March 25, 2000
7:54 PM
She ran up the stairs without a word, ignoring the hum of muted voices echoing from the dining room. If she heard the sound of the front door slapping against the thin wall of the front hallway, she ignored that as well. All that mattered was that she was late, and after waiting months for Eric to ask her out, she was damned if she was going to screw it up even worse than she already had.
She was already pulling the tight crop top over her head when she heard the inevitable call of her mother’s annoyed voice from the bottom of the stairs. “Simone!”
“I’m running late, Mom!” she called out with a huff. “I told Eric I’d meet him at the park by eight!”
Simone swore she could feel the disapproval in the air, even from a distance. “What kind of boy makes a date on a Sunday, Simone? For God’s sake, the entire family is here! Isn’t it bad enough that you were working all day?”
Simone rolled her eyes, grabbing her heels as she ran into the bathroom, slapping the switch for the lights over the mirror. “I told you, I tried to get the day off, but you know Tad! He’s worked at that place for fifteen years, and he’s never let the teens off on the weekends.”
“Well, he better not make you work holidays,” her mother mumbled. Not for the first time, Simone wondered if her parents had designed the house specifically to allow her mother’s voice to carry anywhere. “So who’s this boy?”
Simone ran her fingers through her long brown hair, smirking at her reflection in the mirror. Plugging in the curling iron, she turned towards the doorway. “Eric Decampo, Mom! You know, quarterback, football team, nice butt? Said so yourself last Friday.”
“Him?” Simone could tell by the tone of her mother’s voice what was coming next. “Now I remember…”
“Mother!”
Her mother’s laughter joined her own. “Well, if you insist on going out tonight, can you at least get home earlier than midnight? Your cousin’s flying in early tomorrow morning, and you know he’s going to want to see you at the airport.”
Simone sighed, hurriedly trying to do something with her hair. “Damn! I forgot all about that! If you let me take the car, I’ll get gas on the way home.”
And there came the waves of disapproval again, just as she expected! “Simone, you know what happened the last time…”
“It’s just to the park,” Simone rebutted. “Five blocks away!”
“I guess it’s all right. I’ll find some way to explain it to your father. Good thing he’s just about out for the night, thanks to eating all that turkey. Speaking of which, are you eating before you go?”
“Not wearing this, I’m not,” she muttered, running her hand over her slim stomach. Then louder, “I’m already late, Mom! Maybe when I get back. Save some stuffing!”
“All right…but at least say hello to the family before you leave!”
Simone rolled her eyes again, and then looked at herself in the mirror again. The hair was a bit more curly now, the way she liked it. Not perfect, but it would do. She picked up a pad and swabbed her forehead lightly, looking closely at her eyes in the process. Still the same drab brown, but at least the usual circles underneath were absent for the moment.
Looking down, she rummaged through the various shades of lipstick, finally selecting a shade of red that complemented the striking crimson of her top. Applying it liberally, she looked herself over in the mirror, sucking in her stomach and pushing out her chest.
“Not bad,” she said with a self-indulgent grin, and then rummaged through another bin for the perfect pair of earrings.
One hand holding her left ear, she slid the razor blade across her cheek, gouging a harsh line from her forehead down to her neck. With the same absent, calm motion, she repeated the act on the other side of her face, and then looked herself over once again with satisfaction. Dark scarlet streaks rushed down her neck, pooling at the edge of her top before coursing down under the fabric.
Looking herself over, the same grin wide on her face, she ripped the blade deeply into her left wrist, slicing hard towards her elbow in a deliberate path along the blue of her vein, clearly marked under her pale skin. Again, the process was repeated with her right arm, more slowly this time as weakness swept over her, and then the blade slipped from her fingers, clattering to the tile floor.
Slumping slightly against the counter, her blood spilling onto the formica surface, she stared at her whitening face with a look of satisfaction. Slowly, haltingly bringing her right hand up to the mirror, she began tracing out letters over her reflection. By the time she was done, her legs lost their strength, and she fell to the floor.
Even as her consciousness slipped away, the smile never left her lips.
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