Maeva's point of view.
After gathering a vast experience in fictional tales, and having stepped into the adult realm, I've learned the hard way that the world hides no prince charming for me. If ten-year-old me heard twenty-two-year-old me say that, she'd beat the crap out of me for even questioning the possibility of having a happily ever after. It is remarkable, though, how little it takes for kids to build that imaginary world of theirs with castles and faithful peasants, while realizing the cruelty of the world takes years of betrayal, several heartbreaks and a whole lot of empty paper tissue boxes...
Now I believe that one should always share his experience with others. Hence, here are my six commandments for a fairytale-free and healthy life:
Commandment one: Learn to defend yourself in all situations. No king's son is waiting behind the corner to salvage little poor you from the claws of evil.
Commandment two: Settle for a vehicle that works. There is no fairy godmother who'd make you a Ducati out of a pumpkin.
Commandment three: Only actual humans count as friends. If you see a hurdle of mice sewing you a dress, call pest management then leave the planet for good.
Commandment four: Always sleep with one eye opened. If you were ever to be drowning in everlasting sleep, and a prince kissed you, call the police and report sexual assault.
Commandment five: Stop searching for that perfect partner. If the looks are there, the skull must be half empty. If the brain actually functions, the physique might not be that picturesque. If everything is there, wait in line behind the endless groupies.
Commandment six: Let reasonably unlimited self-esteem and realistic goals be your happily ever after. Because even you wouldn't want to be with yourself if you were as sessile and ambitionless as a moss.
In the light of the latter commandment, I've decided to ignore everything around me to focus on what matters the most: my mental sanity. That is no easy thing to achieve, though. Considering all the calamities and meteorites that have been bombarding me ever since I set foot in my parents' house, Daniel decided to coach me.
Now although it might sound a bit weird, having someone guiding every step that I take, from five thousand miles away, is somewhat of an effective technique. After getting me to cross my heart and hope that my orchid dies if I do interrupt him, he starts pouring rules over my head during a motivational video chat we're having as I water my babies.
"First, you need to throw away your onesie!" he commands. Although I might've crumbled up and dropped the water bottle upon hearing that terrible rule, having the onesie away would actually help me rise from the ashes of my depressive mentality.
No onesie means no more ice-cream buckets. No ice-cream bucket means less self-pitying sessions. I could not throw it away, though. That artifact of mine is far too precious to be heartlessly disposed of. Let's just say that I'm allowing it some time off to restore its strength after I've drained every spec of rainbow magic out of it. I guess nana will understand that I have to make sacrifices in order to maintain my brain in place.
"You only get to read one book a week." Now that one hurts to the core. Why, Daniel!? Why? Isn't reading encouraged to educate kids and develop their imagination? I suppose that Greek tragedies and intense drama are far from being educational. Oh well, I'll only be picking some juicy stories from now on...
"Ice-cream and sweets are forbidden. They're no good for your health" That one I did see coming from the very beginning. Although I've lost some considerable weight, going back to my not so healthy lifestyle will bring back a not so desired headache into my life. I guess that means that I'll be slaying some lettuce, yay!
"Never forget your pills." Yeah, yeah. That one I know far too well. Let's just skip to the next one.
"Avoid the Williams at all cost." That goes without saying. Each and every time I see any one of them, there's a headache waiting to burn the living daylights out of my brain.
"Oh, and you have to work out..." Not that I did anything to cut that phrase short, but the call magically ended right as he was talking to me about going to the gym. Mwahaha... I refuse to be humiliated in a room where I'm the least fit person. Besides, I've never been fond of running, let alone sweating on a rolling mat. Pft!
Beep, beep, beep...
"I saw you hitting that red button!" Oh well, maybe I ended the call on purpose, but I don't want to spend my day in a steroid gorged atmosphere. As I'm about to protest and claim my right to refuse that ludicrous rule, Daniel shushes me and repeats the goddamn phrase he did not have the chance to continue: "You have to work out. I've already booked you an appointment with a personal trainer."
"Daniel! I have no penny to pay him...." flashing me a knowing smile, he comes closer to the front camera of his phone and I can almost see the pores in his skin. It appears that the nearby gym offers a free fitness test to new customers, and I'm one of the few guinea pigs who're going to be benefitting from that. Ugh...
~~○~~
"Second door to the right," says a buff guy looking down at my relatively minuscule self. Although I do consider myself to be a tall girl, that guy makes my five-foot-eleven height look like not much. The veins of his arms bulge from under his skin, making his humongous tattoos appear 3D. I wonder if he sleeps on the treadmill to maintain that body.
As I walk down the hall, several buffed guys look at me in dryness and frown at the sight of the long-sleeved hoodie I'm wearing. Although I'm well aware that it's mid-June and that my skin is practically sobbing its pores out for me to lift the thick fabric from it, I refuse to show my skin. Ever seen a belly or a pair of arms after some considerable weight loss? They look like deflated marshmallows and having them on display in front of all those steroid gods is no good for my shrinking self-worth.
"Come in!" blasts a high-pitched voice from behind the closed door, and I get in as fast as possible for I was drowning in a pool of steroids. Phew, I think I've burned enough calories for a day. Can I go home now?
"Maeva, I never knew you'd set foot in here!" The moment my eyes meet hers, sweat falls profusely out of my skin and the bottle of water I'm holding starts boiling from the intense temperature transferred to it from my palms. If that does not prove how poor of a luck I was born with, I don't know what does! From all the personal trainers Daniel could've picked out for me, he had to choose her?
"Cat got your tongue?" asks Stephanie in a mocking manner. Golden locks fall from her perfect hair bun and hug her tanned cheeks as she scans me in amusement. She sits on a stool, a pink clipboard covering her thighs and she frowns the moment she realizes my choice of clothing.
"Bye," I say as I open the door and prepare myself to walk back into the land of sweat and muscles. Just then, a force rams it closed and I turn only to find Stephanie staring at me defiantly. Just as I narrow my eyes at her, she grabs the slider and the zipper of my hoody flies open. Pleased at the sight of the once hidden crop top, she exclaims in annoyance "Let your body breath for heaven's sake!"
Still refusing to talk to her, I cover my bare belly with my hands and look at the mirror covering the fronting wall. Although she's several inches shorter than me, one could ignore my presence at the sight of her perfectly sculpted body. She stands proudly, hands behind her back and foot tapping in annoyance. I've never been fond of her. I guess I can't put up with how effortlessly she looks that good. With a metabolism like hers, she could be eating Mc Donald's every single night and still rock that personal trainer attire of hers. I, on the other hand, have to put up with my lazy cells and so the slightest breath of air I inhale makes me gain a pound.
'Don't forget how you found her kissing the living lights out of Mark's face!' Ah, yes. Thank you for reminding of that fabulous night, conscience!
My point is, I do not like her. Call me a mule, but when I don't like someone, it is practically impossible for me to stay in the same room as them. As she's probably noticed me uncomfortably shifting my weight from a foot to another, she takes a deep breath which emphasizes her oversized breasts and confesses: "look, I need this job and you obviously need my help. Let's not make it any harder, okay?" I suppose I can manage not to rip her contacts off of her eyeballs for an hour...
~~○~~
Whoever sees Stephanie taking that many measurements would think that she's planning on sculpting a wax statue of me. From the chest, waist, and thighs, she's practically touched areas of my body that no other human has set a hand on before. How come I agreed to take the hoodie off? And with my glasses missing from my face, I feel so exposed!
As she finally takes notes of my height, she looks at the object behind her, and a frown finds its way to my face as soon as I spot the devilish scale she's referring to. Never in my life have I loathed an object more than that self-esteem-sucking contraption. Just when I think I've lost weight, it sticks its tongue out at me and says that I've been eating too many brownies. And when I feel like I've gained a pound or two, it chuckles as it adds a zero to the right of the numbers I've predicted. In the name of everything that is holy, someone vanish that devilish thing out of my sight!
The moment my bare feet touch the metal surface, shivers run through my body, and I close my eyes so that I spare myself the agony of reading the number displayed on the tiny monitor. Stephanie takes note on her file, and she seems to keep scribbling for far too long. How many digits did that freaking scale flash? Agh...how I'd like to kick Daniel for getting me into this!
"Any health issues?" she asks, her eyes wide opened as she waits for me to reply to the tenth question in her printed form. Why does she have to know that? She's not prescribing any medication, is she? Pft. I shake my head in a clear no, and she cocks an eyebrow up as she queries curiously "have you experienced dizziness or pain in the near past?"
Yes. Especially when I saw her sucking the flesh out of Mark's face, or when Charles turned into a prince of the darkness. "No," I say and she smiles as she places the clipboard away.
"Wonderful. We're all set for the endurance test."
~~○~~
Someone throw holy water on my face for I feel like my soul's exiting my body. Scratch that! I need a priest, now! Ah, that stupid cramp won't stop scorching my leg and Stephanie is unmoved at the sight of me farewelling life. I never expected to die on a treadmill, with Mrs. Silicone face to hold me as I say my last words.
"I can't do it anymore!" I scream at her and my entire body shakes with every step I take on the rolling mat. She keeps her eyes on the stopwatch, and tells me ever so coolly "and ten..."
"Nine..." How I'd like to punch her in that stupid face of hers!
"Eight..." Why do I look like a zombie? They have better change that mirror, for it's delusional!
"Seven..." I demand a huge bucket of ice-cream after that! No salad can replenish my energy...
"Six..." Daniel, you're an awful friend. I hope you choke on your mocha!
"Five..." Air, I need air. Where has all the oxygen vanished to?
"Four..." Charles, you devil of a lawyer! Someday, I will kick your butt!
"Three..." Air, I need air. Where has all the oxygen vanished to?
"Two..." Mark, you asshole, I hate you! Oh man, I miss him so much...
"One" Victory! I've done it. Agh... is it normal for my chest to be burning that much? Uh, does Stephanie have a twin I don't know of? No wonder the world is collapsing!
~~○~~
"Hey, Mea! What're you reading?"
"Nothing."
"You mean they changed the title to fifty shades of nothing?!"
"Tsk. Don't you have other things to do?"
"No, not really! We can read it together if you want to..."
"Ever had an orchid pot thrown at your face, Williams?"
"Relax. I'm kidding! So, do you want to watch a movie?"
"What genre?"
"Fifty... I mean horror... okay, fine comedy. Put the pot down already!"
"Comedy it is, then. Call Jules, I'll prepare the movie"
"Can you...?"
"Yes, I'll make popcorn."
"You're the best..." Of course, I am. Cheese or caramel, though? I forgot to ask him. Should I bring ice-cream as well? Pizza, perhaps? First things first, I need to get that stupid light to turn on. Why's it pitch black in here?!
"Maeva! Please wake up! My first client can't collapse like that!"
I open my eyes to a colorless Stephanie. Her hands shake under my head and beads of sweat glisten on her face. A sigh of relief involuntarily comes out of her mouth as she finally realizes that I'm staring at her creepily.
"You lost consciousness" Ugh... just when I thought that these episodes were gone, they come back only more frequent. How wonderful!
"I didn't have anything to eat since I woke up" I repeat the same old excuse I've told too many times before. Stephanie seems to buy it, as she scolds me for showing up to the gym on an empty stomach.
A long preach later, she helps me up and gives me a cup of water before explaining: "Alright. Now that you're up, the fitness test is over and I'll be organizing a training routine just for you. I charge thirty bucks per hour, but since we're acquaintances I'll only take twenty-nine ninety-nine." What a wonderful sense of humor that blondie has! I'd much rather collapse once again before hearing another joke of hers.
~~○~~
As I walk past the town's shopfronts, I stare blankly at the items put on display while rambling in my head. Thirty dollars for one hour of torture! How come they're not the ones paying me for almost spitting my lungs out on their death contraptions!? On the bright side, I'll only need Stephanie for a few months. She'll guide me through a routine and I'll stick to it for the rest of my life. Anything to boost that self-love, right? Only, how am I supposed to pay her next week? I'm an unemployed undergrad living with her parents.
Just as I pass by the local bookshop, I stand in awe at the collection of books I have yet to read. So many good stories, so many great characters, so many pages to sniff... Suddenly, and as I drool over a weird fuchsia novel, Mrs. Letterman bursts out of the door, her hair messily held up with a pencil. She takes a paper out of the folder she's been holding and attaches it to the front door then sprints back to her desk as the phone's ring is faintly heard from outside. "Help needed" it states and my eyes go wide at the two words before me. Could the angels have listened to my prayers and sent me that job?