Page 4 of Wanted

Casting a nervous glance over my shoulder, I peek at my closed door.

My mother is bound to check on me at any moment.

It feels like I’ve been at this for hours.

Arm growing tired, I turn back to my mirror and make two more attempts to get my hair right before I hear the sharp snap of my mother’s heels on the marble stairs.

A soft cry flying out of my mouth, I move closer to the mirror and jab my chest into the edge of the vanity. Hoping it will help me.

Please God, I silently beg, give me the power to do this.

I’m a good girl, I swear.

I smooth out the bump in the middle again, then toss my brush down. Grabbing a dark elastic, I wrap and twist it around my ponytail. Securing it in place just as my bedroom door opens.

“Alena,” my mother hisses behind me, “what on earth is taking you so long?”

Our eyes meet in the mirror, perfect reflections of each other.

Until hers narrow with anger.

My heart drops into my stomach and my tears threaten to spill over.

But I know if I start crying it will only make things worse.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I will my tears back.

Stepping into my bedroom, my mother slams the door shut behind her. “What have you done to your hair?”

Forcing my mouth to stretch into a smile, I spin around, purposely making my white dress twirl and flap around my legs.

“I did my hair, Mother, so you don’t have to. Isn’t it pretty?” I ask, hoping she sees my efforts as a good deed.

She’s always complaining I make too much work for her. That life was easier and better before I was born.

And punishing me for it.

I do my best to take care of myself. I’ve learned how to make my own food and always clean up my messes.

I even clean up after her.

But it’s never good enough.

I’m dumb and don’t know anything. Even after she shows me. Even when I check what I do a million times to make sure it’s perfect.

No matter how hard I try or what I do, I mess it up somehow.

My mother looks pointedly at my hair, then drags her angry gaze down my body. Lingering on my white lace dress.

The white lace dress my daddy bought me for my second Judging.

We spent all day picking it out. Going from shop to shop. Trying every white dress we could find on.

It was the best day of my life.

An entire day being hopelessly spoiled, as my daddy put it with a twinkle in his eye.

An entire day without Mother.

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