She had always possessed a kind of beauty that hurt.

Sure it was perfection, but it was a cold one, one that would whisper about the endless hours spent in front of mirrors to create it.

Her beauty also never quite reached her eyes. As long as I can remember, I don't think I've ever seen her smile right.

She wasn't a mean or a cruel person, at least there were no signs of it in her action or how she talked with me or my sister but deep inside we both could feel something about her was wrong.

Something about the way about her hugs were more a show than a real sign of affection or the way she would always back away if our small hands would come in danger to mess up her hair or her dress felt fake.

She would always smile at us but it was an odd way of smiling merely a tugging of the corner of her mouth never quite reaching her gray eyes so unlike to the way our father smiled at us.

In someways I think I was afraid of that smile.

It was a mask, one of perfect and flawless beauty, but a mask none the less and the only thing of her true self showing were her eyes.

I don't know when I first noticed what the masc was really hiding.

It maybe was on a summer day, a hot day with a blue cloudless sky and me and my sister playing in the garden behind our house.

We were playing with a ball, I can remember that much, and somehow my sister, barley four years at that point, throw it into the only open window of my parents bedroom.

I could hear the sound of something breaking and childish fear and images of being scolded for not watching my sister shot through me.

Leaving my sister alone in the garden, weeping and hugging her own knees, I climbed through the window.

I'm not sure what I tried to accomplish with that today, I only remember pictures of the disappointed look my father would give me and the way my mother's eyes would twist into something ugly while the rest of her face would stay completely emotionless.

The room was dark and maybe I was surprised by that but I had more important things in my mind.

Slowly I made my way through the room, carefully not to step on any of the shards that were shattered around it.

I can remember how my breath was growing quicker with every step into the room. I only had entered it once, long before when my sister wasn't even born and my father had been on one of his long journeys he often had to do for his work.

It was the bedroom of my parents, but in reality it was that of my mother.

I had stepped into the room, curiously staring at the various objects my mother had on her dressing table, but too afraid to actually touch any of them.
My eyes then had been draw to the one object in the room that didn't seemed to fit in.

It was a chest, standing next to the wardrobe, almost hidden in the shadows. It was ugly and that was why I couldn't stopped staring at it.

A deep red color, the same my mother used for her lips, with the faces of people painted on it, faces twisted as if they were in unthinkable agony, their pain captured as if to warn anybody to ever open the chest.

I wanted to open it, something inside of me desperately wanted to know what was inside of the chest, why my mother, so focused on beauty, would keep such an ugly thing.

Slowly I had reached for the chest.

But before I could even touch it, I heard a voice.

Turning around I could see my mother standing behind me.

She was looking at me and her eyes suddenly changed, became dark and holes, as if they were black-painted doors leading to a cruel and evil place and quickly I had jumped to my feet and had started running, trying to get away, from the room, the chest, her, but she had grabbed my arm.

''Don't ever go into my room again.'' she said. ''Ever.'' and her voice was like always, without any hint of anger, but her grip was painfully, her fingernails boring into my arms and I couldn't hold the tears, some out of pain the others because of fear, back.

''Oh, you don't have to cry.'' She let go of my hand, almost to sudden, like she had remembered something when she had seen the tears running over my face.

She bent down to me and hugged me, and beside the fact that I still remember her eyes and could almost see what lied behind them I hugged back.

She stroked through my hair, tried to make it a calming gesture, but instead I was tensing.

Her hand was cold, cold like porcelain, and she was holding me in a way, that kept my face and my tears from touching her dress.

It was unreal, like the hug of a doll.

''Don't worry.'' she said. Her voice was coming from far away and when I looked up I could see that she was staring at the wall, her eyes slightly unfocused.

''Don't worry.'' she repeated and I noticed how shallow and empty the words sounded, like text spoken from an actor without any real feeling behind it.

As if she noticed it she quickly added ''Mommy loves you.'' I had closed my eyes and had let go of her, turning around and leaving the room, not looking back.

Even then I had known it was a lie.

I had stopped in the middle of the room, almost overwhelmed by my own memories and now I shook my head, trying to will them away, back into a darker and deeper part of my mind.

She thinks you're an idiot, a voice whispered. I tried to ignore it, started walking again, trying to find the ball and the broken object.

She thinks you're some kind of know-nothing imbecile, the voice continued. Thinks that you wouldn't notice the lie. Thinks that you're too afraid.

I stopped again. I was afraid, wasn't I?

I haven't gone back into the room, not after that day and I had tried to avoid thinking about the chest.

But now I was back. I turned around, away from the sherds and turned to the wardrobe.

Open the chest, the voice said. Open it and see what's inside of it.

But she will be angry, another voice mumbled. She will be so angry and I shuddered slightly when I imagined just how angry she would be.

Maybe the mask will break, the other voice whispered and I didn't thought that it was an odd thing to say.

Maybe it will break and then you'll see what's behind. I didn't know anymore which of the voices was talking I just know that I was walking towards the chest.

Don't ever go into my room again.

I could hear my mother voices and I stopped abruptly.

Ever.

And then as an afterthought.

Mommy loves you.

Like it was some kind of deal. Be a good boy and mommy loves you.

And suddenly I became angry. Quickly I crossed the room, kneeling in front of the chest before I even noticed it.

My heart was pounding and my mother was repeating the same sentences.

Mommy loves you.

The lie repeated itself over and over, but know I could hear the truth behind it.

Mommy thinks you're an idiot. Mommy thinks you're stupid enough to believe her.

Mommy knows that you're too afraid.

And I opened the chest.

She really thought I couldn't, wouldn't, do it. As if I were some sort of know-nothing imbecile.

Or too afraid of her.
I don't know. I can't remember right. I just know that I opened the chest.

And that I suddenly know why she never smiled right.

Her beauty had always possessed something that hurt.