Author's Note: Hi, it's Beck again. This is my second attempt at writing Distorted Perception and I must admit there was an entire month where I struggled with the decision, whether to chuck it out or sit down and write it. For those of you who didn't know, it was deleted from FF because I was a very, very naughty girl and broke a very important guideline. So, Admin if you so happen to be reading this, I am very sorry for the violation and promise never to do so again looks around nervously* Right so bear with me for a moment while I dedicate this chapter to some amazing writers/Tweeps that I have come to respect very much for their kindness and overwhelming support.

Miss Maraudeur- I've updated now..I feel you should follow suit since you twisted my arm ever so kindly (I'm kidding) into updating. Thank you very much for believing my writing is worth reading.

Crevette- From the very beginning of my 'meltdown' you insisted on making sure I continued to write and I feel as though a thank you just doesn't cut it. But just the same, thank you for encouraging me and for all the pep talks. You're an amazing person (and your story is ridiculously good. GO READ IT PEEPS)

NikkiCee- You put up with all my complaints, paranoia and constant whining and I don't think there are words that can ever really convey just how grateful I am to call you a friend. Gracias guapa.

Staycoolsodapop, Reddawg, Steph81- all of you motivated me to continue writing. If I could hug you lot to prove how thankful I am, I would. But since I can't..here's an update that demonstrates my gratitude ;)

When I discovered Fanfiction this past winter, I never thought I'd have the opportunity and privilege of meeting so many wonderful, warm individuals. Writing with my ADD mind is difficult at times but it is something I enjoy doing very much. So thank you to all of those who have helped me in the past by reviewing or adding DP to your subscription alerts. It means more to me than you'll ever know.

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Not in beta format. Grammar mistakes, probably. Skins is not mine.

Summary: "We should be ourselves right? Without needing to conform to anyone else's expectations?" Tired with herself and searching for something new, Naomi Campbell leaves her life behind in the hopes of finding the change she wants.


Chapter 1: Starting Fresh

There are moments in our lives that we can never forget. Moments that continue to live on in the far corners of our mind that at times remained unharmed by disease or injury to the brain. These defining moments are usually triggered by an aroma, an expression and most famously by music. Music is far more than a song to tap your feet to or to make the time pass quicker. There are healing qualities in the lyrics of a song, calming effects induced by melodies. Music has the power to transcend cultures, age and even prejudices. Writers, poets, artists-they'll attest to being influenced by it. In fact they will admit in one way or another music has shaped their perception.

Picture yourself sitting on the bus after uni or work. You're lost in your own world, stuck in the monotony life is sometimes when suddenly the boy sitting across from you starts singing but that doesn't stop you from listening. You sit captivated trying to figure out what style of music it is, the way he slaps his hands on his thighs. You try and decipher what the lyrics mean and if they even make sense. For a moment in time, you are connected to another person, tied to each other because of music. The realization of what music does, what it can do, is mind blowing and that's only one side of it. Bringing people together is perhaps what music is best known for. Ancient societies depended on songs to welcome their guests. In severe cases if a performer failed to provide adequate entertainment they were killed. The punishment isn't as severe now but the media does its' own brilliant job of butchering an artist. I don't think we realize just how profound words are. With a single word, we can destroy a person's life. The power behind a carefully worded statement can leave a mark so deep, recovering from the force of said comment can be difficult and cause irreversible change.

Then again people change, it is an inevitable part of life. At times it's expected like when a person decides to move to another city because they received a great job offer that helps their career. A career that has the potential to provide all the financial stability one could ever want in life; a house with a picket white fence, a brand new car, brand new appliances and top of the line furniture. Change can be good. Like when Martin Luther King stood tall and proud in America during the nineteen sixties and pledged to fight for civil rights for all. He peacefully marched along the streets of even the most hostile towns and cities where bigotry was rampant and deadly. He didn't stop and though his death was beyond tragic, he led a chain of events that soon changed archaic laws around the world, providing the necessary foundation for societies across the world to create laws that would defend basic human rights. But then there are changes that can devastate, changes that cause more harm than good. Unexpected and unwanted transformations that shape our present and future and not always in the best way. For example when a father abandons his family simply because he wants to, because the pressures of family life, the expectations and demands were more than he expected. So he decides he needs a change. He decides that it would be easier to forgo the commitment he vowed to keep for the rest of his life and move on. That type of change can cause more harm than good. People cause more harm than good. It's an indisputable fact.

'Naomi love,' my mum shouts from the bottom of the staircase.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Change, whether good or bad, has the insurmountable power to move heaven and earth.

'Yes?' I shout back, hating the way my voice sounds. Broken and weak.

'The taxi will be here soon,' I hear her voice break towards the end. I hate doing this. I hate that I have to. I shouldn't have to leave. I should be allowed to be me and happy. But I can't be. No one would let me. Not when society continues to put a pressure on being and looking perfect. Not when the 'normal' or 'average' look is the furthest thing from who I am now.

'I'll be right down mum.' I won't let her know how much I know this is killing her. I refuse to make her feel worse than she already does. But then again, she already does.

I look long and hard at the body in front of me, unfamiliar and not to my liking apart from my blonde hair that I dyed as a rebellious statement. I wasn't always like this, rotund and grotesque. I hated myself. I hated what I've become. This wasn't me. Problems grew like wildfire burning everything in its wake and I had the scars to prove it. Wounds that physically healed but stained deep down inside me, a dark place, an abyss that I didn't want to lose myself in again. It had taken months of therapy and a myriad of medication to get me halfway normal. I could feel again. I wasn't numb like before. Maybe I felt too much now. But as I stand before the body length mirror, I don't like what I see and I know that a change is the only thing that will help me.

I look around my room one last time making sure everything is in its' place before I head out for the six month excursion. I don't have much anyways in my room apart from my twin sized bed, student sized desk cluttered with books and my laptop as well as posters that adorn every inch of the four walls that surround me. Posters of exotic people and places, posters with 'Save the Planet' messages and inspiring quotes I've learned along the way. I scoff at the photo on one of them, a small kitten clutching desperately onto a metal bar with the caption 'Hang in there' as the motivational quote. I walk across the room and remove the tacks holding it up. I tear the poster in half and then tear those into smaller pieces dumping them in the bin beside my small desk. Mum no doubt would walk in here and be upset that I tore up the poster that I proclaimed to love once. That's what my life has become, a sad empty shell of what it once was. There's no point to anything anymore. I've spent my entire life following the rules, minding my manners, did as I was told and to no avail. All the things you strive to do in order to please or help others is pointless. No one cares about it and if nobody cares enough then why should I? I look down at the ripped bits of paper, crumbled and messy with the rest of the rubbish and can't help but think how it parallels my current situation. It doesn't matter though, what's done is and done and as I turn away, collecting the large duffel bag I bought last month, I know I'll change..but maybe not for the best.

I walk down the stairs slowly looking at the portraits that still hang on the wall there. Pictures of the past. Pictures of a happy family that ceased to exist long ago. I hear my mum moving around in the kitchen probably fussing over a breakfast I won't have time to eat, horrible timing that she has. Never on time. I look in confusion at a large frame that wasn't hanging there before. I move down the steps, nearing the end of the staircase, the black and white collage showcasing photos of my childhood. They were mostly shots of a younger version of myself happy, staring at the camera with piercing bright eyes. I smile softly more because of my mother's good intentions than anything else. She cares more than any normal human could. Her capacity for kindness was one of the things I loved most about her. She helped blindly and willingly, seeing beyond a person's faults. It's what made her stand out in a crowd, her radiant personality. It's what drew women to befriend her and men to desire her. My mother's love is her greatest virtue. And yet it was the sole reason for her breakdown.

I'm tired of trying
Your teasing ain't enough
Fed up of biding your time
When I don't get nothing back
And for what, and for what, and for what

I jump down the last few steps, shocked to hear my mother singing after so long. I drop my bag in the foyer and stand, arms crossed, in the doorway that leads to the kitchen. She is facing away from me hovering over the sink washing dishes. Her voice is soft and angelic, she doesn't exert her voice, more like a singing and speaking all at once. I can't help but stare a her, entranced by her way of being. There was this constant halo surrounding my mother, a light that sparked brightly. It had been such a long time since I'd seen it shine. I forgot it was there. But when you own world is covered in shadows, it's impossible to focus on anything else. My mother was the perfect example of persistence and strength. She was strong enough to keep is both afloat. She worked six days a week at two different jobs to provide for us after my father left. She never complained though and she still somehow managed to take care of me and made sure we spent time together. Enough for her to know I was alright or at least I fooled her into thinking I was. She was, is, supermom to the end. It was a good thing the house we lived in was an inheritance left to my mother from her father, otherwise I don't think we would be as secure or sane as we were now.

Where'd you go when you stay behind
I looked up and inside down and outside only to find
A double taking punching hard and laughing at my smile
I get closer you obviously prefer her

As beautiful as my mother's voice is, I walk towards the stove reaching up to silence the CD player, the song bringing me back, memories and flashbacks flooding my mind that I'd rather not relive. I steady my breathing, struggling to keep the anger inside. The parting words my father left me with bouncing around in my head, fueling my anxiety. I feel my mum touch my shoulder lightly and I flinch. I know I shouldn't shy away from her touch, she is my mother after all but I've always been like that. I know she understands me, understands why I keep her at arm's length away. Other parents read parenting journals and subscribe to every magazine they can to understand their child's behavior. My mother just knew. She understood what I needed and wanted just with a single look. Maybe it was as a result of being an only child that she could read me so well. It didn't matter either way to me, I was just grateful somebody understood the mess I was and still am.

'I made you breakfast dear.'

I watch her out of the corner of my eye as she removes a plate of food from the microwave. She took the time to make my favorite pancakes: wheat granola with cranberries and almonds.

'Thanks mum,' I admit softly. 'Do we have honey?'

'Yes!' I smile when she points one finger in the air victoriously and sets the plate on the table. She becomes a blur as she fusses around the kitchen fetching silverware and napkins. You would think the Queen herself was setting foot inside our home. I grab a glass from the cupboard and open the refrigerator pouring orange juice to swallow the meal down with. I sit down and tuck in to my breakfast savoring what will probably be my last home cooked meal for the next six months. I feel my mother's eyes on me watching me carefully but I ignore it focusing my attention instead on reading the nutritional facts on the bottle of honey.

'How are you doing today Nai Nai?' she asks cautiously.

My hand freezes in mid air knowing what she was referring to. 'I'm eating mum..see?' I shove a forkful of food in my mouth and make a show of chewing loudly, showing her the chewed mush before swallowing. She scrunches up her face and laughs.

'You have horrible manners Naomi. You should be ashamed of yourself.' Her voice is reproachful but her smile says a different story.

'Mmm,' I chew quickly trying not to speak with my mouth full, 'I'm exactly like you mum.'

She laughs loudly, throwing her head back, her eyes shining brightly. Mum always found what I say amusing. I could murder a simple knock knock joke and she would look at me like if I were a comedic genius.

'You get that from your fath-' the words cease immediately and one of her hands cover her mouth. 'Naomi, I-'

I shake my head, telling her not continue. After my father left us I didn't want to be compared to him. It was bad enough I looked like him without adding to the fact that I was like him. I know it's useless hoping you'll have nothing in common or alike one of your parents but I couldn't help it. He wasn't someone anyone could ever want to be compared with.

'It's okay mum. Force of habit and everything yeah?' I smile although it's false and I know she can tell it is. Almost a year later and anything having to do with my father still upsets me.

'He was a good man Naomi.'

I stand abruptly not wanting to hear the rest of the sentence. 'Yeah, so good he treated you like cattle and me like a prisoner. Don't defend him.' I remain standing not really sure what to do next. I don't have outbursts like that especially where my mother is concerned. That's the last thing she needs, another person to yell at her. 'I'm sorry mum..I just..I don't like being compared to him.'

I scratch my nails on the table surface, unable to look her in the eye. The silence drags on for what feels like an eternity when suddenly she pushes the chair back and walks towards me enveloping me in a warm but firm hug. My hands move slowly from my sides around her waist clutching at her back as I breathe in her scent. Mum always smelled like home or as she says jokingly like green tea and incense. The thought makes me chuckle and she breaks the hug to look at me questioningly.

'Green tea and incense.'

She rolls her eyes but smiles softly at me, looking at me in a way that leaves me feeling like I'm a five year old child. 'He's your father. A crap one at that but your father nonetheless.' She wraps one arm around my waist, steering us towards the front door after the blaring taxi horn announced it's arrival.

'We all have our shortcomings Naomi. No one is perfect.'

'Then why do people expect us to be?'

She pauses in the hallway, looking at me sadly. She looks at the front door and back at me contemplating her reply. 'Sometimes we ask for too much of a person, believing they can do anything because up until then that's what we thought they could do. Or maybe we put ourselves on pedestals and hate the world when they expect us to continue to be perfect. It's a nasty cycle love.' She turns to face me, cupping my cheeks softly as she makes me look into her eyes, her expression warm but firm. 'You can't expect for others to see your beauty when you refuse to see it yourself.'

I bite my lip and take a deep breath. She knew why I was leaving and though she understood and supported me in my decision, she hated the reasons why I signed for the six month 'Get Fitched' camp. Dealing with low self esteem, a bitter separation and maintaining top marks in college had been difficult and the strain it put on my life began to show slowly. I had overindulged in sweets and ate constantly, the anxiety making it difficult to concentrate on anything and eating became an escape. It didn't show at first, in fact I was complimented on actually eating instead of drinking water and eating half of a salad like my former mates did when we went out to eat. Then it became worse, living in a house I once considered a refuge, had become hell. Eventually though it stopped. The reasons for all the pain and turmoil left leaving a resounding silence that should have been peaceful. But after all that took place, it was too late. The damage was done leaving behind shattered remnants of a family.

After mum picked up the pieces, I decided I needed a change. I needed to gain back what I lost once. The confident, witty and outgoing girl I once was. It would be awhile but I would get there.

'Which is why I'm going away mum. I'm not happy with myself. I've lost friends-'

'You pushed them away.'

'Oh because they made being friends with them so easy mum. We'd go shopping and they would complain we had to go to a shop to find clothes that would 'fit my special body,' I say bitterly.

My mother sighs and hugs me once again, crushing my body onto hers. She kisses the top of my head and lets me go when the taxi beeps the horn again. 'Don't lose yourself Naomi. Stop listening and caring so much about what others say and let yourself be happy. You're too young to be so upset with the world all the time. You don't want to end up an old batty woman like Mrs. James next door do you?'

I laugh at the comparison and shake my head. 'Well then be yourself. That's all you need and you'll see, only then will you be happy.'

She squeezes once more before letting me go. I grab my bag, hoisting the strap over my shoulder, turning to face my mother as I turn the door knob. 'Did you come up with that speech all by yourself?' I tease.

'No, I read it in a parenting journal. Interesting little article titled 'How to deal with moody children'.

I laughed and shook my head. 'You think you're so clever.'

'Aren't I dear?'

I shrugged and walked out, the sound of her laughter ringing in my ears. I heard her footsteps behind me, walking me out. She stood on the porch as I greeted the cabby and apologized for taking so long. He gruffed and turned his attention to the street, turning his blinker on indicating he was ready to leave. I stared out the window, bag clutched firmly on my lap as my mother waved goodbye, the bangles she wore on her wrist jingling from the action. The sun hit her blonde hair, giving the appearance of a halo surrounding her and I smiled at her. If mum could be happy then so could I. The taxi pulled away driving further and further from the city and people I knew towards unknown territory. I knew the journey would be long so I placed the bag on the space next to me and leaned back on the leather seats, placing my head between the top of the seat and the door, my forehead pressing against the cool glass.

I was going to change, I needed a change, of that I was sure. But would it make me happy? Would the sacrifice be worth it? Would I be able to recover what I'd lost? I close my eyes and take a deep breath, willing the negative thoughts away. I can do this. I'm Gina Campbell's daughter. If she made something out of nothing than I could do the same. I watch the city buildings turn into small brick edifices until a while later, trees sprout up, a sign that my destination is just up ahead. For a moment I forget about my worries gazing up into a bright blue sky, sun shining down on the world below and lose myself in the serene nature around me. The pavement below soon becomes gravel as the taxi turns up a long winding drive. I sit up, stretching as cab turns once more, stopping before a gated drive, a white house standing out amongst a green forest.

'You ready?' the cabby asks me.

I know he's asking me if I'm ready to exit the vehicle since I've been staring at the gates titled 'Fitch House' for the past several minutes. It doesn't seem at all as if I were at a weight loss camp. In fact it feels like I've stepped back in time, the house too large and regal considering the decade we're in. But I'm here now and there's no going back.

'Yes, I am.'


Short update but it will get better, I promise. I have had A LOT of time to think this story through and I know where I'm going with it. So...leave a review? :D Until next time peeps!