Only Pretend
Authors: Nora Flite
Only Pretend
by Nora Flite
Of what was to come:
-An unfortunate peek into my future-
––––––––
A
single step from him, moving my way, made my hairs prickle. "Why would you do this?"
"Take a guess." Another step, his lips coiling at one edge.
"Don't come near me, stay back!"
His laugh, wild and carefree, curdled my insides. "Oh? You're trying to command
me?
Tsk, you really don't know what's going on, do you?" His advance didn't slow; in moments, he would be upon me.
I need to do something!
Shooting a glance to my side, I spotted one of the tall lights on its stand. It was the sort you'd find in any photography studio, a thing that reminded me uneasily of family portraits, now being used to film of me in lewd poses.
Don't think, Celeste, just move!
Leonide reached for me just as I swung my arm out. I caught the stand, managed to knock it at him. It wasn't a subtle move; he dodged it smoothly, glass shattering on the floor. We both stared at the shards, at what I had done. As he rolled his glare back to me, I knew I should have tried to run.
It was far too late.
Celeste
––––––––
S
tiff muscles, knots so solid they could have been marbles rolling up my arm. All around me was the ever present weight of grease, the smell penetrating my nostrils—hell, even my pores. It was an uncomfortable existence; one I had grown used to.
But it didn't matter.
Right then, gaping at my boyfriend as he fidgeted and fretted, it didn't matter one bit.
"What?" My tongue touched my lower lip, reminded the cracked skin it needed moisture. "Are you firing me or are you breaking up with me? Which is it, Jones?"
He slid a sticky hand over his skull. "Both. It's both."
"Both." The word sounded meaningless. Maybe, if I kept repeating it, it'd lose all impact and none of this—how could this be happening? "I don't... why?" Finally, I let my arm holding the spatula fall. I'd been flipping burgers on Jones' food truck all afternoon. "What did I do
wrong?
"
"Shit. Celeste, don't ask me that."
"But I don't get why you'd do this so suddenly!"
His eyebrows darted low, wrinkling his forehead. "Celeste, come on. This isn't really sudden. Not if you think about it."
I was already crawling through my brain, trying to put the pieces together. Sure, Jones and I hadn't had the
best
relationship, but to end it right now—right now!—after everything we'd been through?
Gently, I set the spatula beside the griddle. "Tell me where I messed up. Give me a chance—"
"Celeste."
"Give me a chance to fix it!" Had I just screamed at him? Standing in that tiny truck, facing down my boyfriend—I guess my ex, now—I felt like the walls were shrinking.
Jones was a skinny guy. Sliding off his stained apron just made him look even more pinched. I could see him breathe in,
saw
him gathering himself to speak. There wasn't much sadness in his brown eyes. "You can't fix who you are."
Can't fix who I am?
I thought frantically, digested his comment.
He buried his thumbs in his jean pockets. "Celeste. You're just... boring."
I needed air so, so desperately. "Boring?" I held onto the wall.
"We haven't meshed for some time. I'm sorry, but even the things you
could
maybe fix? Like, your cooking skills, your work ethic?" Listening to him rattle off the list was torture. "Hell," he added, laughing sourly, "even this morning you were late. I saw you sleeping when I left to get the truck ready! Sleeping at ten, just... come on."
Was the wetness on my cheeks sweat, or tears? "Jones." His name was familiar on my lips. After three years, it had to be. "This isn't right. What am I supposed to do if you break up with me?"
"It's already done." Turning away, he avoided my pleading eyes. "Don't try to argue me out of this. Please."
Stepping forward was difficult. My legs had never been heavier. When I reached out for his shoulder, he ducked away.
He doesn't even want me to touch him.
The fact stung so fucking hard.
All this time, and he won't let me near him.
How had it all gone so wrong? It was true, we'd been a little off for sometime, but that was normal!
Wasn't that normal?
Routine had settled in. We spent all of our time together, though lately, I
had
been staying up later than him... and I
had
been the one dodging his attempts at starting up sex, but I was just so tired.
This was what life just was.
That was all.
Brushing back my strands of mousy brown hair in my loose bun, I hovered by the truck's door. Though Jones was a mere two feet away, it felt like a fucking mile. "I guess I'll just get my stuff from the apartment, then. I don't know who I'll—I don't really have anyone to stay with, you know that."
"I'll transfer some money for a motel into your account," he mumbled. "After that, you're on your own."
On my own,
I thought sullenly. If I was honest with myself...
I'd felt on my own for a long time.
****
I
t didn't take much work to grab my things. Living together for several years, I'd still accumulated so little. I'd never been good about buying myself anything, and Jones had been sparse in his generosity.
He was crazy, maybe going through some stress. It was making his brain weird.
That
had
to be the reason he'd broken up with me!
With a bag of clothes and some basics, I slid into my car and just... stared. The last time I'd packed up and driven any distance, it had been to move across California from Bakersfield to LA to be with my boyfriend—ex, my ex.
My ex for now.
It was too hard to believe this couldn't be mended.
Glancing at myself in the mirror, noting my bland brunette hair, weighed down by grime and stress, I recalled his words.
Boring. He said I was boring.
Was I? It was true, I wasn't exactly the most spontaneous person.
But that shouldn't matter!
Convincing myself was a failed exercise.
In my brain, Jones' words were crawling through.
Boring boring boring.
He thought I was boring.
Inhaling until my ribs hurt, I turned my keys and started the car.
He'd said I couldn't fix who I was.
I had every intention to show him otherwise.
The salon was more than happy to help me when I brushed through their door. The bell above, jingling my entry, was poignant. The girls sat me down, fluffed my long-overdue-for-a-cut-hair, clicked their tongues.
"How do you want it done?" The one who asked was a voluptuous thing, lips glossy and red as berries. Lifting my chin, I pointed right at her long, shiny locks of blonde. She smiled wide. "Oh, honey. You've made my day."
I'd never colored my hair. Not once in my life. Simple, no-trouble brown was just what I'd been gifted with. I kept it tied back for working on Jones' food truck. It had never seemed important to bother with.
But, now...
I am not boring,
I told myself silently. And, hours later with my new, shoulder length waves of golden blonde, I almost started to believe it. As the girls did my nails, pampered me, I kept gawking at myself in the mirrors.
Celeste—the girl who slept too late and didn't excite her boyfriend—she no longer looked back at me. It was odd, I was out of my own skin.
And... and I honestly liked it.
I felt
powerful.
I felt beautiful and sexy and amazing, all in one big tangle.
Why had I never done this before?
I left the salon to the fanfare of the girls, my heart starting to swell and tingle.
How funny.
Adjusting my mirror, I felt my silky hair.
Could it really be so simple? Is this enough to change me, to fix me and make me interesting?
Stroking my head, the sharp spikes of resent began to poke.
He said I was boring... but he also said I was bad at my job.
There was
no way
that was true.
I froze, fingering my hair absently.
He's wrong about me. I'm not boring or lazy or... or any of that. Jones is wrong about me.
In my own reflection, I watched the bitterness sink into my pale blue eyes. The time away from the event was letting me pick over his comments.
He actually called me boring.
What kind of an asshole would do that? Especially to me, the girl who had uprooted, come all the way out here to work on his dumb fucking
food truck
to help get
his
dream off the ground! The first year, I'd labored for him for free.
For free!
When I pushed on the pedal of my car, the engine growled. Perhaps the Celeste of hours ago would simper and whimper and argue for the right to date someone who dared to call her
boring
...
But the Celeste of now, blonde hair flying in the wind?
I'll show him what it means to be spontaneous.
I knew exactly where to go to embrace such a wild concept.
It was after five on a Friday evening. If I left now...
I'd arrive in Vegas just when things would be heating up.
****
T
rue to his word, my ex had dropped enough money into my account for me to afford a cheap motel for a few nights. As I dragged my bags through the giant, arching walls of Caesar's Palace, I wondered if it would be enough to get me a room there.
Hoisting my suitcase to the counter, I rocked on my heels, eyed the crowd.
I should have changed before coming here. I look like a giant mess in jeans and a tanktop.
Shaking my head, I scurried towards the beckoning clerk.
He was small, perhaps my height or even the same age. The look of a baby-faced college kid in a too-slick dark jacket, for sure. "Hello there," he crowed sweetly. "How may I help you?"
"Um, hey. I was hoping to get a room for tonight."
Please don't be too expensive!
Nodding quickly, the man began tapping at his computer. "Certainly. Just for tonight?"
"Yeah, just tonight."
"Queen or king?"
"Er—queen."
His chin kept bobbing. "We have a non-smoking available, only three-hundred for the evening."
My heart dove into my belly, happy to stay there. "Sorry, did you say three-hundred?"
"Correct, ma’am. Is that a problem?"
It's an expensive problem. It's five nights in a cheap motel levels of problem.
"Nothing cheaper?"
"I'm afraid not. Perhaps you should check another hotel if our rates don't sound fair."
Biting the side of my tongue, I fought down a groan. "It's not that. Let me just, you know, go make a call and see what I can do."
No phone call will help that cost, ugh.
"Um, could you point me to a restroom, please?"
Following his gesture, I pulled my rolling case along the floor. Weaving through throngs of people, I was relieved to enter the quiet, beautiful bathroom off of the lobby.
Hell, this is nicer than my apartment.
I had to stop thinking about it as
my
apartment. For now, at least.
Bending over the sink, I stared at myself and tried to think. My skin was pale, eyes tired and sunken. I had to admit, my hair looked fantastic, but the rest of me didn't match.
I wanted to get a room, clean up, and then try and actually have some fun for once. Do the things I never got to, be wild or... or something.
It wasn't as if anyone could tell me not to get crazy and be spontaneous. No boyfriend, no close friends, no family. The only one holding me back was...
My foot hit my suitcase. Startled, I peered at it, an idea floating up.
Right. No one is stopping me from enjoying myself but me.
Setting my jaw, I pulled the case into a stall. The zipper was loud, grinding through the air.
Tugging my shirt away, I unclasped my boring white bra. In the yellow light of the restroom, my nipples were darker than usual. I'd always wanted smaller breasts, been ashamed of how high mine sat. It made it impossible to wear certain cuts of lingerie, not that I'd bothered trying in the recent years.
I blamed puberty, originally. Thought maybe my chest would stop swelling and start looking more like the girls in fashion magazines. Would keep my parents from acting like I was behaving inappropriately just by existing. Now, at age twenty-two, they were the plumpest they'd ever been.
I was ashamed of them, such an awkward teen.
