In the Eye of the Beholder: Trouvaille, #1

​Content Warnings:

CHILD ABUSE, IMPLIED attempted non-con, acephobia, and fatphobia.

​Chapter One:

The rain poured down in sheets. It made it really difficult to pack up the back of my little blue Ford Fiesta. I  wiped at my face, though it did no good, and pushed the last box into the back seat. The last couple of hours had been spent tossing my things into boxes and rushing out of my now ex’s house. She did nothing to help, not that I wanted Dylan’s help. She could stay sitting on the couch, that I half paid for, and suck eggs for all I cared.

I got into the front of the car and started it up. I turned the windshield wipers on and drove out of the driveway. The car had been backed up closer to the house. It made for an easy getaway. I could see Dylan in the rearview mirror, standing at the door. I heaved a sigh and sped my way down the street. I wiped at my face again. My black hair clung to my face, dripping and getting into my eyes. I looked into the rearview mirror again. My hazel eyes stood out in my pale face. They were more on the brown than the green side. I shook my head and looked at the road ahead of me.

The rain that had been coming down hard was already starting to lighten up. Of course it was. That’s the way it was in Seattle. One moment it’s storming and the next it’s simply gray and cloudy. It didn’t change the fact that I was drenched. I turned on the heater in the car and hoped to dry off a little before I reached my destination. I didn’t want to go where I was going, but I had to. I had no place else. I was going to Justine and Arnold’s house. My parents’ house. It was the last place I wanted to be. It wasn’t that I hated my parents or that I didn’t get along with them. We were just entirely different people.

My mom was a thin, blonde, blue-eyed beauty. She was one of those parents that was always recording something on her phone. I spent my entire childhood being a star on her social media accounts. I hated every moment of it. I didn’t look like her. I didn’t act like her. I didn’t want my entire life on the internet, but she felt otherwise. My dad was dark haired like I was, but my eyes were lighter. I looked like a fatter version of my dad. I didn’t care that I was fat, I thought I was beautiful. Round and curvaceous. My rolls didn’t bother me, but to my parents it was a point of contention. A lot of my childhood had been spent dieting and documenting my progress on social media. The only saving grace was my mom kept the comments from others away from me unless they were kind.

I turned down a long street. It was barely drizzling now. I drove slowly and found the house I was looking for. My childhood home was one of those storybook houses. It looked like it was made of gingerbread. Brick with a pointed roofline. There were curled designs around the windows and the big wooden door beckoned you inside. I pulled into the driveway and sat for a moment. Maybe I could go back and change things. Dylan and I had been fighting for months and it finally culminated into this. Me packing up and ending up at my parents’ house. I didn’t want to be here, but I didn’t want to be there back at Dylan’s house either. Shit.

I killed the engine and took my keys out of the ignition. I left the car and trudged my way up to the front door. I thought about knocking, but instead opened the door and let myself in. I closed the door behind me and stood in the entryway for a moment. I dripped on the wood floor and looked ahead of me. Everything was the same as it always had been. Pristine. The outside of the house had character. It looked like it could be out of a storybook, but inside was gray and white. The wood was painted white and it was basically sterile. All life had been drained out of this house. The live, laugh, love sign on the wall was a joke all on its own.

Beau? my mother’s voice came from the kitchen. Beauregard is that you?

Yep, that was me. My mom thought it would be fun to name me Beauregard. It’s so unique for a girl!

Yeah, mom. Can you bring me a towel?

Of course.

I heard some shuffling and the sound of the linen closet being opened and closed. My mom appeared in the hallway and came down to me. She was wearing yoga pants and an oversized and very fluffy white sweater. She had fluffy white socks on as well. She stopped in front of me and handed me a gray towel. She stood at about five foot five and I was a couple inches taller at five foot eight. Another thing I got from my dad. He was tall at about six foot three. I wiped down and dropped the towel to the floor and dried it off before she could complain about me ruining her floors.

You’re looking... wet... but well. She gave one of her forced smiles. If you weren’t so wet, I’d give you a hug.

Thanks. I held in a sigh of relief. I wasn’t a big fan of my mom’s hugs. Or hugs in general.

Why don’t I get some tea... or coffee, going?

Coffee will be fine.

I picked up the towel and let her walk back to the kitchen while I took the towel to the hamper in the bathroom.

Dad at work? I asked as I left the bathroom.

Yep! Mom called from the kitchen.

My dad worked as a theater teacher at a local high school. My mom had always been a stay-at-home mother, but ever since I moved out she had to come up with something to do with her free time. I was pretty sure she still ran a family blog, but focused on health and recipes. I didn’t follow her blog and never had or would.

I walked into the kitchen. Again it was white and very sterile. I sat down at the island. My mother slid a mug of coffee toward me. She leaned on the other side of the island and smiled at me. This time more real.

You know after you dry off and change clothes we should take a picture for my Instagram.

Mom I-

No arguments. You know my followers love you.

I sighed. Alright.

By the way, I used the zero sugar oat milk creamer on your coffee. I don’t really keep the sugared stuff in the house anymore, anyway.

Oh... thanks.

I looked down at the mug and held in another sigh. I sipped at the coffee. Sugar free vanilla. It tasted like aspartame. I drank it anyway. Slowly. My mom was staring at me like she wanted to say something else. I had a feeling it was about my weight. She had always hated the fact I was a little bit bigger than average. My body was my own and I loved it.

Have you thought about joining a gym? I knew it.

No, mom.

It might be good for you.

I don’t think so.

Alright, if you say so. She picked up her own mug of tea. But if you change your mind, Annie’s daughter Allison goes to the one down by the school. I bet you could go together. She’s trying to lose the baby weight, you know.

I kept myself from rolling my eyes and sipped at my disgusting coffee. It didn’t help that I was twenty-six and newly single. I was ruining my mom’s life because I hadn’t popped out any babies and probably wasn’t planning to either. I was her only child which meant she was never going to get to be that cool grandma on her social media page. Not that I would subject my children to that.

I finished my coffee and slid the mug back to my mother. I’m going to go to my old room and get dried off and changed.

Okay, she said. I have a blog post to get up. Everyone is going to be so excited you’re back. She clapped her hands.

Great. I slid off the stool and started toward my room.

My room was just as I had left it. My twin sized bed was pushed up against the wall. There was a desk and a set of drawers. The walls were covered in posters and photographs I’d taken. As much as I hated being in front of my mom’s camera, I loved being behind the camera. I wanted to be a professional photographer, but it was hard to break into the business. Everyone with a camera on their phone thought they could be a professional. It took more than just a nice camera. It took a special eye to see what others couldn’t.

Instead of working as a photographer, I spent the last several years working odd jobs. Everything from theater usher to dog groomer. I had either quit or been fired from all the random jobs I’d taken. It was one of the things that Dylan and I fought over. I couldn’t find a real job even with my degree in education. Why couldn’t I just be a teacher like my dad? Why did I have to keep jumping from job to job?

I let out a long groan and opened up my dresser drawer. There were still a few articles of clothing. Most of them from when I was in high school. I thought they might fit. I hadn’t changed much in the last eight years. I threw my wet clothes on the floor and pulled out dry undergarments and changed into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. They were a little tight, but not too much to be uncomfortable.

I sat on my bed and wondered what my next step was going to be. Probably find another job and save money until I could move out of my parents’ house again. I knew they would let me live here as long as I wanted. As long as I played nice with mom and her blog. God this was a mess.

I curled up in my bed and let my wet hair spread out on my pillow. I didn’t really care about getting anything damp. I closed my eyes and sighed softly. There was nothing I wanted more than to forget about everything that was going on. I didn’t want to think about Dylan or my parents. I didn’t want to think about being jobless again. So I didn’t. I fell asleep and napped in my old bedroom for a couple of hours.

I didn’t wake until my mother knocked on the door. Beau, it's time for dinner.

I went to the table where my father was already sitting. He had a plate with a steak, a salad, and potatoes. There was a plate beside him with a smaller steak, less potatoes, and a bigger salad. Then there was a plate beside that one with no potatoes, half of a steak, and a large mound of salad that took up most of the space. I knew which one was for me. I sat in front of the plate with the largest amount of salad.

Hi, dad, I mumbled.

Hey, kiddo. He was already cutting into his steak.

How was work?

He was about to take a bite, but hesitated. Not bad. We’re doing Romeo and Juliet this semester.

Your favorite.

He smiled. You know I love the classics. He finally took his bite of steak.

I poked at my salad. I wasn’t even allowed to have ranch. I could see it had the smallest drizzle of some kind of vinaigrette on it. My mother sat beside me with her glass of red wine filled a little bit more than it should have been. I didn’t say anything about it just like usual.

Don’t play with your food, Beauregard.

I rolled my eyes and took a bite of salad. Not only was it a vinaigrette, but it was lite vinaigrette. I could taste the difference. I didn’t mind not using ranch, but why did it have to be diet? I chewed slowly, feeling like a cow with cud. I didn’t want to swallow it, but I finally did. I tried to move onto my steak, but my mother made a disgruntled noise.

Eat your salad first. Then if you have more room you can have your steak.

I suddenly felt twelve instead of twenty-six.

Don’t look so sullen. No one wants to see a sad face.

Alright, Justine, I snapped.

My dad lowered his fork and knife and my mother turned slightly toward me. Do not talk to me like that, she said.

Sorry, I mumbled and went back to picking at my salad.

Awkwardness settled between us. The room went quiet, but soon the sound of knives against plates could be heard. My mother and father spoke about their days with each other and left me to eat my salad in relative peace. I ate it and tried not to pick around the tomatoes, carrots, and red onion. If I picked around the vegetables, my mom would complain. I crunched on them slowly and forced myself to swallow.

Dinner went like this for a while before I finally gave up and pushed my plate away. I didn’t get to eat the steak, but I didn’t finish my salad either.

I knew you wouldn’t be too hungry, my mom said. We’ll save that steak for later. Maybe you can have it for lunch tomorrow.

Yeah. I pushed myself away from the table and stood up. I think I’m going to go to bed early. I’ll get my stuff out of the car tomorrow morning.

I walked away without giving them a chance to say anything else. I closed my bedroom door and climbed into bed again. I flipped my pillow over and went to sleep in my sweats instead of changing into actual pajamas. I didn’t care. I just wanted the day to be over.

​Chapter Two:

Justine decided it would be better for me to bring in my boxes on my own. I could burn off the calories I ate for breakfast which consisted of one fiber bar because she didn’t keep cereal in the house. Too many carbs. It was so hard not to roll my eyes at her, but I didn’t mind bringing in my boxes by myself. There were only a couple of them. My goal for the day was to apply for a couple of jobs and hope that I