Strip Me Yours

They never really tell you how hard it is to free yourself from your image — trying to leave your old self behind, while still being shackled to it wherever you go. Newsflash: it's pretty close to impossible.

My name is Charlotte Davenport — privilege was always a given. However, I spent my whole life wishing I was someone else. Ordinary, in the best possible sense of the word.

Someone who could fail, and not be judged. Someone who could walk around unnoticed because no one knew who I was. Someone who didn't have to grow up under the wings of her overbearing, overprotective, millionaire real-estate father who thought privilege was nothing less than what we deserved.

I grew up in Jackson, Mississippi. A city where Eric Davenport was the owner, investor, and donor of at least a quarter of the buildings. Don't get me wrong; I'm very proud of what he's accomplished and happy that he's living the life he's always dreamt of — but this wasn't what I wanted for myself.

I was only a mere shadow of him, never allowed to make mistakes to avoid a scandal. Dress properly, talk properly, walk properly. Hell, even breathing properly was something I was told to do, by the sitters who constantly condoned my etiquette. I had to be perfect.

And honestly, fuck all that.

Yes, I said it. Thought it, at least.

I was never allowed to be me. I've been told what to do and who to be my whole existence.

But now that I turned eighteen, that was all about to change.

I arrived on the campus of the University of Pennsylvania on August 24th, right on time to start the student orientation week. Moving to Philadelphia was the first real decision I ever made.

A few months ago, I sent applications to the best and farthest universities I could think of, in hopes of getting into one, without my father's knowledge and subsequent influence.

When I found out I got into Penn... That was the day I finally felt like I could be free.

As a prestigious Ivy League school, my father was pleased enough to let me attend, despite protesting the distance. But the best part about it was that I didn't know anyone here, and they didn't know me either. And, because it's precisely 1158 miles from Jackson, it brought me one step closer to emancipation.

"Here are your bags, Ms. Davenport." Hammond, our trusty butler, left all my luggage on the sidewalk for me to carry, as I insisted.

"Thank you so much, Hammond. For everything." I hugged him and he halted backward in shock, before cautiously returning the gesture.

"You don't have to thank me, Ms. Davenport, I'm just doing my job. I wish you the best of luck with your studies." He gave me a courteous nod and walked away, taking one last look at my anxious frame with tenderness in his eye before driving off.

Driving me all the way here was hardly doing his job, but he did it without a second thought. Hammond had been the only authority figure who never reprimanded me, condoned me, or scrutinized me.

I wanted him here more than my father, who had no idea his daughter was going to leave until the night before when I finally told him because I knew he wouldn't be able to change his plans in order to be the one to bring me.

Was I too harsh? Part of me thought so. But I wanted a fresh start, and if people associated him with me on the very first day, that would no longer be the case.

I hauled my bags to the dorms with difficulty, because as it turned out, two leather carry-ons filled with everything I wanted to bring were quite heavy. A few people offered to help, but I said no, I wanted to do it myself; but as I got to the second flight of stairs, I quickly realized I had changed my mind.

I dropped the bags carelessly next to the railing and sat on the stairs, sweating, and panting due to my first attempt at complete autonomy.

"Do you need help?"

I gazed at where the sound was coming from and saw a girl on top of the second flight of stairs. She was tall, toned and her olive skin naturally glistened like she had dosed it in baby oil. Her long, dark, straight hair stopped at her waist, and her black-brown eyes and defined cheeks made her look about three years older than me. She was gorgeous.

"I..." Give up, Charlotte. Let people help you. "Yes, please."

She gave me an understanding smile as she came down to pick up one of my bags, while I got up and grabbed the other.

"That flight of stairs really gets you," she commented. "Totally get the despair."

"That obvious, huh?"

She giggled, and I tittered along with her. "Absolutely."

We both pulled the carry-ons up the second flight of stairs, with me struggling visibly more. But, she either didn't notice or pretended otherwise, and I was thankful for it.

"What's your room number?"

"Uhhh..." I pulled my phone from my pocket to make sure. "Six-one-seven."

"That's the same as mine, so that makes you my roommate! Awesome." She held her hand out and I shook it, feeling less stressed about my choice of a shared dorm room. "By the way, I'm Coral."

"Coral? Like the color?"

She nodded, seemingly expecting the question. "Yes. My immigrant Indian parents chose an impossible name for me. You say it like, Paribhadra." She shook her head. "No one can ever pronounce it. The rough translation is Coral, so I officially changed it to something that wouldn't make my parents sad and make my life much easier."

"That's very smart. Nice to meet you. I'm Char..." I silenced. I only had one chance to choose what everyone knew me by, and I needed to make it count. Did I really want to be Charlotte? No, I didn't. "Charlie."

"Nice to meet you, Charlie. I have a feeling we'll be great friends." I smiled coyly at her. "And by the way, we're wayyy farther than I expected. I thought this was your floor. Are you sure you want to climb another four flights of stairs?"

"How else would we get there?" I asked, confused.

She furrowed her brows at me, breaking into a confounded smile. "There's this thing called an elevator, and it's a really neat invention."

"Oh!" Wow, I felt stupid. "I didn't see one, so I thought there weren't any."

"Yeah, they're way down the left hallway. But it's a lot better than climbing stairs with luggage."

I nodded, slightly embarrassed. Of course, my first attempt at causing a seemingly normal impression had gone down the drain.

"Follow me. I'll show you where it is."

After taking out all the luggage and spreading it across the left side of the room, I stared in the mirror that hung above an empty dresser. This person looked nothing like me.

Wearing beige flats, a pleated floral dress that stopped on her knees, long chestnut hair styled in a conservative braid and barely noticeable smudged brown eyeliner around her cool-gray eyes, she represented eighteen years of oppression I wanted to let go of. I hated everything about it. How could I be me on the inside but not have it reflect on the outside?

In a sudden second, I remembered I left my scissors in my nightstand and ran to grab them. I looked back in the mirror and took a chunk of hair in my hand.

I needed to do this. New beginnings aren't supposed to be easy, but they're worth it. They have to be.

"It's now or never, Charlie," I said to my mirrored frame for motivation, before straightening the chunk of hair and aligning the scissors, cutting half of it off before I could even process what was happening. When it fell, I was stunned by my decision, and a rogue tear fell from my right eye.

Holy crap.

The trimmed chunk hung just above my clavicle, slowly getting back to its wavy state. I never had my hair this short.

Before I started to ponder my decision, I took another chunk of hair and cut it about the same length. There was no turning back now.

Another trim. The more I cut, the more liberated I felt.

A smile began to form on my lips as more chunks fell out, and with it, the weight of my past self.

One more trim and Charlotte would be gone. And I was really happy about it.

As soon as the last trimmed hairs fell, the sensation of freedom invaded me once more. I was another step closer to being self-sufficient. Hopefully, one day, I would truly be.

"Oh, my God!" Coral stood at our entrance, staring widely at my fallen hair on the ground. "Did I just walk in the middle of your college transformation?"

"Kind of." I shrugged, but there was no hiding the excitement in my voice.

"I love that length on you! It opens up your face a lot more."

"Thanks." I stared in the mirror. I loved the length too, but the cut itself wasn't the best. Stationary scissors weren't miraculous, after all. "Hey, uh... Would you like to come with me to the mall? I have a haircut to fix and a full wardrobe to replace."

"Say no more! Let me just grab a few things."

I nodded, took one last look in the mirror and silently gave my condolences to my old self. By the time I got back, Charlotte would be dead.

It's Charlie's turn now.