Benign Externally, Resentful Internally

Mia Barlowe grew up in a part of town where people didn’t smile warmly or offer pastries to neighbors. Along the yellow lit bricked streets came a strip of rotting houses with vines growing along the sides, where wind carried the distant smell of rust and other fried oils that computed into the air. Her home sat on the end of a crooked thin patch of crabgrass, quiet, less known. The inside was tainted with peeling wallpaper bubbled from humidity and floors that croaked during every step.

Mia never minded the mess. She’d grown used to the small spaces and overcrowding dust. Something that Mia did mind though– fiercely, painfully, yet silently, was Violet Bellamy. A girl who carried herself like the dancing leaves falling off the autumn trees. Graceful. Mindful. Peaceful. Yet somehow so loud it strangled Mia’s attention.

Violet Bellamy was the kind of girl whose vocabulary only stuck on positive words. There was no fail. Hardly even a try, because she most likely already had whatever she was looking for. She was born from one of the wealthiest families in all of New Hampshire, the Bellamy’s. Her house was a white-columned, courthouse-looking family home, decorated with classy accents of silvery molded designs. Violet’s dresses would always match, whether it was the richest cashmere, or silkiest cotton. Her hair was always up, shining like a bottle of sweet honey under the sunlit beckon.

Violet didn’t just know, but she lived up to this reputation to make sure she got treated with royalty no matter where she was.

Mia had her eyes on Violet ever since she moved to her ragged nest of a home. Maybe it was admiration, or maybe. . . it was jealousy. It never said enough to answer Mia’s ultimate question; why? Why? Why her? Why that little brat?

*

There Mia sat, at the back of the library which was where their class had been held in that day. Her sketchbook was open, and her pencil traced the same familiar pattern she had been tracing for the past 17 minutes, because all of her reading was already caught up.

A shadow fell over the page from behind her. “You’re Mia Barlowe, right?” Violet said with an amused, pitying, and entertained smirk. The kind you’d give to a scared kitten that’s lost in a thunderstorm.

Her pencil stopped. She very slowly nodded, uncertainty washed over her. What’s this about?

Violet lowered her head, and was now side-to-side with Mia’s face. Her head didn’t turn though, nor did her eyes. She stared strictly ahead of her. “You know,” Violet started, “we should be friends.” There was a hint of laughter under her breath. Mia wasn’t able to tell if it was joyful or mocking. “Wouldn’t that be fun?” Violet teased.

Mia’s head didn’t turn either. She stared straight ahead, just like Violet was doing. Suddenly, before Mia could even think, Violet stood upright and stormed off back to her seat.

That night, Mia lied awake, facing the ceiling, not being able to sleep. That moment replayed in her head nearly every second– until it was a faint memory that felt sacred. Shared. Warm. Mia knew though, that whatever scratched from underneath that warmth was sharp and painful.

*

Over the next few months, Mia could be found following Violet around school. Not constantly, just consistently. She was there whenever Violet needed her, and well Violet. . . Was still just Violet. Mia couldn’t tell if she hated or loved this treatment; it gave her enough space to see Violet from afar while still being close enough to see underneath that sheet of ‘rich girl’ that she gives to everyone, but at the same time it feels like Violet is just using her. Maybe that’s what it really is and she’s too afraid to accept it.

Weeks were shed down to days, and Mia, despite half-thoroughly enjoying this first-class-back-seat view of Violet, was growing annoyed and knew she couldn’t keep up with this. But she obeyed anyway. She wanted to leave? Too bad.

Violet and her two other super close friends along with Mia stood a short distance away while Violet was writing her name for Dance Club. After she was done, Courtney, her first super close friend stepped up and wrote her name next to Violet’s.

Violet stood uncomfortably close to Mia, as she waited in line for Violet’s last friend to be done writing her name so Mia could. “Miaaaa! You’re like a stray dog,” Violet suggested. “Like. . . Following me around and stuff,” she cajoled, “it’s adorable.”

Mia would’ve responded, but if she did, she was most likely going to just choke on her words. She could sense Violet was trying to flatter Mia, but in a cocky way. Annoying, yet somehow not irresistible. How was Violet just so good at this?

Mia stepped up because it was her turn to write out her name next to. . . Mia, Courtney, Helen. Her name didn’t stand out like the way theres did, all written neatly in purple pen.

The following night, when she returned home, her mother wasn’t there. The surprise wasn’t too heavy a hit, because she knew her mom had to work later shifts at the diner sometimes. It never mattered. At the house or not, she never noticed Mia. Not even when she started skipping dinner and discontinuing the minutes she spent downstairs to question her brother's day and how it was. Her brother wasn’t home either, so the house was quiet. Cold. Far from any homely warmth Mia needed.

Mia was left awoken again. It was after nearly every interaction her and Violet had. She was always left wedged like a rock between two boulders, always unsure of Violet’s words and what they really meant. Something hit her. Something hit that rock, breaking the two boulders. She began to question herself and why she even really likes Violet. That’s crazy. A girl like Mia liking and enjoying the company of a girl like Violet? Violet hated Mia, and Mia hated Violet. It was so obvious. I mean, take today for example. Mia doesn’t even like to dance, or even Dance Club for that matter.

Each word Violet spoke to Mia was scraping her raw. Stripping her emotions and feelings like it doesn’t matter. Like it never even mattered before.

*

The next day came. Mia woke and got dressed, then walked to school. As Mia arrived at school today, she held her gaze on Violet a little longer than usual. It felt like she was trying to memorize every movement and every gesture she made with her hands. Was she?

This continued for days, and Mia started watching Violet just more and more frequently. The way she sat, where, who she whispered and giggled to, the way she tossed her hair to make her friends laugh.

Mia memorized it all.

If I knew how she did it, she argued, maybe I could be like her.

However, the longer Mia watched, the more the world thinned around her. Her conversations grew shorter. Her attention was less attracted to the topic. Her homework was left unfinished. She lay awake imagining Violet’s voice saying her name, again and again, until the sound became something unreal. Echoing like a blank map telling you to go, but expecting you to find your own way.

Violet. . . She noticed. She noticed the way Mia was left blankly gazing, sometimes even glaring at the way Violet carried herself around her friends, boys, and even teachers Violet knew she stood like a figure that Mia couldn’t get her eyes off.

One day, Violet wanted to speak up. It was getting a little. . . Creepy. No. It had always been creepy. Long enough for Violet to stop perceiving Mia’s attention like she was famous, now, it felt like Mia was just like a stalker.

Violet approached Mia. Carefully, quietly, graceful like always. “Someone’s staring,” she’d tease, flicking Mia gently on the forehead. “Careful– you’ll burn a hole through me.”

She said it sweetly, but somewhere along the road, you could feel a ravine open up– a ravine that revealed all the envied knowledge and manipulation Violet held

Mia was ashamed. Thrilled. And at the same time, already deciding to stay unstopped,

*

In the early breeze of October in 1974, the kids were outside for lunchtime. Violet approached Mia with unusual seriousness. She carried something behind those eyes– maybe she was intrigued, but Mia was never able to tell.

“My birthday party is on Saturday,” she said. “I want you to come.”

Mia’s chest tightened. “Me?”

Violet scoffed and turned her head to look over her right shoulder. “Yes, you. Don’t act so shocked.” Violet’s tone grew abrupt and straightforward, yet still holding that softness and calmness she always carried. “I think you’d like my house.”

Mia hardly heard the rest. All she could gather was that Violet was actually considering having Mia come to her party, and that she wasn’t inviting her out of pity or bad feelings, but because she actually wanted her to go. “Oh. Okay. . . I’ll be there.” Mia gave a hesitant smile.

“Good.” Violet nudged her shoulder before skipping off.

Mia imagined the party all week long– the chandeliered hallways, polished staircase and velvet furniture felt impossible. She imagined how Violet would take her in with a friendly smile, yet Mia would probably still feel that throbbing interest that something secret, something dark hid beneath that friendliness.

Saturday arrived. Mia stood at the Bellamy front lawn– dress pressed nicely, tinted of a light blue, hair combed and ends curling neatly. Her heart pounded. Something was not right.

The house was dark.

No music. No laughter. No other guests.

Mia gulped audibly. Maybe she had the wrong time?

She knocked. Knocked again. A long silence fell. Suddenly, the door sprang open, surprised. . . and then amused.

Violet studied Mia’s face. She looked down her dress all the way to her shoes. Beat up, but a pretty color. “You actually came?” Violet said, a laugh escaping before she could stop it. “Mia, dear, it was a joke. . .” Her voice faded awkwardly.

A joke? A joke.

The words slithered and rattled through Mia’s bones like a dropped plate cracking on tile.

Violet leaned against the doorframe, still looking Mia up and down. “You’re so sensitive,” Violet cooed. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s only fun.”

Only fun? Only fun.

The door shut in Mia’s face.

*

Something deeply layered within Mia had unraveled that night. Not broken, but loosened, like a screw quietly turning on its own.

At school, she avoided Violet. But all that avoidance didn’t stop the thoughts. If anything, it made them stronger. Thicker. Unbreakable. It was like Violet’s laugh echoed in her mind; her face slipped into every dream; her voice threaded into Mia’s own inner thoughts until she couldn’t tell where one ended and another began.

It was a joke.

You actually came?

It’s only fun!

Those exact lines became a rhythm she couldn’t shut off. She just couldn’t.

Mia started writing Violet’s name in her notebooks without paying any mind to what she was actually doing. She walked home imagining entire conversations that never happened. Violet’s smile began shifting in her mind– from playful, to cruel. Sweet, to venomous. From human to something mythic and impossible to satisfy.

And Mia couldn’t tell if she wanted more or wanted it to stop completely.

On the other hand, Violet seemed wary of it all. She stopped approaching Mia. She whispered to friends when Mia passed. Sometimes, she’d look away quickly when she caught Mia staring.

*

It happened late one afternoon in November.

Mia found Violet alone behind the school, sitting on the brick wall, swinging her legs. The sky was a mix of swirled cotton candy, bruised of some purple too.

For a moment, Mia almost walked away. But before she even got the chance, Violet looked up– startled, and that small flicker of surprise made something inside Mia collapse.

The air grew tense, loud even. It was so quiet it felt like it started to shake beneath the distance between them. “Why do you do it?” Mia finally said. Abrupt and transparent.

Violet blinked. “Do what?” She responded quietly.

“Play with me the way you do. Like. . . pull me close and then laugh once you let go.”

Violet hesitated, and for once, her confidence withered away. Mia could see the way it drained from her face, sinking down her eyes and lips and brows like she was melting. Fragile.

“I was never being serious,” she shrugged casually. “About anything. Even about being friends with you.”

Mia froze. Her whole body stiffened up. Violet just admitted after all this time, she didn’t actually want Mia to be her friend. The words echoed in her head as long as it took Violet to speak up again, only because Mia wasn’t saying anything.

“You were following me around. I found it weird. You always stared at me. You were. . . obsessed with me Mia. I was scared and I thought that after you understood the birthday party prank you’d go away. But no. It got worse. I felt your eyes on me everywhere I went. I mean,” Violet scoffed and rolled her eyes theatrically, “have you even noticed that you started to do your hair, dress, and even act like me?”

Throughout the whole time Violet was speaking, a thick sheet of tears layered on her eyes. One fell. Two fell. Three. Mia looked down. A fourth.

“Mia–” Violet stood. “There’s no way you’re crying.” Violet’s brows furrowed. “You don’t understand how it–”

Mia looked up finally and interrupted Violet. “No! You don’t understand, Violet.” She said loud enough for her voice to actually echo for a moment, stretching across the bricked walls and distancing off into the neighborhood behind them. “You don't know what it feels to compare every aspect of my life, my terrible, dreadful life to your perfect family-home wealth. It kills me. And you’re right. Maybe I did grow a little obsessed, but that was because I think everyday what it would be like for me to be in your shoes. Have you ever thought about what it would be like for you to be in mine? Everyday I come home to an unwelcoming house, it cripples with coldness that you don’t even see in horror films. Violet,” Mia paused. “You’re perfect. And it hurts.”

Silence grew in the air again, and Mia began to feel tears blanket her eyes again. Violet stood there, still awkwardly pressed against the bricked wall.

Violet sighed. “I’m sorry.” A short pause passed. “I guess I didn’t think about it that way.”

Mia nodded and wiped her face, “I’m sorry too. It wasn’t right.”

“For what it’s worth,” Violet gestured her hand, “my real party is two weekends away. No joke. You’re invited. I hope you show up.”

*

Winter found its way into every corner of Mia’s life. The classrooms felt colder. The house felt smaller. The air felt too quiet to breathe.

And yet, without Violet’s dawning presence– without her teasing, her smiles, her games– Mia slowly began to awaken from the fog. She noticed the dust on the windowsills. The way it swept away when Mia would place her notebook down a little too hard and the pages would flutter outward and brush it away. She noticed the sound of her mother humming while she cooked. The way her brother awkwardly kicked at the couch whenever he got mad.

And school, school didn’t change much. Violet’s friends still gave Mia an odd look whenever she passed by, but things felt lighter now.

The obsession didn’t vanish, but it faded. Slowly. And Mia wasn't afraid to be patient.

Mia hadn’t spoken to Violet ever since she had gone to her party, only awkward nods when they passed. Violet looked relieved, though sometimes she watched Mia with a complicated expression– guilt, curiosity, fear, or pity. Or even all at once.

As for Mia, she learned something difficult:

Desire for someone else’s life can hollow you out from the inside, and attention is not the same thing as affection. But, one last thing; a person can lose pieces of themselves without ever meaning to, which Mia understood she played a game hard to beat, even to bear, so she thanked herself for that and decided to move on.

In the spring, on a rare warm afternoon, Mia sat on her crooked front steps that decayed of old rubbed off flakes of wood and looked at the quiet bricked street. She breathed in the air that didn’t echo with anyone’s voice but her own. It was new. And she liked it.