A Different Form of Beauty

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Here is:

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Chapter 6: The Aftermath
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The feeling didn’t go away all through the summer. And I met my second inert best friend. Bennit. Also known as bathtub. Spent most of my summer holls in there. My surprise nearly took my breath away when J stormed through the door and dragged me out. She wouldn’t let me say ‘goodbye’ to Bennit and Fred.

I was dragged to the bestest café in town: it was nice and quiet and none of the ‘cool’ guys ever went there, so yes, it was the quiet paradise on earth. No annoying people who yell and scream and do not know the definition of ‘I would please like to enjoy my coffee’. There was nice cheese cake and hot chocolate. The best. As in, the Best of the Best. Nothing topped that place, nothing and nowhere. And the best of the best (I know, I repeat that a lot) of this time was that J paid for me. Food, nor matter from where, always tastes better when you don’t pay for it yourself. J knew I thought that, and therefore gave me a seven-euro-limit. Dang.

But that day was ‘special’. She gave me a twenty-euro-span of pastry. Not counting the amount of hot chocolate I was practically robbing from her. She could beat me up later, when I ate and cried my heart out.

Which was approximately three hours later. J dragged me back home, informing my parents that she would ‘take care’ of my ‘mental state’, an excuse they never questioned. Why, I can never fathom, and I feel like I do not wish to know. And while I strayed with these thoughts, I barely noticed how she threw me on the couch and towered over me. When I did realize it (I had bumped my knee against the table) I was ready to piss on myself.

She sat in front of me, on the sofa-seat, her fingertips drumming in front of her nose. I hate it when she does that. It makes me tell her the truth. It’s funny when you see her use it on other people, like P, cos they break down. But I didn’t want to break down. I didn’t, I couldn’t, I wouldn’t.

I thought. Because I found myself weeping my heart out not so soon afterwards. And here was how we started to talk bout the worst time of my life.

I told her everything.

The horror I had to endure, the torture and monstrosity I was faced with, the indescribable disgust I had to carry in my belly for weeks, and I still feel the revolting sensation.

I told her of the stomach-churning feeling I got when I saw the ribs, the mounds that marked her torso like the Himalayas in Tibet. When P turned around to ‘show herself off’, which is I believe an attempt of seduction, I not only had the view of the cage, but also her spine and shoulder blades. I suppose that seeing ribs and hipbones and spines is supposed to be attractive nowadays – or maybe in the last few decades – but I couldn’t help but feel like committing a deadly sin, despite my not being a Christian, or monotheist. It was like trying to lust after a dying anorexic chicken.

And just about as bad was the feeling when she turned around; I saw her cheekbones – not like there was anything else – and the collar bone was jutting out. The shoulders and elbows looked like they were about to pop out, the same could be commented for hipbones and knees. She needed lotion. Her ankles were there. Trying to free themselves from the thin layer of skin, I believe.

As I talked, J’s eyes softened. I calmed down, and the words flew through my mouth. I ran my fingers, my tongue moving by itself, on my arms. On my hips. On my torso. They hurt where the bitch pressed her stony knees too hard. The bitch left big bruises.


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We will not feature any hollymood/disney-ending.
Humans aren't good or bad.
Humans are somplex animals, complex creatures, vulnerable beings.
We will feature all characters in all their possible aspects.
Thank you.