Paradise

XI

Sadness is hating your only friend because she's prettier then you.

Paradise spent three days hanging out with, having fun with, and talking to Esther, loving the idea of having a pretty friend like her.
They chatted over everything and nothing all at once. They exchanged phone numbers, well, Esther gave Paradise a phone to use and had her number pre loaded on the devise.

The front door opened, and in sauntered Parker's good friend, Zach.

"Hey Arrie, you feelin' any better?" he asked, placing a hand on her forhead, seemingly checking her temperature.

"I'm fine" a lie, leaves her lips. "Well it's been three days, won't your dad be worried?" he asked, but he knew Raymond. And Raymond was an angry drunken junkie liar as well as a horrible father.
"Yes, i really should get going." Paradise lied, she seemed to do that alot lately.

Zach was tempted to ask Esther to wipe Paradise's memory of her father and the abuse and the fear and the pain.

Zach was tempted to take her to her true home.

The one that lied with Parker, a man who would protect her with his own life.

But Zach was never one to fall into temptation.

And Zach never did anything to a girl without her consent.

Because Zach was a gentleman.

Esther, on the other hand, was not.

But Esther's plans would have to wait.

And so the three piled into Zach's Veggie Van, and Zach drove to Paradise's house that was so far from her own name, She could call it hell.

Paradise approached the wooden door slowly, knocking on the door. It creaked open slowly, and she raised an eyebrow. "Dad?" she called out, walking into the house, her stomach doing somersaults out of nervousness. "Hello?" she called out, entering the small kitchen, passing the dent from her head on the floor, stepping over broken bottles and searching for any sign of life, or her father. Giving up, she stalked to her small room, laying down on her unspeakably stained bed.
She looked over to her cracked, tarnished mirror. She smiled, pretending to be happy.
Her smile fell as she realised how ugly she looked.

In reality, she was gorgeous, a bit thin and had some dark circles, but gorgeous none the less.

She felt contempt in her heart for the pretty red headed girl whom had shown her nothing but kindess.

Why couldn't paradise look more like her?

Because Paradise was gorgeous the way she was.

Why couldn't Paradise see her own beauty?

Because, dear reader, as I said before,
She was only the ellaborate ruse of large shirts and baggy pants and long sleeves rubbing against new cuts and playing with sickly looking greenish mashed potatoes and lying on the cold, dirty, cracked linoleum floor in a puddle of her own tears. And angry red slashes on wrists, and the sadness that was held in each of the purple bruises that littered her perfectly imperfect face and icey blue eyes that reminded a certain boy of frozen lakes and clear skies, and dark circles under those eyes that were cold, but not hateful, with words that were a symphony of melody and beautiful harmony.

The girl who's father was an angry drunken junkie liar, and though he was a terrible father and a horrible human being, Paradise was a daddy's girl.

She was just a depressed, stressed, hot mess, who enjoyed the burn of alcohol in her throat and the feeling of numbness that came with it.

Because, don't you see?

She was skin and bones and cuts and burns and bruises and hatred and jealousy and sadness and wanting yo be the one thing she already was, but didn't know. Perfect.