Paint Me Beautiful

and her lips turn down at the corners. “Claire, is there something you want to talk to me about?” I give her a look like I think she's crazy and have no idea what she's going on about? It doesn't work.
    “ What are you talking about?” My mother sighs and sips her tea. There's a deep crease between her eyebrows and I notice that for once, there's nothing cooking on the stove or baking in the oven. I wonder how long she's been sitting here, waiting for me to come out, so she could trap me in a web like a fly and grill me. I wish suddenly for Emmett and his cool, calm demeanor. My mother is strung so tight right now, it looks like she could snap at any moment.
    “ Well, you don't look so good, sweetie.” She doesn't look at me when she says this.
    “ God, Mom, thanks a lot. That makes me feel fucking beautiful,” I snarl at her, wishing I'd never come down here in the first place. I should've just stayed upstairs, took a nap, and started one of the workout videos I downloaded onto my computer.
    “ Is there something you want to tell me?” she asks, voice soft. I don't look at her and instead focus on the shafts of sunlight that cut across the top of the table.
    “ Emmett and I had sex last night. It was our second date.” Take that, I think as my mother cringes and shakes her head.
    “ You know that's not what I'm talking about,” she says, sliding her chair out and standing up. She's got on a white dress with horizontal stripes, not the most flattering look, but my mother doesn't care about things like that. She isn't interested in going shopping with me or hearing about my thoughts on fashion, and it's been ages since we had a mother-daughter night like we used to when I was in junior high, when she started gaining weight and spending half her day in the damn kitchen. Inside of myself, I believe that one day, her fatty diet is going to kill her, and that scares me to death. I cannot even believe that she's worried about me. I'm the healthy one, the skinny one, the one who's exercising, who's going to get vitamins, who will one day make something of herself.
    My mother opens the fridge and pulls out a foil wrapped plate.
    “ Do you want some breakfast, Claire?” she asks as she lifts off the silver covering and reveals a blue and white plate piled high with more of those stupid, fucking biscuits. “There's some white gravy in the fridge. I could heat it up for you.” She looks up at me like she's testing me, like all of a sudden, just because Marlena had to open her big, fat mouth, that she knows everything.
    “ What is this about?” I ask, refusing to play their games. If they're going to accuse me of something, they should just come out and say it. Tears spring to my mother's eyes. “Jesus Christ,” I groan, putting the butt of my hand to my forehead.
    “ Claire,” she whispers, dropping her chin to her chest and taking a deep breath like she's just suffered a terrible tragedy and can barely keep herself together. My mother has always been famous for overreacting, but this, this is just pathetic. “Are you anorexic?” That A-word makes me shiver, makes my fists clench, and my guard go up.
    “ Oh, so now I'm anorexic just because I'm a model? Just because I'm skinny?”
    “ Claire, you never eat anymore,” she pleads, like she's desperate for me to shove those lard filled biscuits down my throat.
    “ Not at home,” I say, biting my lip to keep my tongue in check. I'm kind of at the point right now where I want to say horrible things, do horrible things. I hold myself together through sheer strength of will. “And besides, you never cook anything healthy. Everything you cook has butter and grease and lard in it. A person can only eat so much fucking fat before they choke on it.”
    “ You're so pale and shaky, and you're so irritable all the time. Honey, your bones are sticking out. Look at your hips and your spine. I didn't want to believe it, but this morning, Marlena – ”
    “ She's always sticking her nose into everybody's business,” I growl, squeezing the banister so hard my knuckles hurt. “Remember the lipstick thing? This is just another 'mission',” I make quotes with my fingers. “For her to glom onto.” I don't tell her that my bones are in no way sticking out, that I'm fat as fuck and disgusting and that I should've started fasting a long time ago. I kept dropping my calorie count, but obviously that wasn't enough to undo the years of damage she did to me with