Noah

She’s so still. She’s like a perfect little porcelain teacup. And I love her for it. I’ve never heard her speak, never said a word to her, only seen her. I hardly know anything about her aside from what everyone knows: she’s prom queen, valedictorian, head of both the debate club and dance team. Everytime I walk by her, I’m stop and stare. Not that she ever notices. She’s always laughing with her friends. Joking about and telling stories from the weekend. They’re all perfect beauties, but I can never take my eyes off of her. Even surrounded by the most beautiful people on earth, she somehow stands out; somehow, everyone else disappears when I look at her. Even when I close my eyes, I can still see her, down to every little detail. From the the roots of her gorgeous chestnut hair to their gentle curl at their tips; from the irises of her forest green eyes to the dark, curling lashes that frame them; from the soft curve of the bridge of her nose to the point of its tip. Everything is visible—her ivory skin, the cupid bow of her lips, all of it. She’s like a fairytale princess. Timeless. Ethereal. Magical.

Lilliana I can see them all staring at me; the boys and the girls. It’s strange really. I have no idea if they want me or they want to be me. They think I don’t notice—that they’re too geeky or too nerdy for me to notice, but I see it all. The prolonged glances, the jut of each finger, all of it. I’ve been trained. Because everytime I notice it, I run.

It’s not about them, god forbid I stress over teenage boys. It’s about him. The one who infiltrated my family, preying on the broken hearts and fucked up minds. He’s doing it to me. He waits until the night, when my mother is fast asleep, and sneaks into my room, knowing my exact position. If I’m not awake, he still does it. It doesn’t matter. It never does. Whether I’m dirty or tired or screaming or crying, he doesn’t care. He does it anyway, and I have no say. I’m trapped alone on this island with a raging storm that never subdues. I can’t run… not without my mother, who I feel like I don’t know anymore. She’s a stranger, a ghost. I want to ask how she could have lost her mind, how she could have fallen for this excuse of a human being, but I can’t. And deep down, I know how. I know he was charming and charismatic when we first met. I loved him too; I thought he was going to be my new dream father. But as the sun set, blissful dreams became terrifying nightmares. Every night, I beg sunrise to come and I plead, in vain, for that glowing light to never disappear once more. And the worst part? My mother. I have no idea what is happening to her—whether she is blissfully unaware or whether she has suffered the same fate as me. And I fear I will never know.

And day after day, I return to school. Where people tell me I’m beautiful, that my mother must be so glad that I’m so attractive. Fuck them. Beauty is only a blessing temporarily; later on, it turns into a horrible curse. But the only thing I can do is laugh with my friends, pretend everything is completely normal. For what will people think if they know the true me?