Author's Note: ok, this is my first real fanfic, so please be kind to the inexperienced…all notes of constructive criticism and praise are more than welcome! This is just a one shot…if it sucks, I'll try not to torture anyone any longer! :o) I am mixing some times, I know that the songs I am using do not belong in a 1950s period flick, but I am going use them anyways…if you have a problem, talk to my bookie…j/k
Disclaimer: I do not own the movie or the characters of 'Mona Lisa Smile' (no matter how much I wish I could be them) nor do I own the songs 'Come Away With Me' or 'Going Under'
Giselle
"I know I'm a joke. My own friends call me a slut behind my back, I know it's true, so in a way I live up to it, because it's better than people telling lies about you. And it's not like I don't enjoy the attention that the eager boys from the prep school give me. And the attention of the teachers is even better. But nothing ever lasts longer than a fling. Am I not good enough?" Giselle had left the dorm a few hours ago because it had been too difficult to deal with the other girls. They knew she had slept with her Spanish teacher and scorned her for it. She had to get out, even if it was only to the local pub. After more than a few shanties she lumbered over to the microphone and began to sing with a drunken slur.
"Come away with me in the night
Come away with me and I will write you a song…"
Tears and words came tumbling out of her, mingling together as she sang off-key and squeakily into the rusty microphone. And no one even turned their head to notice her standing there, singing her heart out as she had at those countless karaoke nights with the girls, only this time they weren't there to laugh at her attempts to stay on tune.
"I want to walk with you
On a cloudy day
In fields where the yellow grass grows knee-highSo won't you try to come" Giselle knew that she needed someone to hold her, to make everything alright, to stay with her for longer than a weekend of passion. Needed someone to tell her she was truly beautiful, and not just a lust object. She wanted it to be her teacher, but she knew it was wrong, and anyways, he was in love with Miss Watson. Katherine Watson. The woman who had it all, the looks, the moves, the brains and the integrity. How many times had Giselle followed her, spending time with her in hopes of a bit of Katherine's brightness to rub off on her? Too many times. "Come away with me and we'll kissOn a mountaintopCome away with meAnd I'll never stop loving youAnd I want to wake up with the rainFalling on a tin roofWhile I'm safe there in your armsSo all I ask is for youTo come away with me in the nightCome away with me"At the end of her song she opened her bleary eyes to see if anyone had noticed her cry and not a head was turned toward her. Was it normal to have half drunken, depressed girls stagger up onto the stage and pour their heart out into a screechy solo?
"I have to get out of here. I have to find release." Giselle's buzz from the alcohol was wearing off and the pain of reputation and meaninglessness was honing in on her vulnerability in the pub. She had to escape. She prodded her way to the exit and felt the cool November breeze running through her knotted hair and she raised her hand to hail a taxi. Soon a yellow cab pulled up and the knarred old driver asked what her destination was.
"Where to, miss?"
"Wellesley Ladies School, please."
She pulled closed the glass divider separating her from the 'city-chauffer' and she searched her pockets for her friend. Her friend, sharp, crisp and cool against her skin. She ached to find her blade, for the pain was getting more and more intense. Franticly she rummaged around hall of her hiding places on her clothes for her blade, and finally, upon contact, she slowly closed her hand around it.
"Just drop me off here, please."
"But Wellesley is still another four miles away, Miss."
"Please, just drop me off here."
And she thrust a handful of change into his hand before he could roll up the window. She sauntered over to the curb of the sidewalk of 51st street and sat down on the pavement. The concrete was chilling against her slinky dress and shabby coat. She drew out her blade and slowly etched a mark on her wrist. She didn't wince at all, for she was so used to her repeated scarring that she hardly noticed any pain, only relief. She couldn't get the images of her failed attempts at success out of her mind, of all the men who had defiled her, broken her body and heart.
"Now I will tell you what I've done for you
Fifty thousand tears I've cried
Screaming, deceiving and bleeding for you
And you still won't hear me"
She marred the fragile skin on her wrists, her beautiful decorations of pain, blood and control. She could control these marks, even when she couldn't control anything else. She had her lines, her cuts of her own making, and nobody else's. The other wounds were so much worse, the ones she had no control over, and those were the ones that were hurting her more. She stood up, the delicate lace of her shirt clinging to and getting stained by the fresh blood on her wrists and she smiled with content. "this is the only thing I can control, and these marks are mine to keep for myself." Giselle raised her unmarked arm towards the street hailing another cab to take her back until the next time.
"Screaming, deceiving and bleeding for you..,"