Pinky had just turned sixteen the week before, and hadn't had a big party. Just a few friends, some drinks, and a hotel room. They had begged and flirted for almost and hour at the front desk to get some drinks, the man finally giving in to Pinky, the hair and all. It had been seriously fun. They had discovered a pool on the roof of the hotel, and Pinky, her best friend Mallory, and her three best guy friends, had stripped down to nude, and jumped in the freezing water, drunk and all. The people staying at the hotel had called the front desk, complaining, but the guy who had given them drinks let Pinky and her friends off the hook, saying, "every girl has to have a little fun now and then." It was perfect and exciting and Pinky hadn't even had a hangover the next day.
So now she was really sixteen, with a red corvette, a winning smile, and clear skin. And a new job. She had wanted to work at Freeze Frame, the ice cream shop, since she was ten. She was friendly with everyone there, since she was a frequent customer. So, she needed a little extra money this summer If she wanted to get to Europe, and figured that she could work at Freeze Frame, just for awhile. Pinky's friend Caitlin had gotten her the job, telling all of the employees who weren't familiar with Pinky that she was just fabulous. She always managed to find connections like that. Pinky had a lot of luck, a lot of easy breaks. ***********************************************************************
This story is enough to make anyone absolutely purge, isn't it? That's what I would have hoped my life would read like. The whole long blonde hair and actually being able to be naked in public without stretching my arms around my stomach to cover up the bulges, to have actually hooked up with the one, gorgeous guy I knew at Freeze Frame would have been a dream. Also I'm not sixteen. I'm barely fifteen, and my boobs are absolutely out of proportion with my body. Some people call it curvy, some people say that it's, "voluptuous." In reality, it is fat. Pure, raw cookie dough, snowy rolls. Fat. Boobs are all fat, the blobs just stick out more than the stomach, well, not necessarily in my case. I had the stomach, too, not obese, just, ew. At least I had original hair and nice legs, otherwise, physically, I would be a mess.
I guess I'm being "cruel" to myself, or at least that's what Karl always says. He likes to tell me that I have "issues" with just about everything. That's a good and bad thing about Karl. He will never be dishonest with you. I mean, if you say, "wow, I'm such a fat slut," and, in reality, you are, in fact, quite the fat slut, he will suggest ways that you can help yourself, but never, ever will he disagree if what you say is the truth. And Karl is the best shrink I've had since I was probably nine, and that was Sandy. She smelled like puke and always gave me this sickeningly sweet smile, and spoke in a ridiculously high-pitched voice. More often than not, I left the place with a headache.
I flipped to the next page of Seventeen Magazine, and continued to wonder about how Mischa Barton could actually wear something like that. That shirt probably didn't even stretch. My chest would TOTALLY pop out. Then again, I do know some people who might not mind seeing that.
"Priscilla! Priscilla Duncan! Have you cleaned your room yet?!" God, that woman is going to kill me someday. And yeah, my real name is Priscilla. But that would be awesome if it was really just Pinky. The name, Pinky, reminds me of a combination of Stevie Nicks and Angelina Jolie. Not a bad mix right there, if I do say so myself.
"Yeah, mom. Why don't you go eat a low-carb meal or something?" I muttered, only half-joking. My mother is ridiculously sensitive about her weight, and everyone else's. She joined Rebel Reducers! two weeks ago, an ever since, she has been pounding in those specially made meals like there was no tomorrow. See, the thing about the Rebel Reducers! diet, is that you can eat about ten meals a day, just as long as you stick to the food on their program. All of that food is specially made, and probably processed. Ew.
"Well," my mother began, heading into the living room, "At least I'm doing something about my weight! You just sit there like a big fat blob reading silly magazines!" She wiggled her finger at me accusingly, and when I returned the gesture with a blank expression, she just stormed off into the kitchen. Probably, she was rustling up some of that tasty, Rebel Reducers! steak. Oh yay. And I do not just sit around doing nothing. I go to the gym twice a week because my mother says that if I don't, I can't go out on the weekends for an entire year. Not that I actually have any friends. But I would rather have the option than not, I guess.
"Don't you have a three o' clock appointment with Karl?" My mother called from the kitchen. Shit. Karl could not tolerate tardiness.
"Yeah, I'm leaving!" I sprung up from the couch, dropping my magazine to the ground, and grabbing a sweater. My mother was mumbling something about how selfish I was.
Karl's office was only about three blocks away, so I usually walked. I had appointments with Karl on Wednesdays and Saturdays; Wednesdays at five, Saturdays at three. I mostly enjoyed the sessions. Karl was witty, and I had never really met a witty shrink before. Usually, they just tried to be nice and sweet and "understanding." See, I have a theory. You can't really try to be understanding. It just has to come with your personality. You have to be born with it, there is no other way. Karl seemed to have been born with it, but it was hidden under his dry humor. He would laugh with you, he would act like he was not a regular shrink, but then, he would make a comment that would stop you in your tracks, and keep you up the entire night, tossing and turning, just hearing his voice again and again, repeating the words. Actually, I may be personalizing this just a bit.
I zipped past the front desk, at just three o' clock, and threw myself into Karl's office, falling onto his couch. His back was turned, writing something, and when he heard my thud, his head whipped around.
"Jesus, Pinky ! You scared the fuckin' shit out of me!" That's another nice thing about Karl. He knows how to use some rotten, dirty language, and he's not afraid of it in the slightest. That is something that I find admirable in someone as well-developed and secure as Karl.
"Sorry," I said, breathlessly, "I was in a hurry." Karl raised an eyebrow at me, looking like he was going to question me further, but then decided that he didn't really need, or want to know for that matter. I shot him a mischievous grin, and settled back into the couch some more, almost lying down. It was the one place where I was absolutely comfortable.
"So, Pinky," Karl began, "How did Thursday go?" I didn't answer him right away, just twirled a lock of black hair, letting it go for a second, and then catching it, weaving it into a knot.
"It was fine," I replied, quietly, not looking at him.
"Pinky, tell me about it." Karl's voice had changed into a deeper, richer tone, one that he often used for moments like this. Somehow, Karl managed to get anything out of me.
"I don't know. It was strange. To see him, I mean." And my voice trailed off. I was silent for a few minutes, just running my fingers through my hair, a nervous habit, and adjusting my sweater. Why was it so tight? Anything to avoid this discussion. Karl knew how difficult it was for me to talk about it, yet, he always forced me to. I mean, I know it's his job, but isn't it also his job to make sure that I don't feel like worthless shit during these sessions? I shouldn't say that, Karl is great, he really, truly is. But honestly, I hate talking about my visits. We have to talk about everything surrounding them because that's why I'm in here. Among other things.
"Why was it so strange, Pinky?" Karl prodded gently, trying his hardest. I shrugged, and put my thumb in my mouth, staring up at the zigzagged walls. This had to be the only shrink's office with decorated interior parts.
" I just feel so guilty, that's all," I replied, my voice flat, emotionless.
"Pinky, you can't do this to yourself. You were thirteen years old! You weren't ready. And what, with your mental health problems, it wouldn't have been safe anyway."
"I know, Karl," I said, loudly, cutting him off, "But seriously, that doesn't change anything." Karl opened up his mouth to protest, but I stopped him.
"You're great, Karl, you are, but I gave up my child. We always have this exact same conversation. God, I wish you would just fucking admit it! I'm a bad person. I did a bad, ugly thing, and I can never go back on it. I'm powerless, and I always will be." I buried my head in my arms, ready to cry, something I hate doing.
"You are not powerless, Pinky. You did the smart thing, the right thing. You probably should have had an abortion, that would have made it easier, but you were brave, and what you did was admirable. That family is wonderful, aren't they, Pinky? They love and care for Dylan, just like you would have! You just weren't ready, Pinky, and that's the truth." Karl leaned back in his chair, letting his long brown hair swish behind his forehead, finished.
I crossed my arms over my chest. "I'm sorry, Karl, you're right. It's just that it was his birthday, and-" Karl silenced me.
"I know, Pinky. It will get easier with time. I promise." Our eyes locked for a moment, an uncomfortable silence. We just stared at each other, the room growing increasingly hot, the noise outside becoming more and more apparent.
"You should go," Karl finally said, softly, "Same time next week?"
"Yeah, thanks Karl," I replied, grabbing my purse, and standing up. "I didn't mean to freak out today, just happens sometimes."
Karl smiled. "That's what I'm here for, Pinky. Don't even worry about it." I grinned, and started to leave. God, he's cool for a shrink.
"Oh, Pinky!" Karl called after me, "Are you taking your depression meds?" I rolled my eyes. He's only cool sometimes. I hate it when he asks that. Obviously I am. Does he think I want to try and kill myself or something? Christ, that would be fun!
"Yes, Karl!" I called back, impatiently, letting the door slam behind me, heading home.