There are moments in a girl's life where difficulty can be found- as I learned every Wednesday night and Sunday morning from a stingy, old pastor, God was supposedly the one that sent us these problems. He was rumored to have only sent the most impossible obstacles to his greatest children. And so there I was, lying cold and blind on the bedroom floor, silently reflecting on both my past and the horrifically exciting events that led me to my cliff. This was the edge of my life, the battle of my existence and I knew this. I brought myself here, no matter the messengers and prophets I met along the way; I was in my current predicament because of my own selfish decisions.
Alcohol, premarital sex, filthy lies, disgusting truths, thievery, trickery, murder, cocaine… if I still knew how to shut my eyes, I would do so against the onslaught of pain and humiliation. I had become the fastest harlot in the Chicago area within months- I drove cars, talked loudly, strutted in revealing clothes, and lived as fast as I possibly could on Edward's arm. We were only together for a little over nine months, engaged for three quarters, and knew one another even less; why did I ever talk myself into taking his offer? Sure, I could conjure up a million excuses and offer anyone who cared to hear them on a silver platter, but I had to face the truth. I wanted him. I wanted the glamorized version of this lifestyle. I wanted to dance all night, drink the devil's water with zero girth, and share inhibited fornication with the man I loved… but as I rubbed open my weary eyes for the first time in what felt like days, I looked around and saw the plain truth. This wasn't glamorous, this wasn't even nice. I was riding on some fairytale that my fiancé allowed me to believe in, just as long as it made me quiet and content. Of course, it wasn't his fault a church-fearing, naive eighteen year old fell into his lap and couldn't help but drool every time he pulled out something shiny- but he could have warned me, perhaps even better prepared me for what was to come?
I sat up very slowly with sore arms, careful to not stir the extra sensitive nausea my stomach was currently encountering. The place was trashed- all the mirrors were broken, furniture was thrown wayside, my clothes lay in torn heaps around the room. I slapped a hand to my forehead and took a few calming breaths before I stood up on my own two feet. I could vividly remember doing all of this damage, but I couldn't explain why. Why did I let myself go absolutely insane over Edward like that? It was as if I worshipped him, as if I depended on his guidance to take my next breath! Frustrated with myself already, I ran both hands through my long, knotted locks only to find that my fingers stopped short just past my chin. My heart pitter-pattered in my chest, and all I could think was that this was some morbid, extravagant trick someone was playing on me. Surely, my hair… my long, luxurious, attention-grabbing hair… where was it? My nimble digits reached around my neck in search for a bun or a pony tail or a French plait, but alas there was nothing.
I crawled to a brown mess beside my cedar wood vanity and gasped at what I saw- was that what I thought it was? Trying to search for some explanation, I carefully got to my feet and looked around for an unharmed mirror. The ones in the bedroom and restrooms were completely destroyed, leading me to a luckily unharmed guestroom a few doors down. But I wasn't emotionally nor mentally prepared for the sight before me- this girl with skinny arms, a sunken face full of shadows and marks, disgusting pale complexion, and dried blood around her nose and cheek stood right in front of me. It wasn't until my eyes got over the shock of my reflection that I noticed where the crown of my beauty used to be.
I screamed.
And just when I thought I was done screaming, a let out a little more; my hands frantically pulled at the remnants of my locks, a few strands still long enough to reach past my ears and even fewer went past my shoulder. I felt disgusting, even more so than that very first moment I woke up- my mother taught me as a child that long, luxurious hair was what men wanted from their wives. She bathed it in jasmine oil for years and years, smiling happily each and every time, as though I had accomplished a great feat at such a tender age. She loved me solely because of my glorious brunette trait, a gene from my father's side of the family as she once told me. And now it was gone. The only part of me that my mother was ever truly proud of, hacked away in a gruesome massacre of madness and solitaire.
I held onto the sink for support in fear that I'd be sucked away from this nightmarish dreamland in any moment; a series of footfalls sounded on the steps- were those clacks from women's or men's dress shoes? I braced myself with a newfound reserve because no mater what face would soon appear beside me, I would not break. Was this the one I dialed on the phone? Had someone thought to check up on me, or was this a nosy stranger from a few kilometers away? Perhaps it was an intruder that I had no defense against? The footfalls grew closer and my resolve began to crumble into tiny little pieces. I was absolutely defenseless against the many harsh realities of life recently released into the wild, and nothing more. Something short and bittersweet for the road, not anyone worth giving that second glance. When I heard the guest bedroom door's opening squeal, I shut my eyes tight and clutched onto the porcelain sink even tighter. "Gonna keep your eyes closed the entire time?"
That voice made every weak bone in my rigid body flame up in pure, unadultered anger. My eyes flew open without a second thought as I studied the seemingly waveringly form in the reflection beside me. "What in God's name are you doing here?" I tried my best to maintain the Lady Isabella façade with this insufferable creature. "Why are you looking at me like that?" I demanded angrily. But there was no self-righteous or narcissism dripped in sarcasm as I had grown accustomed to with this woman.
"Because I pity you, Isabella." Her lightly freckled arms were crossed over a simple tunic and worn-looking flats. Pity? She pitied me? I didn't want nor deserve anyone's pity, lest hers! "Truly." Victoria Kane added in a short manner, almost as though she was trying to be a human being to me.
"Thank you for your regards," I breathed out slowly, "but they are sorely misplaced." Was it so wrong of me to want her out of my house, as quickly as humanly possible? "Truly." I added with grit. Victoria was nothing but trouble with evil intentions.
As I came to find in our many later encounters, Victoria Kane was an enigma in herself. Never could anyone say that she was predictable or able to be contained in one certain category- just when you assumed you knew was the real moment you were blinded by it all. I was hoping for an adverse reaction, perhaps even a rude remark with a sneer attached, but there was none. Just pity, all over her sharp features. "I overdosed on Morphine when I was fifteen years of age." Refusing to even slightly connect with her on an emotional level, I felt my walls rise in an instant. She was only pretending to connect with me, why would she ever feel the need to be a true friend to me?
"I did not overdose." I spat out.
Victoria Kane didn't skip a beat. "My parents knew not what to do with me, so they took me to the community hospital and never returned for me. It almost saddens me to think that two people could be so careless, lest so evil as to abandon their only daughter." Rage mixed with a tiny speck of disappointment flashed in her emerald eyes, but it was gone in an instant as she straightened up. "After a week the hospital sent me to an outpatient home for troubled girls like myself- it's funny, the way our country's system lets bitter little things like me slip right through the cracks." I swallowed nervously, starting to feel something akin to sympathy for her. Her parents truly left her to fend for herself in a strange, new place with no help at all? "I shared a room half this size with nine other girls; only the four eldest were allotted pathetic excuses for beds while the rest of us slept on quilts on the stone floor beneath them. And like any other orphanage, the caretakers treated us like absolute filth."
My eyebrows drew together in splitting anguish- was her childhood that awful? Surely she turned out good (if not up to par with the excellent level I foolishly saw my life at) for her situation? Victoria was a nicely kept, clean woman in decent clothing. You would never be able to tell her back story by merely seeing the front cover. I learned that fact quite easily. "And your parents… they never thought to collect you?" My voice was meek and disturbed, but there was no other way to feel. Her experiences somehow humbled me in the midst of all of this- she made me feel humanized once more, as if this somehow explained all of the wrong I had faced.
Victoria shook her head slowly, lips pressed together in a tight line as she moved away from the place her reflection showed her to be. I followed in trivial pursuit; in some sick way, I wanted to know more. I suddenly wanted to understand the type of person she was, the kind of life she had seen, the experiences she had witnessed. "I know lots of things about you, Isabella, one thing being that we share a very similar life if not the very same one. Our parents were diplomatic assholes that never deserved to be called our guardians; we were left for dead in front of carnivorous, hungry wolves, yet we bellied up." She sent me a small smile, the first of our very rocky companionship. "We shed our yellow skin formed in childhood and ventured to make a name or even a life for ourselves. Even in failure, we persevered." Her eyes were the deepest green I had ever seen as she spoke down to me, our shoulders almost touching as we peered out of the bay window. Now that I thought about it, even my precious gardens looked wilt and pathetic. Hadn't I promised myself to keep the greenery alive as long as I lived under that roof? It would seem all of my promises, made to myself and to others, were so great that they were impossible to keep. Especially during the beginning days of winter. "Even though you wear pretty dresses and style your hair according to the height of the fashion world, you are my mirror image." She gestured to what was left of my once very expensive Guarani skirt suit and then to her generic figureless outfit. "Say, would you like to know the true reason behind my presence in your life?"
I nodded so erratically that she had to sit me down when the wave of nausea rolled over me- what was the truth now? Could I actually discern what had validity and what didn't stick, considering the state of mind I was in? "I want to know many things, and I prefer the entire honesty whether or not it is popular." I stated clearly, hoping that these precious moments of civility would lead her to be fully cooperative with the truth. She nodded and gestured with her hand, as if to open some sort of gate between us wherein the truth was kept hidden. Was I supposed to ask questions, or would she come out with it? I waited a few beats before blabbering out the first few things that popped into my head. "Is that your real name? Why are you here today? Are you alone? Did I call you? Why did you show up at Frederick Dougherty's funeral? How do you know me so keenly? Does this have anything to do with my ex-fiancé?"
She took a deep breath and rolled her head in a few different directions, finally catching my direct eye contact with a tiny huff. "Well, you really go for the cake, don't you?" Victoria added with a small chuckle. "Well, you can call me Vicky but yes it is my real name. And no, I'm not alone- thought I am not with the companion you saw me with the last time we met." She picked at a loose thread on her lap before looking back at me. "I am here because Rosalie Hale, your dear cousin, called me. I received no telephone ring from you, though I am not exactly sure how you were capable of phoning anyone in the state you were in."
"Rosa?" I cried out softly. Of all people, I had called Rosa? Sure, I loved her as anyone loved their first cousin, but she was not exactly the best person to be around in stressful situations. With her here, I was looking to get the tongue lashing of a lifetime!
Vicky nodded solemnly. "Yes, she was very worried and near panic before I arrived. You were out cold, not dead but very comatose-like, and she had assumed you were drugged against your will. Almost called the authorities a few different times, she would have if I hadn't begged her not to."
My eyes bugged out of their sockets. "My cousin was going to call the police on me? Oh my god!" I stood frantically. Were they on their way, now that I was awake and functioning? Would I be arrested and sent to prison for my wrongdoing? I shut my eyes in a rash manner before stomping back to her. "Is that insufferable brat here?" Suddenly Rosa was on the top of my shortlist- never would I ever consider calling the authorities on her! We were blood; did that not mean anything to her?
"You need to calm yourself, Isabella, she is your family and only meant well." Vicky held a hand up to me. "Once I explained that the police would never buy a story about mobsters and drug distribution, and absolutely assured her that your strong pulse meant waking up within a few hours, she digressed and listened to every single last one of my instructions. I knew for a fact that you did this yourself, but Rosalie never once believed it. We were busy cleaning the mess you made when I heard you moving about. So yes, she is downstairs as we speak." I nodded in slow motion, careful not to awake the stormy beast inside my stomach. "And you have much to explain."