𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍 彡 [e. munson] [✔]

─ 𝐭𝐞𝐧.

*ೃ༄𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐍 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓

Once upon a time, there was a baby girl born to two loving parents—one of them a wannabe model, attempting to get signed by an agency and dragged all the way to California for her natural beauty in order to appear on the cover of magazines and never have to worry about money for as long as she lived out her golden years. The previously mentioned baby's other parent was considered a wayward fella with too many vices like art, alcohol, and a constant need for attention. He—in many aspects—was a child himself. He had never intended to mentally mature no matter how much that frustrated his beautiful blonde wife. An artist is what he prided himself on being called and an artist he was with the many paintings he commissioned on his own.

The young man believed in himself and his dreams of being recognized by art critics around the country, but with each occasion that his artwork was shunned by masterful painters, he told himself that they just needed time to understand his art. The eccentric young guy lied to himself without realizing it. In actuality, no one cared for his art. The concept of art, in general, was a fickle and subjective thing, but for some reason deep down this man felt that one day—one lucky day—he would be the next big artistic extraordinaire who would wow the world with skills unknown to everyone. Through all this daydreaming, he never once took notice of just how unhappy his wife was due to all these delusions.

The hilarious and charming jokester she'd met by Lovers Lake during that one warm July evening no longer held the same demeanors. Instead, he became stupidly optimistic, failing to see that his dreams of being an artist were on the road to nowhere. Then again, his wife was no different in that regard. She just didn't bother to be self-aware enough to see her flaws. Those wishes of modeling for Playboy out in California were becoming more and more distant with each passing day. Multiple of her headshots were rejected by multiple companies for reasons that were never disclosed. But the real reason remained as such: the blonde girl never had that "oomph" that modeling agencies looked for.

Her washed-out blue eyes seemed distant with a lack of feeling behind them—her eyes were dull to keep it brief. Then came her perfectly aligned teeth which had been corrected by braces during her younger years—those were nothing special either. Her hair was honey blonde with the occasional, natural streak of light brown—ordinary at best. Her cheeks were much too round especially compared to the rest of her features. And her button nose never seemed to impress anyone who wanted to hire her for photoshoots.

Modeling, just like art, was subjective and rejection stung the blonde girl's heart each and every time. And thus the culmination of her failing goals matched with a rather one-sided marriage forced her to her breaking point. Most nights at the May household ended with crying, screaming, and profanities being hurled left and right. And the couple's little girl was forced to be subjected to these nightly, audibly traumatic occurrences. Holed up in her room oftentimes with a pillow encased around her head, the little brunette shut her eyes and dreamt of a life in which her parents weren't on bad terms with each other. She wished for her mother to achieve her goals and she wished the exact same for her father. She wished to have two famous parents who would buy themselves a mansion in California amongst all the other stars. She wished the world wouldn't have to be so fucking cruel as to rip apart the only two people who gave her life. But the universe didn't listen—it didn't care because one day Pamela Dunlap walked out the front door and never looked back.