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UNSEEN
Chapter 1
No. I’m not cutting myself, you angst-ridden people.
Though, the expression of anger and whatnot, through bringing a blade to my skin is true.
I’m just shaving my hair off…
While my mother and dearest trophy sister, look on in horror, and every so now and then, emitting squeaks and noises of pure, unadulterated pain.
Ha. Suckers.
I’m pretty sure by tomorrow morning, I’ll be regretting this hideous act of rebelling.
But for now, I’m enjoying the moment too much to stop...
FUCK THE FREE WORLD. Buzzz. More hair flew down. Another ghastly hiss from the mother.
I don’t even understand the meaning of “the free world” but what the hell. It sounds good.
FUCK THE JUDICIAL SYSTEM. Buzzz. Ohh…my blonde hairs. Another squeak. Good times, Blondie, good times.
FUCK THE AUTHORITY. Buzz. And there they are, the last few bits of my hair, falling to the ground beneath me.
Wow…I’m so…PUNK. HA! HA! Or is it…EMO? Wheee…I’m now apart of today’s youth social norm! I’m going to be…POPULAR! Wow.
Hmm…I guess now, I’ll have the appropriate head gear for this year’s swimming squad.
I can’t actually swim though, so now the hair might present as a question of practicality.
Oh well.
I put the razor down and slowly turned round to my audience. TA DA! Well, I guess I don’t look that bad. Not many can pull off the bald-as-a-baby look, say, like Vin Diesel. My mother opened and closed her mouth in absolute horror and I started sniggering at her. She looked like she was about to faint. Go ahead, dear mother, just drop like a fly! Drop!
Mack bounded downstairs and upon seeing me and my toothy grin and newly shaved head, came to an abrupt halt.
“Dude, that’s fucking awesome.”
“I know.”
Mack’s eight by the way.
I stood up and looked pointedly at my mother and Charisse. “It’ll grow you know. That’s what hair does. It re-grows. To my utmost misfortune.”
I glanced back and forth between the two aghast and horrified faces and snorted at the hilarity. This was actually really funny. So, for my last final effect, I twirled around, fluttered my short eyelashes and broke out into song…
“I feel pretty! Oh so pretty! I feel pretty and witty and gayyyy!”
Too bad my voice broke on trying to hold that last off-key note.
Ha.
Then I proceeded to swagger on – more like waddle – upstairs and into my private domain, otherwise known as the room I share with my pet hamster, to lie my throbbing but extremely light head down.
Ahh…Maybe I should make this a monthly ritual. Go bald for real. I mean, it really does cool my head down and man, an extra fifteen minutes of sleep every morning. Who wouldn’t want that?
But just as soon as I was about to shut my eyes to a good and cool night’s rest, Charisse just had to open my door, despite having read and seen the rather threatening diagram taped to the front and demand that I get up.
Well, sister of 14 years. I haven’t as of yet, ever abided to your wishes, what makes you think this time’s any different?
I managed to mumble those thoughts aloud. I hope she heard me from under my pillow. The last thing I need is to repeat myself. My mouth ulcers are really stinging me.
“GET UP, YOU BALD FREAK!”
“Hey! Barbie whore! That’s a very derogatory comment. How do those cancer patients feel knowing that pieces of scum like you are condescending them just because they lost a few, most likely all, of their hair follicles.”
“Oh shut up. As if this…” And to make her point any clearer, because we’re all stupid airheads, she waved her perfectly manicured nails towards my shiny forehead, “is a political statement against society. Geez.”
“No darl, it’s a fashion statement. It’s something all the cool kids are doing in Uzbekistan.”
“Huh? Where?”
I groaned and flopped on my bed, until I finally had enough will to sit up. I looked pointedly at Charisse and in my saccharine voice I asked what the hell she was doing in my room.
“Can you not see the hanged doll and the loose? Or maybe the dogs? Or maybe Bam? I’ve been training him to be a terrier hamster in a wheel, you know. Not that that’s any good for my security.”
“Pft. What EVER freak. As if that ugly ball of fluff can do anything. Just to let you know, tomorrow is another school day.”
…Well, no shit, Sherlock.
And don’t be insulting my Bam. Even if he is a ball of fluff which can’t do anything other than run around in circles. Whee! I should try that one day. The life of a hamster, hmm…
“No? Really? I guess I just enjoy dragging my ass up at the crack of dawn.”
“Whatever. I mean, because I’m trying out for the junior varsity cheerleading squad and every impression counts, including…” And here again, she paused to take a painful gulp and contort her face into this ugly grimace. “Family…ugh! YOU need to look somewhat presentable. Well, at least as much as you can.”
“Oh! I clean myself. Well the dog does it for me.”
“….Ew! Do you know how like totally unhygienic that is? Anyway, DO I really need to be any more obvious?”
“…is there more?”
“Is there more??” Here she started spluttering and pretty much hyperventilating.
Quick………
………someone get a paperbag.
No actually, I was kidding. Charisse would rather die than have to breathe into a brown paper bag probably ridden with bug spray (at least according to her that is). But with that in mind, I says, whatever doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger! So bring on the bug-sprayed paper bags.
“Well, is there?”
“I can’t believe you! HELLO. Your non-existent hair! It was the ONLY thing going for you and you just HAD to shave it all off, the night before MY cheer auditions.”
“Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that my bald head would get in the way of your pom poms. Actually it probably could you know, if I happen to bombard your pep rallies and just headbutt you cheerleaders down like bowling pins. But anyway, here’s to making this a monthly ritual!”
Eurgh. Insert screech and stamp of the foot. By her I mean.
“Now leave, you self-centred Barbie reincarnate.”
“At least I have hair!”
“That doesn’t really offend me. Seeing as how I shaved off my hair willingly.”
I scoffed at her and shooed her away with my limp hands. Like you would to an unwanted rat. You know. Shoo. Fly. Yeah, rat didn’t sound so right after the shoo. Maybe we don’t shoo away rats after all.
I noticed though, that before she left, she did leave some wig. Oooh! Horse hair. Don’t we love it.
I just hope that it doesn’t leave a rash.
And even if it does, I think I’ve just found Bam’s source of fibre for the next few months.
Not that I’d actually want to kill my pet terrier hamster in a wheel by force-feeding it fake horse hair.
I’m just saying is all.
“No. It’s fake.”
Hmm, the morning after. Let’s just say my new hair received quite a lot of reception. I feel quite pretty in pink. I mean, let’s face it, this is the first time I’ve received so much attention. Oh, I can feel the love.
My friend – that is, my only friend – Makayla, actually fell to the floor, cracking up over my new do. Its really not my fault that the only wig Charisse had and could find was half of her pink devil costume from 98’s Halloween party. I think I should have some glitter and feathers added to my ensemble.
You know, this morning, Charisse had begged an ‘older male’ friend to come pick her up, rather than take a lift with me, and Mack actually hugged me for the first time since she was born.
Hunh. I think I could get used to this.
I mean, didn’t you hear? Pink’s totally like the new black. Or is…black the new black? Ahh, I wouldn’t know. I mean, do I look the type to keep up with today’s fashion fads?
And just to clarify myself, I’m still not stuck in the 80s era wearing massive man shoulder padded jackets and waist-high stockings. But you know who looked great in the 80s era?
Wentworth Miller.
Oh god. Drool.
Not that I’ve ever dreamt of marrying the thirty-three year old fugitive-boy-genius and then having 2.4 hot-genius-fugitive-emo-babies with him, living in our big house with our genius terrier hamster in a wheel…
Okay, maybe I have. Quite often too.
I tossed an arm around Makayla and asked her how her weekend was.
“Paige. Why do you do this to me? You know I don’t do anything except for walking my fat dog and writing emails to you.”
“Because I never can remember. How’s Choco by the way. Still rolling around?”
“The dog isn’t. The brother is. And you? Went out and partied hard, earning your much deserved slut title?”
“Of course! You know me!”
We looked pointedly at each other and simultaneously said, “Sims 2?” I nodded in dismay and joined Makayla in laughing at our boring weekendly activites.
I smiled at her one last time and as we parted ways, I shouted out “Laters, hip buddy!”
Makayla turned round and mock saluted to me while trying to walk backwards. Sadly, the slight multitasking didn’t work too well for her and she ended up head first in a trash can. Heh.
Ahh, that girl needs to get fatter. At least then, she wouldn’t be able to fit into the bin. Well, she could, but she’d just get stuck.
On second thoughts, don’t start on the burgers, my friend.
I wish I had a name like Makayla or god forbid, even Charisse. I mean, at least they’re somewhat unique. Evidently originality wasn’t really prevalent with my parents when it came to christening their two eldest children. I guess, Charisse’s angelic beauty and aura demanded attention and a cool name to boot. Whereas, I got Paige and my mother’s maiden name tagged as a follow-up. Sweet. Maybe my two names is an indication that I should have like a split personality…or something like that.
“MS PAIGE SCOTT! Wake up!”
“Huh?”
Alright, not to be offensive to the name of the holy father, but I sort of drifted off in religion first period. Despite my countless prayers, Charisse didn’t in fact stay out of my room that night. She made it her duty to come in every so hour, or so I thought, to remind me again to wear the fake horse hair to school.
Doesn’t anyone sleep around here?
“Ahh, glad to see that you could join us on this beautiful morning.”
“Mhhm, very fortunate for you isn’t it? That I bless everyone, and the gods above, with my presence. For myself, can’t say that I’m too happy to be here.”
“I’m sure our janitorial staff would love your company then, hmmm? 3 pm SHARP, Ms Scott!”
“Whatever happened to the simple times when you would just give me a detention slip? Now, it’s janitorial duties? Sadly though, as much as I’d love to watch you shamelessly flirt with my good old pal Phil the Janitor, I can’t. Sorry!... Apparently, the pink hair, which isn’t mine actually, has earned me a month’s trial anger management class and psychiatric treatment.”
“You will follow through with your detention regardless.”
Somehow, she turned a blind ear on my accusations. Hee. Blind ear. I might very well start a revolution here. Of what I’ve yet to officially figure out. Ms-should-be-a-nun actually doesn’t shamelessly flirt with Phil. Unless you call walking past his office at every 5 minute interval, flirting. Maybe it is. For old people. Gross...the old crab and the sweating bald pig together in the janitor’s office. I guess she shouldn’t be a nun after all.
And yes, janitors have their own offices here. See. We’re…advanced. I should tap my nose here. I tap my nose. No more janitorial closets, no sirree. It seems the cleaning staff are held in quite high esteem. See: the fond glassy look in Ms-umm-what’s-her-names’ eyes.
“I’m truly sorry. But my shrink is just dying to meet me.”
I shrugged at her and ever so charmingly grinned back.
SUCK UP! BOOO!
Anyway the shrink part is actually true. My mother has in fact booked me some treatment. The fact that my next meeting is today after school might be a lie.
It’s on Saturday.
Oh well. Who cares about a small technicality? I’m a busy girl. Places to go, people to meet, you know. That is, if Makayla and my home fit under that category.
But, being in religion and all (I swear it must be the air) and being the ever-so-kind human that I am, I decided to spare my teacher’s nerves and decided to listen in on the weekly ‘respect the female anatomy’ lecture. Screw that, more like daily. Sheesh. The feminist movement did happen, you know. Hee. I always listen in History. I should tap my nose here. I tap my nose. Mentally. I’m not some crazy-ass freak, you know. Ha! That’s a lie if I’ve ever told one before.
“I don’t really think it’s a sin to become a prostitute and work in a brothel, I mean, for all we know, it could actually be a very clean and respectable place. And, remember, these women actually are destitute and need money. I say, good for them. They’re selling sex and I mean, they must be pretty self-actualised and confident women to be able to trade their bodies like that.”
Hmm, a large part of my brain thinks I shouldn’t have spoken up. Needless to say, I ignored that large, probably smarter, part of my brain.
“I’m sure you’d know, eh? Guess little Paige here isn’t quite the blushing Virgin Mary.”
Ahhh, but of course I was waiting for this. This refers to a smart ass ‘witty’ comment by non other than Piermont’s obligatory arrogant, rich and psychotic asshole of a ladies man.
This isn’t going to turn into a classic tale of passionate hate turned love, between le freak and le asshole. No. Because said asshole is actually my step brother.
And no, I’m not going to fall in love with my step brother, beyond rational reasoning. Pft. Just clearing that up for those delusional romantics out there.
Not that dreaming about marrying Wentworth is delusional at all. Nope. Not at all.
Shame how my life is just ridden with cliché. Ahhh, such a hard life I lead. I feel pitiful. Not cool.
And yay for my French improving. I now know how to use the article ‘le’. Whee.
“Aww, shucks. My dreams of running away and joining a convent have been hopelessly shattered now that everyone knows of my risk-ay sexual escapades. But shhh! Don’t tell the mother.”
Ha, that should shut him up, at least until the second hand reaches the next minute.
Which should be right about…
Now. Sheesh, that took a while.
Lalala. Yeah, there’s his whiny voice going off again. Miraculously, most of what he says is transferred into noises of impeccably annoying frequencies for my poor already-damaged-ear-drums. Huh. Who would’ve thought? Damn. It’d just be so much easier if his voice wasn’t so annoyingly gay.
What? Who says I’m articulate? It was the only word I could think of. Hee. Gay. Bay. Ray. May. Yay. It’s fun to rhyme. I’m so clever.
“MS SCOTT! Do not speak of our holy mothers like that!”
“Oops. Sorry Miss. Slip of the tongue. I swear.”
Please don’t say, swear on the holy Christ. Please please please.
…Nothing?
Yes!
And I really am a very sexual person, the fact that I’m still a virgin is quite the ongoing mystery, even to this day. I’d actually voluntarily get wasted, just so I can have drunken after-formal sex, mind you.
Ha. Over-share? Yeh, I suppose just a tad bit. Maybe I should get fatter, start smoking and adopt an English accent. I’d be the next Bridget Jones. Without the excess fat or health issues or accent or the horny bastard disguised as my boss or the wit or even the funny personality, for that matter. Just the sexual tendencies.
I’ve never drunk alcohol before. Unless you count some of those parties Makayla and I gate-crashed. So okay, rephrase: I’ve never drunk alcohol to the extent that I’d be able to pass out. There. Sheesh. Technicalities…
Schmecnicalities. Wheee. Can I reiterate how fun it is to rhyme? Hee.
I’m pathetic I know. And I’m not even a good Christian, damnit. I should go to mass. Or better yet, confessions. I think I’d be there all night. On second thoughts, I’ll pass thanks. Religion, four times a week is enough good-Christian-ness.
As the long day finally came to an end, I could do nothing but skip down the hall (whilst holding onto my fake horse hair before it falls off of my shiny bald head and consequently choking the poor freshman behind me) and laugh giddily as I saluted to Phil the Janitor.
“Bye Phil! Love the new paint job for the girl’s toilets. The orange is very…soothing.”
“GAH! Hey Phil yourself, skinny pink freak girl. Stupid kids! I hate this school!”
“Ahh, so do I, old friend.”
Hmm, yes, as you can tell, Phil and I? We go way back. We’re tight, I tell you. Solid. Ms-religion-teacher should be jealous.
As I slowly made my way to my convertible, I decided I’d make a detour at the ice cream parlor and get my pixie sticks sugar fix. Wheee. I think I should buy the rainbow pixie-dixie-extra-long-stick today.
Mhmm. Which reminds me. Must stock up on emergency sugar packets.
That is, sugar packets from the McCafe down the street.
Remind self to go to McCafe and deftly steal sugar. Because I’m…baddd.
Also should buy a sundae. With hot fudge. And demand sprinkles. If not. Sugar will do. Quite hungry. Had to give Makayla half of lunch.
Oooh. Great excuse to get more emergency sugar. Car is running low of packets in cup holder.
Should water my car lily pot plant. Looks…wilted and frail. Like fake horse hair. Damn Charisse.
Maybe I should just go get my damned pixie sticks.
In all honesty, I’ve been meaning to start this a long time ago, but then something happened (most likely me going through another sappy romance phase) and TLE started.
sigh
Alright. Hope people like this :) I think this is going to be my most ahem dramatic and somewhat humorous piece. Hum.
-mwa, xo funky peaches