Page 11 of Aftershock

“He’s…” I trailed off while attempting to think of the right word and, admittedly, trying to stall for just a bit longer. “Protective.”

“Very,” she stated. “But you’re not changing the subject that easily. What the hell is your problem with autumn?”

There were so many reasons I couldn’t stand this stupid season.

I was diagnosed with depression in autumn. When I was sixteen, my mother forced me to talk to a therapist. My grades dropped, I wasn’t eating, I shut out all of my friends, I began self-harming…everything in my life just felt empty. I had lost my purpose. After my mom saw the marks on my wrists, she cried for hours, and I cried for years.

Autumn was also when my mom and I were evicted after we couldn’t pay rent. Not many people talked about how hard it was to be raised in a single-parent household. It was more common to hear the parent talk about it, but never the kid. I couldn’t figure out if it was because of some kind of naive mindset or if kids just feared being different, but it fucking sucked at school and it felt so lonely. It’s almost like we all thought we’d be shamed for having one less adult in our lives. After losing the house, we had to move in with my aunt for a few months.

The icing on the cake was the fact that my dad abandoned us in autumn too. Not only did he pack his bags and disappear from our lives during autumn, but it was also the season he died in.

And the most important thing I hated about autumn was how cold it always seemed to get. There was no reason for it to be twenty degrees outside when there wasn’t any snow on the ground.

Even though it pained me to admit, I was a lot like this season that I wholeheartedly despised—both cold and slowly withering. In the end, I think that I just needed an excuse to hate myself.

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “Maybe I just want something to hate instead of hating myself.”

“I know it might not mean much, but autumn is my favorite season, so stop talking shit about it,” she laughed.

“No promises.”

Lexi offered a sad smile in response. “Oh, come on. There has to be something you like about autumn.”

“Nope.”

“Fine,” she relented. “Then what do you like about yourself? Tell me about you.”

“Hi, my name is Autumn, and welcome to my TED talk,” I waved. “I like true crime, music is my therapy, and I’m good at crossword puzzles.”

Lexi huffed. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Hey, look at that! You managed to figure out the one thing I like about myself. Crazy runs in the family, Lexi.” She rolled her eyes and glared at me. Shrugging at her, I crossed my arms. “That’s all you’re going to get. There’s not much I enjoy about myself.”

“Well, sadly, you are entitled to your wrong opinion.” I scoffed at her boldness. “But I like you, Autumn Blake…so hopefully that counts for something.”

Self-Love

She likes me.

Lexi Harlow liked me, and yet I still couldn't manage to like myself. She thought I was a good person, yet I failed to see what she saw. But who's to say she even meant what she said? She could have just been trying to be polite in order to spare my feelings.

“Do you want to continue with questions?” I asked, not knowing how to continue a conversation filled with such positivity. I was never good at receiving compliments, especially when I never believed them myself.

“Well, I actually have a meeting I should be getting to.” Lexi flipped over her arm and looked at the invisible watch on her wrist.

“Pfft, oh yeah, right,” I played along. “You should get going then.”

“No, it’s fine. I’d rather stay here and talk to you anyway.”

“Yeah, it’s totally not because you can’t leave the room.”

“No, that’s definitely not it.” She winked before continuing, “What is my second studio album?”

“Lame. I gave you the idea for this question. Your second album is called Resilient.”

Lexi hummed in approval. Licking her lips, she furrowed her eyebrows and looked down as though she were debating something. She then admitted, “Believe it or not, when I wrote that album, I actually didn’t like myself much as a person either. It kind of proved to be therapeutic, though, because it helped a lot with my confidence.”

Personally, I'd always thought Lexi was beautiful. She sat next to me with her hair falling slightly below her shoulders, wearing a black loose-fitting T-shirt with holes strategically poked on the shoulders and along the rib cage. Silver chains stitched the torn fabric together. Her slightly faded leggings were paired with black platform boots that laced up on the sides. She was wearing the simplest outfit, but somehow she managed to make it look stunning. Lexi had always been known for her bright blue eyes, which contrasted perfectly with her dark hair. Her skin was naturally pale, which was a shocker, seeing as how most of the celebrities in Hollywood seemed to lean more toward borderline blackface. Lexi never sought out color by getting spray tans or using makeup that was a shade too dark. She was the kind of person who always seemed to embrace her normal complexion. Throughout my lifetime, skin color was something that I had been hyper-aware of, and for reasons I didn’t understand, society had branded being artificially tan as the ideal standard. As for natural melanin, though, that had always been seen as an inferiority complex. While sitting across from Lexi, I couldn't help but compare our two different shades and wondered if she also saw me as inferior because of my darker complexion. Skin color was something I often thought about whenever I saw someone lighter than myself and I knew the struggle of being treated differently. I couldn’t sit here and say that my life was filled with a shit ton of racism and inequality because being mixed-race came with its own set of privileges, but regardless, I was never treated equally. I always admired that Lexi didn’t try to adhere to societal expectations, but I guess that didn’t mean she was free from any of the pressure. This just goes to show that the idea of “perfect” wasn't a one-size-fits-all solution. You could believe with all your heart that someone was the most attractive person in the world, yet that same person wouldn’t see themselves in the same light.

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