Beautiful Annastasia
Prologue:
The camera lights flashed, forcing me to blink out of instinct. I tried not to squint in an attempt to keep my mascara perfect but it was nearly impossible. Colors danced around my eyes – blue, green, yellow… I dipped my head slowly, shying away from the bright lights directed before my face. Forcing a smile onto my face, I continued to do what I did best – to pose and model.
“Chin up, girlie,” the faceless photographer commented, whilst continuously flashing the camera, scarcely missing a beat, “Or you’ll ruin the picture.”
On cue to the photographer’s order, my mother tottered towards me and grabbed my chin, pushing it up forcefully. Her long nails dug into my skin as she hissed, “Stop dawdling about. You’re embarrassing me!”
Her voice was harsh, and her face revealed no emotion. She was more of a critic than a mother; she always focused on the negatives– to make me her ‘perfect’ child. Her aspirations and dreams, not mine. I didn’t want to have my pictures taken. I fought back the tears, blinking repeatedly. I always tried my best in everything I did, I was a slight perfectionist. Being berated was unusual from other people. It was only my mother who would do things like this. I mustered up the courage to give my biggest smile, striking a pose as my mother had once taught me.
It was probably the only things she had taught me.
The pictures were soon over. I left my mother and the photographer to ponder upon which photograph to choose whilst I drank my water, sitting silently in the corner of the room. After a while, my mother beckoned me over.
“Come here, Annastasia,” she said. I approached her cautiously as she peered down at the computer, pointing out all of my flaws. “Look, these are the pictures that are going up, ok? Now tomorrow when you show your face you better look like that and you know what that means?” she asked, gripping my wrist, digging her nails into my wrist. She looked deep into my eyes, her blue orbs menacing, daring me to speak out against her. I nodded and repeated the words she constantly chanted, “No food - only fruits and water.” She smiled tightly, the wrinkles around her mouth showing. True to her words, I ate minimum food and drank lots of water. And when I stood there, waving at the crowd politely and trophy in hand, I couldn’t help but feel like the hard work had paid off.
***
Since that day, my mother had dragged me to many pageants across the states. I didn’t know what she wanted to achieve. I had won so many trophies that it didn’t even count anymore. Every year I would go to a new pageant, woo the audience and win the prize. Every goddamn year.
I was thirteen when my mother made me dress sultrier. I was yet to develop, and she proceeded to make nasty comments about my lack of cleavage. I wasn’t tall enough. I wasn’t good enough. The tabloids no longer referred to me as the ‘adorable child’, but rather the ‘cute teenager’.
My mum didn’t want that.
I watched as my mum would jealously glance around the changing rooms as the girls with evident chests and curvy figures sauntered around elegantly before turning back to glare at me.
That was the year I learnt that ‘cute’ teenagers don't win pageants - only the busty ones did. That was the first loss I’d ever received in the seven years of being a pageant girl. I wasn’t a favorite to win anymore.
My mother became harsher with me and by the third loss that I had, she blew. She gave me a pinch and slight slap when I could barely make it to the semi-finals and that didn’t go unnoticed by the public. I was on a couple of newspaper for a short while and was even mentioned in a documentary: Beauty Pageants Are Just Fun?
My mum was taken to court but with my previous wins she had saved the money from, she brought top-lawyers. She quickly gained her reputation back as the loving mother who had committed a regrettable and unforgivable mistake. My mother somehow persuaded everyone into believing that she wasn’t really harming me and that it had nothing to do with how I lost the pageants.
She won that court case.
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