Spencer marveled at the fact she was never subjected to the pathetic life of a child beauty pageant star, made aware of her own imperfections before they even had a chance to take hold, a prepubescent has-been, five years before she even began to bleed. The face of a porcelain doll on a flat-chested body, the makeup embedded into her pores like war paint, a baton clasped in her tiny fingers, her thin, underdeveloped ankles struggling not to wobble in her half inch heels.

Spencer gulped down her glass of wine, her amusement building by the moment, blood red being the thematic color of the evening. For the grand finale, she would rip the bandage off her leg, droplets of blood pelting the tablecloth and her mother’s silk napkins, shouting, “Voila!”

Her mother’s voice blended into the wall, where it seeped into the expensive wallpaper. Spencer swallowed her meat and tried not to gag.

*****

She sat with her back to the door, staring at the cell phone in her right hand. She had pushed speed dial minutes earlier, and placed the phone to her ear.

She glanced at the two soaked towels that lay on the floor next to her leg. She pushed them away from her, suddenly disgusted by the sight, her hand clamping harder against the no longer fresh towel that sat on her leg.

Her mother had left, off to where the fuck ever, as she always did when her father didn’t return home the previous night. Dinner lasted longer than she had hoped, her mother’s Xanax not kicking in soon enough, providing that annoying pre-party where she babbled endlessly for hours.

Spencer dabbed at the blood that trickled out from underneath the towel with a Kleenex, watching the white fluffy paper absorb her insides until it was useless. The phone vibrated against the tile, echoing off the sterile walls of Spencer’s own personal operating room.

She waited until the last possible second, bizarrely excited by the anticipation of a ‘last ring,’ the whole drama of it all making her smile, Spencer overjoyed that she sat bleeding on her bathroom floor, her parents miles and miles away, as she lay there vulnerable, hurt, and weak. Her lower abdomen was on fire, her body confused, unsure if it should be sexually turned on, or ready to fight or flight. Spencer lay there, grinning, as if watching her body visibly duke it out, fighting for dominance, each side given false information, confused and reckless, but definitely on the ball.

She grinned, said what she needed to say, and waited for Aiden to help her to his car.