BELLADONNA
I trace the lines of my jaw, and frown when I find that it’s not as sharp as I’d like. I stare at every inch of my face; the slope of my nose, the curve of my lips, my unblinking eyes. I stare and stare and stare until the reflection feels unrecognisable, more stranger than self.
It starts out small.
I toss a coin into a wishing well and I wish for the beauty I find lacking.
I clutch a rosary tight in my palm until the corner of the cross digs into my skin, and while others pray for peace, happiness or paradise, I pray for beauty. It is all I ever ask for. It is a selfish, vain wish, my priest reprimands.
Perhaps that is why no miracle comes.
I scream into my pillow to muffle the rage I feel when my face remains the same as the week before.
He only comes into my dreams at first. A tall, lankly thing that’s more shadow than boy, and when he leans in to whisper in my ear, his claws dig into my arms until they bleed.
The scratches are there when I wake up. They won’t go away, no matter how hard I wash.
I follow his hushed commands. I don’t talk to anyone anymore. Not my parents, not my friends, not my priest. I throw my rosary away. It didn’t do me much good anyway, and when I look into the mirror again, I’m sure that my jaw is a little sharper, just like he promised it would be.
He asks me for worship, and I find it a small price to pay.
I build an altar for him from the softest cloth I can find, and sweet smelling flowers. I kneel in front of it until my knees ache and my voice is raw from whispered devotion.
My skin looks softer, I think.
The lady who lives in the apartment across from mine said so anyway.
That night he asks me for her heart and drop of my blood. Payment, he says.
I do it because I have to. I have to. I have to.
Her pleas ring in my ears for days, louder than the rain and thunder.
My face doesn’t change.
I’m not sure it ever has.
It comes to me in my dream again. It asks me for something that I can’t quite make out. The lady’s pleas are still ringing in my ears. I don’t even know her name, but my palms still feel stained from the cavity of her chest.
I say yes to it anyway. I always say yes.
Paula, 20, Birmingham - UK ✯ IG: @ijunibug