Olivia Everheart
I’m not sure how much longer I can do this. I think to myself as I watch my polished fingernails glide over the piano keys. The melancholic tune plays and I lose myself in the music, slipping further and further into the abyss I’ve been trying so hard to avoid, but sometimes, just sometimes, I let myself feel it.
Ding!
“Agh!” I exclaim as my phone interrupts my solitude once again.
Oh, it’s Orion, what now?
“Liv, you down for Temple tonight?” the text reads.
Well, I guess it’s either that or this.
“You know I am. LMK when ur picking me up,” I text back.
I look back at the white grand piano in front of me and think of when I first laid eyes on the elegant monster. Mother had it shipped on my seventh birthday with a note that said, “Happy Birthday pretty girl. I’ll be expecting a show when I get back,” I guess we’ll see if she ever does. My face floods with warmth as I slam the fallboard shut and make my way to the kitchen.
Tobys having his lunch for the day on the balcony: a perfectly rolled blunt with a whiskey sour on the side.
“Getting ready for tonight early I see,” I sigh as I retreat to my bathroom after grabbing an apple.
I don’t think I could endure another rant about how his father is a tyrant for cutting him off, his mother is a sheep, and how he swears he’s going to pay me back once the trust fund from grandma kicks in on his 18th birthday. The image of my cousin’s drunk pastime floats into my thoughts once more, but I shake my head to erase the picture.
“Hey!” Grayson yells after me.
I turn around and see his slicked-back hair. He’s wearing the new Dior suit mom sent him for our birthday.
“What,” I spit out with disdain.
I know exactly what he’s going to say.
“Geez, I’m just wondering if you’re coming by Everheart today. It’ll be your last chance before school starts next week you know,” he reminds me for the hundredth time.
Ugh.
Grayson and I may be twins, but I’ll never be him. Imagine letting your life rot away as you work for a company like Everheart Financial. It’s our birthright I know, but I just, I don’t want to end up like them. I glance at the portrait of our parents on the wall. How funny is it that it’s not even a picture. No, what remains of them is an exquisite still painting. Everlasting and elegant yes, but those unsmiling faces are painted on forever.
Ah and then there’s Grayson. The golden boy. The one who acts like he isn’t just going to get everything handed to him on his eighteenth birthday. I made that realization a while ago. Why bother trying when you’re already set to inherit a billion-dollar company? No sense in slaving away for now at least, but Grayson never got that. No, Grayson does what he’s told, gels down his wavy blonde hair, lays out his clothes every morning at the ass crack of dawn, and excels in everything he does. Me on the other hand, I couldn’t care less. I do what I want, when I want, with who I want, and on anything I can find. The best part is I get to do it all the time. Ever since Orion scored the highest quality fakes on the market we’ve been partying until the sun rises. Hell, I’ve practically been living in SoMa since I was fifteen.
Rolling my eyes I reply, “You know I’m not going, why do you bother asking anymore.”
Grayson sighs and for the first time, I notice how tired he is. His designer suit and pristine appearance can’t hide his baggy grey eyes.
“Alright alright, I was just wondering. I’m leaving then,” he says defeatedly as he grabs his suitcase with nothing in it besides a pen and notepad, “Oh, do me a favor and get Toby away from the balcony. I don’t want the neighbors to see him like that.”
He leaves and the tension from my back finally releases. When is he gonna give it up already? I sigh and look towards Toby. I let out a chuckle because it’s actually quite funny. I mean come on, a seventeen-year-old in a robe smoking a joint in one hand with a whiskey sour in the other on his rent-free penthouse balcony at the San Francisco Hamilton? Toby is living the life! And I guess, so am I…right? Just then Toby turns around with a confused look on his face, and I realize I’ve been staring.
“Uhhhh, oh yeah, Grayson said get off the balcony!” I yell.
To no avail though, he just smiles, nods, and takes another puff as he settles into his chair. Shaking my head I return to the task at hand and start to get ready for the day.
Taking a crisp bite out of the apple I walk back into my room and turn on the speakers as I scroll on my phone. Hmmm, ah yes! Gramophone Waltz begins to fill the air and everything goes dark as I begin to sway back and forth to the music. I feel it reach down into the pit of my stomach. It floods its way into my heart and spreads like fire on ice, melting everything it touches. Relief. I exhale and my body seems to expels a breath of smoke as I smile. I glide towards my bathroom door and reach for the crystal handle as I make a list of everything I need to do in my mind:
1. Shower
2. Pick out an outfit for tonight
3. Call Selene for hair and makeup
4. Pick out shoes (my personal favorite).
But only, I look in the mirror and just like that, the fires extinguished. Ew, gotta tell Selene these dead ends HAVE to be chopped. Imagine the scandal if THE Olivia Everheart stepped out like this. As I examine my body I run my fingertips over every part I like. My collarbones, how thin my arms are, the straightness of my nose, my small ears, my perfectly kissable lips, but then the tips of my fingers slip away as they reach my cheeks. I stare at the mirror now, naked, examining all the parts of me that need to be fixed. My chubby cheeks, my stomach that’s never flat enough, my fat fingers, the pores on my nose, the bumpiness of my skin, the scars on my arms, how disproportionate my boobs and butt are, and finally, the stupid dead ends. I let my blonde strands flop down onto my bare shoulders and start the warm rainlike shower. The drops scurry over my body as I step in, engulfing everything they touch like a forcefield spreading its power, and suddenly the abyss comes to visit me again. Ah, maybe for just a little bit.
