Bygones

nº2. the bottled blonde

Her heart ached. The Bottled Blonde was the girl everyone wanted to be with. Girl or guy, she was the villain in everyone's story. . . even her own. Her bright, big eyes were inherited by her mother, the stay at home kind. Those legs weren't long, or naturally tanned, she wore heels to make them appear thinner and had numerous spray tans to get the perfect sun kissed glow. The Bottled Blonde had tried so hard to be what everyone else wanted she had forgotten what she really was. That is until The Boy came along.

He was pretty, he was smart and he wasn't as damaged as she was. They would make the perfect couple and everyone would finally envy her for something other than looks. He was a soccer player, he liked girls like her. The Bottled Blonde had even thought he liked her, she thought they were meant to be, but when she'd brought it up to him, he scoffed and shut her down. After that when she tried talking to him, she became known as "clingy" and "whorish" and "attention seeking". Of course she liked the attention, of course she liked feeling like she was on top of the world ; But he made her feel like all this was bad.

The Girl came along, looking perfectly imperfect, wearing her flaws on her sleeve, never once flinching away from the rude comments thrown at her by The Bottled Blonde. And though the Bottled Blonde's biggest fear was others' opinions, she was throwing her useless opinions and insecurities at The Girl because she got The Boy by being herself, and never cowering away from her truth. Being exactly who The Bottled Blonde wanted to be. The Girl may have been a wallflower of some sorts, she may be an average girl, but at least she was true and she was real and thats what made The Bottled Blonde hate her so much. Not because she got what she wanted, but because she didn't care if she had it or not. Because The Girl was strong enough to live without The Boy, but The Bottled Blonde was too weak to even live with herself.

The Bottled Blonde looked at herself in the mirror, the $70 Giorgio Armani foundation rubbing off and her perfectly done eyebrows furrowing in distain. Why did she have to be the villain? Why did boys only want her body? Was her personality that dreadful that she had been limited to a quick fuck in the janitors closet or a good blow in the all genders bathroom?

With mascara running down her face she remembered how The Boy laughed in it and when the girl gave her a grimace when she tried to talk to him, when they both called her a Dirty Slut and brought her to the conclusion that all she would ever be was the girl with the fake blonde hair, fake tan, fake eyelashes and a body only good for pleasing a male.

"Oh honey," Her mother walked him, sighing as she did. The women gave The Bottled Blonde a sad look and touched her hair, "You look awful." The Bottled Blonde choked back a sob as her mother inspected the top of her head. "I guess its time to bleach your hair again, that dreadful orange is starting to show." The trophy wife was referring to the natural colour of The Bottled Blondes, hair. Orange, but not pretty strawberry blonde like most girls, a dreadful stringy orange that made her mother cringe. "And your tan is fading. Ugh, how long has it been since you've gone?" Her mother continues to accuse her of not taking care of her looks while wiping off her mascara and reapplying it for her. "Now come on, I'll make an appointment with your aesthetician after diner. Your brother's home from school and he's got a bunch to tell us." At the mention of her brother she swallows another sob, nodding faking another smile and holding back some more tears.

The Bottled Blonde was the extra in the family. Barely even good enough to be the looks of it, she was the dumb one, the one they expected to marry rich. She had always been the fall back plan, always number two, and when she had hoped to be The Boys number one, her dreams were shattered once again.

She is our second Bygone.