This isn't your normal story. I don't really know what constitutes as normal these days but I can assume from what I've seen that I don't exactly fit into that category anymore. I used to!
I remember what it was like to be the person that everyone wanted to be around. I remember being important and sought after. I was quite the socialite. I happen to be the only daughter of a very wealthy man. He sells diamonds for a living. After being a very absentee father, he remembered he had a little girl at home and decided to raise me. Admittedly, I grew a little wild. I had the life of a princess. I lived for parties, gorgeous gowns, and all the handsome men you could ever ask for. They came willingly and fell hard. I remember feeling so horrible when we didn't get along or when I didn't feel the same spark that they did.
Then I found one that made me feel... Different. He was perfect. An aspiring lawyer who wanted to take the world by storm and carry me with him. I wanted nothing more than to be his for the rest of my life. Maybe he had some self image problems. Sometimes I think he liked his own face more than mine. He had the temper of an active volcano. But he was my missing puzzle piece. With him, my life made so much sense.
There's a feeling that every girl gets when she's found the man of her dreams. It's in the quiet moments where you have zero make-up on, the TV is white noise, and you're in his arms and you just know. It sounds cliché but it's true. You just know.
I knew alright. And I royally screwed it up.
I can't remember the excuses I made to him. I can't count the number of times I begged his forgiveness. But I vividly remember the sound of his cries when he learned that the woman he wanted to marry betrayed his trust in the most heart wrenching way possible. He'd offered that woman the most beautiful life. It was simple yet priceless. That woman burned the bridge to an irreparable extent. She wasn't faithful to the man who's heart she had full control over.
I made a horrible mistake and the consequences will never stop.
New York is undoubtedly the perfect city to hide in. There are roughly one million people running around New York City on any given day. Tourists admiring the sites, business people flagging down cabs, the cab drivers making their daily commute, the subway goers, the actors, the actresses, and me. The wing of the penthouse that my father gave me is my own personal cave.
You must be thinking because my father is so successful I must have hundreds of rich girlfriends who would be pulling me out of my room and buying me ice cream in an instant. You'd be right. I have fantastic friends. But do you have any idea how easy it is to send a smiley face over a text message? It takes one smiling selfie with your hair down in your pj's to convince, even your best friends, that you just need a few days and you'll be back out there. Three weeks later when they call you, you make the excuse of saying that you were sick. Technically you weren't lying. Your constant nightmares that appeared even when you were wide awake made you sick to your stomach. You replayed those moments in your mind's eye until your head throbbed. You cried burning tears for so long that your temperature spiked and you couldn't see straight enough to find medicine for the fever that plagued your body. Just like that it's been two months before you've seen the people that made you happy. Just like that three months go by and you haven't so much as cracked a smile.
Then the labels started. It's not easy. I take 100% responsibility for what I did. My friends say that there are two sides to everything and that half of the blame goes to the other party. I don't care. I'm the woman. I get labeled as "the cheater", "the slut", "the whore", my personal favorite "the piece of trash". After people move on to the next slice of gossip, the phrases are still running through your head. You see the articles about inner beauty and how people can reinvent themselves. I'm not sure I believe in that anymore. How could anyone see past that? I can't ever be trusted again. What poor man would willingly come into my dark, twisted world and see what really goes on in my head? Why? Do sane men even do that? Would a man ever want to see the gnarled, angry monster that is my heart? All he would experience is the cold room of my heart littered with torn-up pictures of myself and an ongoing replay of the terrible thing I did.
This is my journey. I don't know how long it's going to go on for or if it'll ever change. Here it goes,
My name is Ada. My friends call me their much loved Princess. I don't see how they can love me. Who would love me? Who could ever learn to love a Beast?
As you can see, the roles are reversed. This story is written based on personal experience and my favorite Disney movie ever! This isn't meant to upset anyone! It's just how my brain works. Please Please Please "Like" and "Review"! :)
