I stared into the swirling water hatefully. How many times I told myself
never again. How many times I promised myself it was over. How many times I
wished I could follow my mistakes down the swirling porcelain dish. But I
never did.
Perfection, I learned, was impossible to achieve without hope. When I was told millions upon millions of time there was no such thing as perfection, I thought it to be impossible. OF COURSE perfection was possible, OF COURSE. I could be beautiful and educated and envied everywhere I went. Eyes could follow me naturally, hungering to have and be me. I could make girls stare after was curves in nothing but pure hatred. I could be perfect!
But lying on the filthy, grimy tile, clutching onto a toilet, that was not perfect. It was just a step, I told myself countless times, a step to becoming a fabulous me. Little did I dare know I WAS that dirt on the floor, I WAS my pearly pink broken nail, I WAS the pain in my ass just by being me. Or convincing myself I was being me.
But there was nothing I could do now. Getting my new skirt dirty on the bathroom floor while recollecting my little "sick session" wasn't making me better. I wasn't dominating anyone so I could be, you guessed it, perfect. All I could do was pop a Tic Tac and smile.
A smile can veil a lot of things. Emotions, thoughts, opinions...a smile is just one big "Possibly Happy" sign that sits on your face.
I was just a coat of lip gloss away from momentary recovery.
So why didn't I move?
I spend most of my life avoiding thinking why. Why do I even bother? The question pops up frequently as I tediously curl my hair or pluck the non- existent excess hair on my eyebrows. But I brush it away. That's the Sanders' way. Brush it under the carpet and it isn't there. But I feel it.
I feel the question bubble under my heavily powdered skin nearly every day. If I think I'll approach it as it looms to attack its prey. So I don't think. Often.
Yes, I'm perfectly happy, twirling my shiny blonde hair and hissing insults in class. Tapping my pens and writing notes and listening to some teacher drone on and on about some dead guy can be very distracting to a mind. It can no longer linger to the stack of unanswered questions that is so dangerously close to coming out and pouncing on me.
So why didn't I go to class? Why didn't I stand up and let my high heels click across the girl's room as I hummed some pop song? Why didn't I just let it go?
Because Lizzie McGuire was in my way.
~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~
A/N: Hello again. This is a little different from my other Lizzie fics, because...I got bored lol. Anyway, that was fun. The next chapter is going to be in Lizzie's point of view (if I can bare writing in it; I'm not very Lizzie McGuire) and then back to Kate's. This goes on sometime in the Lizzie portal...I don't know..if you've read my other fics, this is when Lizzie starts to grow apart from Gordo and Miranda. Okay, yeah, bye! Love to the Sisterhood!
Perfection, I learned, was impossible to achieve without hope. When I was told millions upon millions of time there was no such thing as perfection, I thought it to be impossible. OF COURSE perfection was possible, OF COURSE. I could be beautiful and educated and envied everywhere I went. Eyes could follow me naturally, hungering to have and be me. I could make girls stare after was curves in nothing but pure hatred. I could be perfect!
But lying on the filthy, grimy tile, clutching onto a toilet, that was not perfect. It was just a step, I told myself countless times, a step to becoming a fabulous me. Little did I dare know I WAS that dirt on the floor, I WAS my pearly pink broken nail, I WAS the pain in my ass just by being me. Or convincing myself I was being me.
But there was nothing I could do now. Getting my new skirt dirty on the bathroom floor while recollecting my little "sick session" wasn't making me better. I wasn't dominating anyone so I could be, you guessed it, perfect. All I could do was pop a Tic Tac and smile.
A smile can veil a lot of things. Emotions, thoughts, opinions...a smile is just one big "Possibly Happy" sign that sits on your face.
I was just a coat of lip gloss away from momentary recovery.
So why didn't I move?
I spend most of my life avoiding thinking why. Why do I even bother? The question pops up frequently as I tediously curl my hair or pluck the non- existent excess hair on my eyebrows. But I brush it away. That's the Sanders' way. Brush it under the carpet and it isn't there. But I feel it.
I feel the question bubble under my heavily powdered skin nearly every day. If I think I'll approach it as it looms to attack its prey. So I don't think. Often.
Yes, I'm perfectly happy, twirling my shiny blonde hair and hissing insults in class. Tapping my pens and writing notes and listening to some teacher drone on and on about some dead guy can be very distracting to a mind. It can no longer linger to the stack of unanswered questions that is so dangerously close to coming out and pouncing on me.
So why didn't I go to class? Why didn't I stand up and let my high heels click across the girl's room as I hummed some pop song? Why didn't I just let it go?
Because Lizzie McGuire was in my way.
~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~
A/N: Hello again. This is a little different from my other Lizzie fics, because...I got bored lol. Anyway, that was fun. The next chapter is going to be in Lizzie's point of view (if I can bare writing in it; I'm not very Lizzie McGuire) and then back to Kate's. This goes on sometime in the Lizzie portal...I don't know..if you've read my other fics, this is when Lizzie starts to grow apart from Gordo and Miranda. Okay, yeah, bye! Love to the Sisterhood!