I step into the guesthouse in my borrowed wet Asics. The first early birds are already sitting around the long wooden table in the dining room. Snow falls off my shoes and onto the carpet.
Ruth is standing at the buffet, trading an empty bottle of maple syrup for a new one. She casts a glance over her shoulder when the door clicks in the lock and laughs. “I should call you Elsa.”
“Elsa?”
“The Snow Queen,” she explains. “Every time I see you, you’re frozen. You just need a couple of icicles.”
Ruth offers me an apple. I accept it gratefully and take a bite. “I went for a jog.”
“I can see that.” Her eyes pass over my leggings to her daughter’s sneakers. She grins. “Oh, those old things. Aria never wore them. It was her,” Ruth makes quotation marks in the air, “‘now-I’m-going-to-be-sporty phase.’”
“She doesn’t like sports?” I ask in surprise. After swallowing my bit of apple, I add, “In Aspen, you can’t get away from sports.”
Ruth reaches for the plate with the pancakes, which are gradually coming to an end. “Believe me, Aria was a natural-born talent. She is curious and ambitious, but sports… God forbid.” At the memory of her daughter, a smirk crosses her lips before she winks at me and moves off toward the kitchen. I’d love to know what’s behind her heavy movements. Osteoporosis maybe? Arthritis?
As for me, I can’t get into the shower quick enough to feel thehot water on my body, thawing with every second. I lean against the side of the shower, close my eyes, and heave a deep sigh.
Running into Knox has really gotten to me. For a while, it even drove off my nerves and made me forget that today was my big day.
But now it seems like my nerves have woken back up from their short nap and, within seconds, are ready to resume high operation. It feels like there are ants running back and forth beneath my skin.
I lick the warm water off my upper lip with the tip of my tongue before my gaze wanders down my body to the bruises that are invisible to everyone else.
I carefully run a finger over my left hip to the middle of my thigh. The swelling has gone down quite a bit, but the color has changed. It’s a bright green, and the edges are streaked a deep blue.
I screw up my eyes, turn off the water, and don’t think about it anymore. Soon, there won’t be anything left of the bruises, and I’ll never have to see them ever again.
Never. Again.
My body is steaming as I step out of the shower—at last I can feel my toes again—and dry off. I slip into fresh clothes, dry my hair, and gulp when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
The swelling next to my eye has grown more intense. Knox’s words from yesterday echo in my head.
I doubt it…Implying that I can’t assert myself. That I wasn’t strong enough.
I shake my head to dispel my thoughts and turn away. My eyes stop for a moment on a few makeup tools standing on Aria’s bathroom dresser next to the sink.
Normally I don’t wear any makeup. As an athlete, it’s counterproductive. Your sweat smears your mascara and makes you look like an emo kid. Then the foundation clogs your pores and causes you to break out in pimples.
I make my decision in the blink of an eye. I quickly grab the makeup and distribute the stuff across my face. Better a crater-filledemo kid than getting stared at on my first day of iSkate and everyone forming an opinion of me before they’ve even gotten to know me.
I’ve left that part of my life behind. And I have no intention of giving it any space to come back.
I blend in the last little bit across my face and then inspect myself. The early morning sun is coming through the window, causing my blue eyes to shine.
I cling to the side of the sink, trembling. “Do it for yourself,” I mumble to myself. “You’re strong enough; you can do anything.”
Three times I repeat these words until I feel that I have won.
It doesn’t matter how weak I feel and how much my past has left traces inside of me; the wolf in my heart will never allow the world to catch a glimpse of the lamb in my soul.
Because I’m strong.
I, Paisley Harris, am a goddamn fighter.
5
The World Knows Me Better
