When Different Worlds Collide ✔️

Plain Jane -Kat's POV

Kat's POV-

I stood up in front of my lit up, full length mirror and eyed myself distastefully. My pretty Max Mara skirt sat tightly on my hips. My crisp Isabel Marant top sat nicely across the top half of my body. My beautiful Gianvito Rossi slightly heeled ankle boots completed the whole look very nicely.

I should have felt wonderful in the very expensive and beautiful designer clothes; at least that's what my mother has always told me. I never did though. I stared at myself harder and scrutinized every part of me, I picked every single flaw out until I hated what I saw. It's what I always did. It's what I had been taught.

My ass stuck out a little too far in the midi skirt making me look even fatter than I already was. My black hair was too tussled giving it more of an 'I just crawled out of bed' look rather than a fashionable only slightly messy look. The white shirt creased unflatteringly anytime I moved because I was a bit too fat for it. My eyes had dark circles underneath them that no amount of concealer could ever cover up, and my pasty skin was even more pale than usual. I was a complete and ugly mess.

My mother refused to buy me anything bigger than a size small in any clothes. I definitely needed at least a medium in everything. The clothing that she got me were absolutely breathtaking, but I was not.

My hair was far too flat, and the black color didn't help to give it any definition or dimension. My ass was way too fat, and I certainly couldn't fit into any of the jeans that my mother had bought me. She always told me that it was motivation for me to lose weight, but no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I ran or how little I ate, my hips would never fit into something so small.

That was another thing that my mother constantly commented on... My hips were too wide, and my thighs just wouldn't shrink. I'd never have a 'thigh gap' and my mother loved to hate me for it.

She always told me that only rappers and fat people liked big butts and hips. I didn't see anything wrong with rappers or fat people. However, the way that my mom always spat the words out made me know that I was supposed to hate them; just like her. I couldn't though... Rap had always been one of my favorite music categories, and fat is such a relative term meaning different things to different people. It felt hypocritical to hate anyone that fell into either of those groups.

On top of all that, I was too pale. No matter how often my mother took me to the tanning salon, no color would stick. I just stayed a sickly pale color. At least that's what my mother always called it.

That was also part of the reason that she wanted me to change my hair color. The black contrasted my skin so vividly, but I didn't want to be fake blonde like my mother. Besides, going from black to blonde seemed way too difficult and almost impossible. I didn't want to subject myself to that kind of upkeep and commitment.

I always refused my mother's "help" (as she would call it) because honestly... I did not want to turn into her. In turn, it made her hate me for everything that I was not. I didn't blame her for it though; I was nothing like the daughter that she had always wanted.

My mother, Rachel Reynolds, Miss Florida 1996, was obviously very beautiful. She had gorgeous, voluminous, blonde hair. She was a size two, and that's on a bad day. Her skin was always a beautiful tan color. She had killer fashion sense, and a lot of designers always wanted to dress her. My mother was a beautiful woman.... On the outside at least.

I, on the other hand, inherited none of that. The only thing that I could say I got from my mother were my hazel eyes. Other than that, I had pretty much received only my father's genes. For a man... they were probably great. However, for me, a seventeen-year-old high school girl, they didn't seem to be that great... That's at least according to my mother.