rush… and being able to snuggle up to him…
“I will not ask you where you have been: it is written on your face,” my mother calls to me from the dining room table, a red glass of wine dancing around between her fingers. As she glances towards me, her eyes are slightly veiled. This is the first time she’s had alcohol in the daytime.
“It’s unusual to see you in that top. But it looks good on you,” she smiles. “It would look even better if you could lose a few pounds.”
I instinctively pull the sweater down over my stomach.
Just because someone doesn’t appreciate you, doesn’t mean you’re worthless.
“You’re really blushing! He’s really important to you, isn’t he? If you want to be worthy of his affection, let me know and I’ll help you work out a diet.”
You are not worthless, you are not worthless, you are not worthless…
“It’s progress that you’re not buried in your novels and laptop all day. But, I’m still not happy that it’s all at the expense of learning. And I don’t think he’ll be too happy when he finds out you didn’t get into any university. What’s his name by the way?
“Devin.”
Mum swallows the remaining contents of her glass at once and I take advantage of the dramatic silence to go upstairs. I try to remember Devin’s voice as vividly as I can until grows louder and louder and I become free of Mum’s words.
The chair squeaks on the tiles and I hear Mum’s footsteps as she heads for the stairs.
“Since you are going upstairs, you might as well get the dirty dishes from your room. It stinks. I’ve come to terms with you sneaking downstairs at night for food, but to hide the crockery underneath a wardrobe or in a desk drawer is outrageous. I wonder what your prince would think! Of course, by some miracle, he might be more tolerant, but I won’t be. So while you’re living in my house, please try to be a little more civilised!”
You’re not worthless. You are not worthless. You are not…
I lock myself in my room and put my bag in the corner. I take a deep breath and begin. I pull out the drawers one by one, look under the wardrobe, behind the textbooks stacked on the shelf. As quietly as I can, I stack the plates, forks and knives. Some of them are already covered in petrified food, the oldest of which is perhaps a month old…
I bring them up in the evening and forget to take them down in the morning. But I don’t just forget. I wait for the right moment, because I’m afraid of running into my mother, and if she saw this huge amount, she’d make a few reproachful remarks.
Just like she did now. So there’s no way I can get away with it, but I put it off as long as I can so I don’t have to hear how much I’m disappointing her. Again and again, with my very existence.
This time, too, I’ve accumulated quite a lot, so much that when I hold it in my hands, it’s up to my chin. I hope I can get it all down at once…
I wait for Mum to go up to her room and close the door. After a few minutes, I carefully lift the plates. It isn’t as heavy as I expected. I used my elbow to push down the door handle and headed downstairs. I can’t see where I’m going, so I descend carefully, step by step. My palms are sweating. What if I trip and drop it?
How embarrassing all this is… Like our whole lives. Hiding what we’re ashamed of, trying to keep up the appearance of perfection. And as much as I despise Mum and her hypocrisy… I’m no different.
With shaking arms, I place the stinking pile in the sink. I open the tap and squeeze detergent onto the sponge. It would be more practical to let it soak, but I want to erase the traces of my nocturnal excursions as quickly as possible, as if that would undo them.
My hand dips into the foam as I scrub, the dirt running in brown streaks off the originally white crockery. This is how the make-up must have run off my face…
You’re prettier without it.
My being, trembling with doubt, is suddenly warmed by these words.
I smile. I can hardly believe that this afternoon happened and he actually said that!
I don’t even notice and I put the last fork on the drip tray. It usually seems to take longer…
Happy, energized by a job well done and with fond memories, I return to my room and lie down on my bed. I look through the chaos of crumpled blankets, discarded clothes, wrinkled notebooks and bags of crisps.
I wonder what your prince would think!
I bite my lip, holding back the rising shame. Good thing Devin will never see this! This would be the last place I’d ask him. Besides… I am not exactly the woman of his dreams… and he’ll find that out before I have to introduce him to Mum.
I should have broke up with him. Instead, I opened up to him like I had never opened up to anyone before.
I poured the years of accumulated, swelling stream of dirt all over him…
I am sinking.
He should have left me alone. He should’ve left in disgust, fled. I’d run away from myself too, if I could.
I wanted him to do it. To be hurt and punished. Instead, he took my hand.
You’re not worthless.
Why did he say that? How could he say…? Can’t he see how pathetic I am?
Why not?!
With my hands dry of detergent, I take out my mobile, turn on the wifi. A soft beep signals Mandy’s message: “So, what did he think of the make-up?😉”
You look prettier without it. – I can’t text her that. I’ll think of a reply later, in the meantime I’ll mark it as unread. But I still can’t get over it. Why can’t I write this to her?
Because it’s a lie.
Those honest, black eyes…
Still, I can’t believe them. Maybe it’s all a lie, and he was just being nice to me to get out without conflict, and he’s not coming tomorrow.
What if he does?
My stomach clenches with nervousness. I reach under the bed for a packet of crisps, open it and shove a few pieces into my mouth. A salty, cheesy flavour floods my tongue, filling the space of my thoughts.
I open Metamorph’s channel. Judging by the videos, he has indeed achieved to play in isolation, albeit out of competition. I clicked on one where he was playing against last year’s champion team, three players against him. It took them thirty minutes to beat him… unbelievable.
Curious, I scroll down to the comments, but they hit me like a cold shower.
“Once a cheater, always a cheater”
“The world is for the rich…”
How could he cheat?! There’s the judge behind him! Even the assumption is outrageous. Can’t they see the video? This guy is a genius. And yet how many people badmouth him… Just because they can and because they enjoy it.
Life is unfair sometimes.
His hand on mine…
You don’t always get what you deserve.