Trapped // Louis Tomlinson AU
Everyone knows I'm perfect. My life is perfect. My clothes are perfect. Even my family is perfect. And although it's a complete lie, I've worked my butt off to keep up the appearance that I have it all. The truth, if it were to come out, would destroy my entire picture-perfect image.
Standing in front of my bathroom mirror while music blares from my speakers, I wipe away the third crooked line I've drawn beneath my eye. My hands are shaking, damn it. Starting senior year of high school and seeing my boyfriend after a summer apart shouldn't be so nerve-racking, but I've gotten off to a disastrous start. First, my curling iron sent up smoke signals and died. Then the button on my favorite shirt popped off. Now, my eyeliner decides it has a mind of its own. If I had any choice in the matter, I'd stay in my comfy bed and eat pringles all day.
"Ally, come down," I faintly hear my mom yelling from the foyer.
My first instinct is to ignore her, but that never gets me anything but arguments, headaches, and more yelling.
"I'll be there in a sec," I call down, hoping I can get this eyeliner to go on straight and be done with it.
Finally getting it right, I toss the eyeliner tube on the counter, double and triple check myself in the mirror, turn off my stereo, and hurry down the hallway.
My mum is standing at the bottom of our grand staircase, scanning my outfit. I straighten. I know, I know. I'm eighteen and shouldn't care what my mum thinks. But you haven't lived in the Lloyd house. My mum has anxiety. Not the kind easily controlled with little blue pills. And when my mum is stressed, everyone living with her suffers.
"Hate the pants, love the belt," Mum says, pointing her index finger at each item. "And that noise you call music was giving me a headache. Thank goodness it's off."
"Good morning to you, too, Mother," I say before walking down the stairs and giving her a peck on the cheek. The smell of my mum's strong perfume stings my nostrils the closer I get. She already looks like a million bucks in her Ralph Lauren Blue Label tennis dress. No one can point a finger and criticize her outfit, that's for sure.
"I bought your favourite muffin for the first day of school," Mum says, pulling out a bag from behind her back.
"No, thanks," I say, looking around for my dog. "Where's Marsha?"
"In her bed."
"Has her new caretaker arrived yet?"
"Her name is Vicky, and no. She's coming in an hour."
"Did you tell her wool irrtates her skin? And that she doesn't like her belly being touched?" She's always let it be known in her nonverbal cues she gets irritated by the feeling of wool on her skin.
"Yes. And yes. If she keeps acting up, we'll find ourselves out of another caretaker."
I walk into the living room, not wanting to hear my mother go on and on about her theories of why Marsha lashes out. Marsha is laying in her bed, busily 'grooming' her favourite stuffed animal.
"Hey, girl," I say, leaning over her and patting her gently. "It's the first day of school. Wish me luck."
Marsha looks up at me and gives my hand a lick.
"You want to give me a hug?" I ask her, knowing she does.
Marsha tries to get up, I carefully wrap my arms around her, not wanting her to have the trouble on stting up and hurting herself. When I straighten, my mum gasps. It sounds to me like a referee's whistle, halting my life. "Ally, you can't go to school like that."
She shakes her head and sighs in frustration. "Look at your shirt."
Glancing down, I see a large wet spot on the front of my white Calvin Klein shirt. Oops. Marsha's drool.
"It's no biggie," I tell her, although in the back of my mind I know it screws up my "perfect" look.
Frowning, my mum gets a tissue from the coffee table and dabs at the spot. It makes me feel like a two-year-old.
"Go upstairs and change."
"Mum, it was just drool," I say, treading carefully so this doesn't turn into a full-blown yelling match.
"You don't want people thinking you don't care about your appearance."
"Fine." I wish this was one of my mum's good days, the days she doesn't bug me about stuff.
I give my dog a kiss on the top of her head, making sure she doesn't think her drool bothers me in the least. "I'll see ya after school," I say, attempting to keep the morning cheerful. "To... try and atleast go for a walk."
I run back up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. When I get to my bedroom, I check my watch. Oh, no. It's ten after seven. My best friend, Elizabeth, is gonna freak out if I'm late picking her up. Grabbing a light blue scarf out of my closet, I pray it'll work. Maybe nobody will notice the drool spot if I tie it just right.
When I come back down the stairs, my mother is standing in the foyer, scanning my appearance again. "Love the scarf."
As I pass her, she shoves the muffin into my hand. "Eat it on the way."
I take the muffin. Walking to my car, I absently bite into it. Unfortunately it isn't blueberry, my favourite. It's banana nut, and the bananas are overdone. It reminds me of myself--seemingly perfect on the outside, but the inside is all mush.
NotesThank you for reading, hope you enjoy, feel free to share with your friends. xx