Chapter 2 ~ Isabella
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I can feel myself slipping farther into the black abyss as I sit here and stare blankly at myself in the mirror. It is only a few more hours until the big dinner. My breathing is increasing, my hands are trembling, and my heart is beating furiously inside my chest making my sternum hurt.
The burning tingles at the tips of my fingers begin to pulse more rapidly as I shake my hands once again.
I close my eyes to try and centre myself. "Izzy, calm down," I whisper to myself.
I see the woman in the mirror when I open my eyes again. She looks like a sweat-stained mess. The pale blue silk dress I chose to wear has sufficiently large watermarks underneath each armpit sleeve. My forehead has perspiration running down my temples.
My large emerald green eyes which are the only things about myself that I've ever really liked are currently enhanced by black smudges below.
My long, black hair, which is tucked behind my shoulders and nearly reaches my hips, is cascading down my back like a straight veil. I tilt my head and look sideways at my hair. I need a new look, but I'm not ready to chop it.
I'm just not able to do it. I scheduled the appointments, and I actually made it to the chair once and sat down. I couldn't follow through. My long hair acts as a shield for me, like a shroud that I can wear to hide from people.
I examine my wide shoulders and rather ample chest in the mirror. I hate my chest, but I guess guys like big boobs, so Anna keeps telling me. Tops don't fit right, and pretty much everything I eat ends up there first instead of in my mouth.
The silk still clings to my skin even after I pull the top half of my dress away from my chest. I wiggle on my seat and I can feel my butt hanging over the sides of the chair because of how broad my hips are.
A deep breath escapes my lips as I toss a balled-up kleenex on the vanity.
Rebekah has enough room for her butt on either side of this chair when she sits on it.
I'd like to blame the seat for being too small, but I stopped lying to myself a long time ago.
To use my sister's phrase, I am a fat cow.
Rebekah never ceases to remind me that I am taller, thicker, and wider than her.
I thought I would be able to handle this better. Jesus!
"It's just a dinner, no big deal," Anna tells me. No big deal, nope... Not at all!
I just know that tonight I get to meet my future husband and the head of the family organization that happens to be his father annnd also my dad's boss. A good impression is everything. No pressure at all Izzy!
I am way out of my league here. I'm not cut out to be a wife to a man this high up, like bloody next-in-line-kinda-high up!
This is more of Rebekah's calibre of social circles.
I'm more of a stand-back and watch kind of person.
The less I'm noticed in a room, the better.
Although being as tall as I am, I'm kind of difficult to miss whenever my family enters a room.
My mother and sister are only 5 feet tall.
All I ever wanted was to be like my sister.
She is flawless and two years younger than I am.
She has a thin model physique that can fit anything and look like a bloody movie star.
We're talking porcelain doll here; her makeup is consistently perfect.
She has piercing hazel green eyes like my mother, and beautiful honey-blond hair to match with the natural gold highlights that cost women a fortune at the salon, and men are constantly fighting for her attention.
She is impeccable and everything my parents wanted in a daughter.
But I was born first.
The big butt quarterback daughter who happens to be a bit broken, socially awkward, and has a past history of being a bit of a head case.
I feel like one of those cows at the county fair, auctioned off to make a few bucks for the owner, but no one told the bidder the animal had Mad Cow disease.
Kinda harsh, but halfway accurate in my case.
I take out the blush brush to try to give my pale face some colour.
I have no idea how to apply cosmetics, it won't be of any use.
I am not what my future husband will be expecting when I walk in there beside my parents and Rebekah.
One look at me and he will run. The problem with that is that there's no getting out of a marriage contract once it's been decided. For either of us.
My parents gave me the folder to read up on him and learn about his background.
Prepare me for the introduction by learning all his likes and dislikes.
But I just couldn't bring myself to look at it.
I don't know if I want to know the depth of how much I will disappoint this man.
I wonder if he even looked at mine? How much detail was in there about me?
I look back at myself in the mirror, and I start to feel overwhelmed again. How am I supposed to compete with other women in this organization, with sexy size 0 bodies and no body fat?
I am so screwed.
My chest has that tight burn again, and my hands begin to twitch until I lose all feeling in them. I watch as my blush brush falls out of my hand and lands on the floor as my eyesight begins to waver and I find it difficult to inhale.
I grip the vanity to anchor myself and keep the darkness in my head from taking over. It would be so easy to take the coward's way out, so bloody easy.
Over the past few years, I've made a lot of effort to keep myself in the here and now. To prevent me from entering that mental space of safety and security that this world enjoys brutally crushing.
Eleven years have passed since the kidnapping, eleven years that have been needed to get me out and years to prevent my re-entry. I never fully understood when I was younger what was going on. No one would tell me what happened after I woke up in the hospital.
With every occurrence, I'd just get dressed, and go home and life would be normal until I woke up, once again in a hospital bed. Once I hit my teen years, I understood. Stress was a trigger. And my life at home with my father is nothing but stress triggers.
If I was in a situation where I felt it was too much, Boop! Back in my head, I'd go to the world I created. The safe haven that I’ve filled with beautiful flowers, both real and imagined, with lush green gardens.
I have made special places where I can sit, paint or read. To me, it's a real miniature fairy world all tucked up in my head, filled with everything I love and places I've always wanted to visit.
I guess, as a child, you want to live in the fairy tales you read about. What kid wouldn't? But as I got a bit older, it became more complex, more like The Hobbit landscape, where anything was waiting for you to discover it. It's more my actual home than the real world.
I think that is where I developed my love of art, that and my Nonno.
I painted a world in my head, with endless landscapes, fairies, castles, and animals to keep me company. The joy of bringing a blank world to abundant life. It's hard not to want to escape there when things here get tough.
I haven't been back inside my little world in years.
I've followed my doctor's orders and taken my medication when needed.
Every two weeks I see a counselor to keep myself in check.
I do my best to avoid my father, if I'm not around, he can't scream and use those quick hands of his.
But right now, the urge to go under feels like a drug.
Escape this bloody contract, this twisted life I was born into. I feel like a coward.
Am I honestly so afraid of my future that I'd risk it by hiding in my head and staying there?
I look at my Diazepam bottle sitting next to my perfume.
I should take one right now. But I keep hesitating at moments like this.
I want to learn how to manage my life without using any drugs.
I need to figure out a way to control my anxiety so that I can live a life worth living.
I take another deep inhale, and this time I can feel the oxygen entering my lungs. It's like taking a deep breath when surfacing from the water following a long dive.
Doctors can't explain what exactly happens when I get too overwhelmed and slip into my head, only that I'm different from most patients.
I slip into a catatonic state where my mind will escape the trauma or stress I'm experiencing.
It can happen so fast that the surrounding people don't know I'm gone.
There is no screaming, passing out, or making any other kind of public disturbance.
I simply disappear into my head retreating from the real world.
Rebekah says it's creepy.
Despite having my eyes open, I'm not in there. The real me is gone to my home. My body is standing there, still able to function, sort of. I can walk, eat, and sit when instructed to do so, among other basic commands. But I am a shell of myself looking at you, I am not really there.
As a result, I can't verbally communicate or make decisions regarding my wishes since I am not able to do so. Once I've gone inside, I won't come out until I know I'm safe.
During a couple of these incidents over the years, my subconscious would take a step out and watch. Like a movie being played in my head. I can see snippets of my life being lived out, helpless to lift a hand to protect myself or call out.
These moments are the worst.
It's a window where, if it were possible, I could escape, defend my body, and stop everything from happening around me.
That being said, I never do. And that's the problem.
It is difficult to leave the security and comfort of my home because if I were safe, I wouldn't need to go there in the first place.
Who wants to leave a place where they feel complete and loved?
Where you are protected from harm and can be who you are.