Color Me Pretty

surfaces and in it, I have the most vibrant, beautiful red hair, bright as blood.
    Tears begin to fall, hot and heavy.
    “ Yes, cry,” says the person I was in the in-between. See, there was the Claire from before, the one who wanted to be a role model and make a difference. And there's the Claire now. The Real Claire Reborn. New Claire. Yes, I'm going to call her New Claire. “Look at yourself and see how your dreams have turned to nightmares. Understand me, so you can banish me. Hate me, so you can love me. Know me, so you can forget me.”
    I take the hospital gown off slowly, so slowly, letting the pale, thin fabric float to the floor like a cloud, brushing against my quivering ankles and my dry feet. I hiccup a bit and gasp, but I keep that moan inside, that wail buried.
    My fingers touch my ribs, counting them, feeling them, desperately trying to convince myself that I can't see them. I'm fat. I'm disgusting. It's really hard to keep that line of thought going when In-between Claire is looking at me like that.
    “ You've got to be fucking kidding me,” she laughs. “Did you learn nothing when you died? Do you want to do it again? Just remember, Claire, rebirths don't always happen. Sometimes, that infinite blackness is all there is waiting.”
    I drop to my knees, sliding down the wall, hitting the floor with a violent thump.
    My legs are splayed out to the side, twig thin and hard to look at.
    I feel … Lost. Miserable. Lonely. Pathetic. Confused. Angry.
    But I don't feel numb, not anymore.
    I wrap my arms around myself and cry silently.
    “Claire?” It's my mother again. She must've heard me fall. I scramble to my feet, taking the shirt with me and slipping it over my head, so that when she opens the door uninvited, I'm standing there mostly covered, eyes wet but defiant.
    My mom looks … beautiful. Her face is full and her skin is colored, peach and pink, dotted with freckles, and her hair is vibrant as sin. When she sees that I've been crying, she tries to come inside. “Oh, honey.”
    “Please don't touch me,” I tell her and immediately, I see the hurt burning in her eyes like flames. I don't mean to make her feel the way I do. It's just … she doesn't get me at all. Right now, I have to deal with this myself. Even if … even if Emmett were here, I'd have to refuse him. It would be hard, but I'd have to. I have to fall in love with myself, but to do that, I have to get rid of the resentment and the pain. A hug might feel good, but it'd be a placebo.
    I must stand here, alone but strong.
    I raise my chin and I try to communicate all of this with a look.
    Mom doesn't get it.
    “Claire, you'd better learn to stop pushing people away or you're going to end up dead!” This is her pain talking now, just like In-between Claire is mine. Mom doesn't mean it, not really, but she's scared. And I'm vulnerable and volatile both. We've just become a toxic combination.
    I just stare at her, watch her face turn red with a swirl of emotion.
    “Get the fuck out.”
    “Don't you dare speak to me that way,” she says, voice low, like I've never heard before. She's so afraid of losing me that she's lashing out. I wish I could just hug her and make up, but that's not a place I'm at in my life right now. How am I supposed to make up with other people when I can't even make up with myself?
    I lick my dry, chapped lips, and squeeze my fists so tight that my nails cut into the skin on my palms. There's a horrible horde of mean, cruel things I'd like to say to my mother in that moment – how much I hate her, how she doesn't even love me, how fat and disgusting she is. But I don't need lies to hurt her when I have the worst thing of all: the truth.
    “When I get out of Crescent Springs,” I begin as she continues to stare at me like she doesn't even know me at all. “Don't bother coming to pick me up.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “I said don't bother coming to get me. I've already arranged a ride.”
    My mother blinks, nice and slow, trying to reign herself in but failing.
    “Emmett?” I smile. I don't mean to, but the pain is still there making me do things I don't want to do. I hope there'll come a time soon, very soon, that I can rid myself of it forever.
    “Yeah, actually. We discussed it when he came to visit yesterday.” My mom remains still for a moment and then starts to turn away. I follow after her and pause with my head poking out the bathroom door.
    “I won't have that boy anywhere near my