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~Elana D'amore~
Everyday, same routine, but today was completely different because I was standing in a luxury boutique that bathes in a rich gold velvet, there were grand chandlers dropping with diamonds worth more than kidneys whilst the sconces and drapes held uniqueness in the boutique. I had better things to do rather than try on bridesmaid dresses, but here I am.
Standing in the room that had a few velvet red couches where my sister and mother sat with their judgemental faces. I had to be a maid of honour, even though my sister would much Carina be her maid of honour because of course, they are "closer" or so she claims. It's childish to be protective over my best friend, but when it comes to Alessandra, she'll go to extreme lengths just to get what she wants and as much as I'd like to be concerned, I am not.
I was in a light pink dress that flowed downwards and was strapless. It wasn't me, to say the least. But that didn't matter, my sister chose this wedding and I need to follow along with it. Because as selfish as this sounds, once she signs her life away to the Russos, I become free. You close one door but open another. Prisoning one, freeing the other.
I've lived in her shadow long enough, and I need this freedom to survive. I'm a model sure, but that's within the facility of Italy, not New York, not Jersey, and sure as hell not Miami.
An obnoxious sigh escapes my mother's lips which bring me back to reality. "Nothing looks good on her." I knew what that meant. I was underweight, by a lot. I stopped eating properly awhile ago, and the amount of times my doctors constantly scold me about it makes me want to go deaf. I don't have the energy to eat, and it explains why I feel lightheaded everyday. Why it seems like it's the biggest struggle to leave my bed when I barely sleep anyway. I've also got fast metabolism, so that adds to the problem.
The point is, my mother loves to shame any flaw about me when she created most of it.
My sister was the perfect skinny, she had the body every girl yearns for, she had the hair, the eyes and the smile. The constant comparison between the two of us still stings till this day. I was a stick as people called me. Yet I was good enough to fuck, to hurt. Just not good enough to go out with in public.
"God, put on some weight will you?" Everyday. Same speech, same words, still hurt the same. I couldn't help but notice the slight flinch Alessandra had did when my mother spewed her hurtful words.
She knew they hurt too, she's seen the damage she caused, and she wants to make me break. I sigh, not being able to muster up a response because nothing felt right. If I did respond, I'd break, but if I don't, I will still break.
"Ah, Elana, go try on the next dress for us." My mother's accent pops as she speaks, cussing in Italian under her breath as I walk off the platform and into the changing room.
