Soft

Putting her life in someone else’s hands wasn’t really anything new for Emma Derry. She had difficulty thinking back to a time when all the things she had– the clothes, the job, the roof over her head– and all the things she was– a billionaire, an Ivy League graduate, a beauty queen– were solely the product of her own efforts. Never could she point to a car or a boyfriend or a promotion and say, “That’s all because of me.” Because it never was. People had always had a hand in her outwardly personal successes. Emma’s life was really just one big hop to the front of the line with no one ever saying a word about it. She would have it no other way. Jack was one of those front-of-the-line finds and, naturally, Emma got first pick. Jack was handsome and endlessly wealthy, only rivaled in that realm by Emma herself. With his determined eyes and the chip on his shoulder that made him work too hard, Emma thought he would make the perfect husband.

She wanted him right away. And, just as thing had always gone for Emma, she got what she wanted. She won the most eligible bachelor on the market because she had the money that Jack couldn’t help but give chase. Unlike Emma, Jack was born into a family that could be described by only half the phrase “filthy rich” and not the attractive half. He had had to work tirelessly to get to where has was now and at a pace he wasn’t sure he could sustain in his later years. And slowing down in any capacity meant moving backwards towards a past life with which he never wanted to be reacquainted. Being with Emma would allow Jack to slow and still remain at a safe distance from the sad, poor kid he used to be. Derry family observers viewed Emma and Jack’s marriage as evidence for the notion that the family had too much money for their own good. Reaping the seemingly endless rewards that come with owning various fast food restaurant chains,

Emma never wanted for anything and, by association, neither did those close to her. Thus, it was always a point of ambiguity as to whether those around Emma liked her or liked her money. Onlookers noticed when boyfriends spent more time talking with Emma’s father than they did with her and when friends seemed to care more about where Emma’s old Gucci shoes were going to end up than about Emma herself. Outsiders reveled in the little ways money seemed to actually work against her. To the outside world, Emma was hugely confident and sure that she was a gift to whomever she granted herself. But in her mind, in the parts where money couldn’t touch, she was very aware of her flaws, at least those on the surface. Even in the depths of her mind, Emma was hopelessly superficial and her greatest concerns were in regards to the imperfections of her appearance.

Each of the four Derry daughters had a realm in which they spent excessively and obsessively. For Emma, it was herself. Unlike her sisters, she lacked beauty in the conventional sense. Where her sisters had petite and perfectly shaped proportions from head to toe, she had acne scars, a crooked nose and a misshapen complexion. Designer clothes and movie star make-up artists worked well enough for a while, but when even that wasn’t enough to compensate for the monster Emma saw staring back at her, she sought more serious solutions¬. Dr. West embodied the divide between averagely wealthy families and those like Emma’s. Averagely rich mothers and daughters had plastic surgery done at the hands of average doctors and ended up looking like every other woman with work done.

Dr. West, on the other hand, added his own touch–a signature of sorts–to every face, chest and neck he laid knife on. He thought the staple “worked on woman” with her swelled lips and bursting breasts resembled a monster–something he never wanted his patients to resemble. Thus, Dr. West strayed from the practice of his fellow surgeons and instead of making his patients look new, he sought only to make them look different. He rearranged their parts so subtly and so gradually that his procedures often went unnoticed. Family and friends of his patients might sense a change, but they were rarely able to place it. That was his allure– he could work on you, tighten you up and make you feel new without anyone even realizing it. His ability to do so was revolutionary which was why his procedures rarely went for less than a million. Only the wealthiest of families could afford the private perfection Dr. West sold. Once Emma found Dr. West, she felt the one problem she had ever had in life sweetly fade away.

Emma learned to take credit for the perfectly-centered, perfectly-sloped nose, elevated cheekbones, and spotless skin given to her by Dr. West. She looked on her purchased beauty as if it were the most natural thing in the world and, to anyone who hadn’t seen her before the age of 15, it was. Emma got comfortable in the fact that she was beautiful and planned to live the rest of her life as so. For five years, Emma and Jack lived comfortably, happily, perfectly– the only way Emma had ever known. In that time, they had had one perfect boy, established themselves in their wealthy New York suburb and made their mailbox match their four-story home.

While giving birth, Emma had been neatly slit open and quickly sown right back up, even tighter than before, by the loving hands of Dr. West. Jack entered fifty and, upon coercion from Emma, began to experiment with million dollar nips and tucks just as his wife had since she was fifteen. Money had provided them with five years of complete satisfaction with their lives together. But as Emma’s body grew harder with two decades of procedures piling up, Jack grew uneasy. Though there was no end in sight to their cash flow, its endless presence began to have a numbing effect on him. Jack missed excitement and having a purpose, but most of all he missed the feeling of a natural body sleeping next to him¬–one soft in some places and curved in others. He forgot eyes were supposed to wrinkle in the corners with a smile, cheeks were supposed to freckle from the sun and bodies were supposed to change overtime. Emma was 31-years-old now and could have passed for a 16-year-old. He yearned for a wife who looked real, who smiled with her whole face and didn’t feel like a statue on the other side of the bed.

Jack knew he should love the idea of a wife unaffected by time and appreciate Dr. West for his tireless work, but all of it made him uneasy and he grew to resent them.Emma was up to 52 surgical procedures; 52 time, she paid to have her parts sliced, augmented and reduced. She’d stopped being Emma Derry long ago and was now simply Dr. West’s personal art project, a collage of his abilities, all chaotically combined to make one beautiful and chilling masterpiece. Despite her record high number of times under the needle, Emma’s family still did not notice the vast majority of her procedures which was exactly how she wanted it.

Though it was a testament to the quality of his work, the covertness of Dr. West’s efforts kept him in the shadows– he was so good that it worked against him. The countless magazine covers and news segments calling Emma Derry one of the Most Beautiful Women of this and that year made no mention of any Dr. West. He was the behind-the-scenes to Emma’s front-and-center and though he should have been content with his quiet millions, he craved recognition. To Jack, his wife’s claim to a world-famous beauty that was in no way her own often made him ill. He didn’t like to look at her much anymore because her shapes and portions were beginning to scare him– always waxing and waning, never at any moment imperfect. He took to staying out more¬–telling Emma he had taken up his work again. But really, he was hopping bars with friends, and if none were around, going through the motions alone. It was on one of those lonely nights, sitting up at the bar in Muldoon’s that he met Catherine Craner, a waitress wholly unaware that a Derry family existed, much less that they were one of America’s wealthiest.

Catherine had rounded edges and bulged under her tight striped dress, a uniform meant for a smaller woman definitely, but maybe the largest size the bar could find. She had sun spots and freckles and wrinkles forming around her mouth and eyes– wrinkles that indicated a life of heavy smiling and occasional smoking. Her hands were rough and she wore no makeup at all. Jack was instantly in love with her and spent all the time that he could sitting at the bar, watching her work. Emma knew Jack was having an affair when she found cigarettes in his jacket pocket, and not the type of jacket he would be wearing to work either.

Jack didn’t touch her anymore and averted his eyes whenever she directed hers at him. The way he ignored her brought her back to those teenage years when boys wouldn’t look at her until they learned her father’s name and girls would speak to her unless they’d read the tag on the back of her jeans. Even kids 13- and 14-years-old knew who was worth bothering with and who wasn’t and Emma was the latter until people learned her last name. Instead of growing up to resent the façade money turned her life into, Emma came to regard it as a gift without which she would be nothing and no one. She never thought the magic of the Derry name– the trance it put people in– would ever ware off because she knew the money never would. But here was Jack, desperately seeking something wholly indifferent to her money and Emma couldn’t figure out what it was for the life of her.

Once in Dr. West’s office, Emma spoke of her husband’s affair in a roundabout way that in turn, blatantly blamed Dr. West and his apparent surgical shortcomings. If he’d done his job right, Jack would still be with her; he wouldn’t be out searching for satisfaction from a woman with a fraction of Emma’s inheritance and even less of her beauty. No, Dr. West was doing something wrong; he wasn’t doing enough. Lately, Emma had been feeling her age seep through in strange places, places she never thought would require work. But apparently, everything on her did. She had always been vigilant about pulling her cheeks far from their natural placing, but now the bags under her eyes had begun to hang over the taut skin below. Her lips were always perfectly rounded and pinched like pottery, but they drooped on the ends, now making every smile something of a frown as well.

Emma felt like she was splitting down the seams she had paid so much to keep intact. She was too young to be feeling so old; too rich to be feeling so low. She had spent no less than 50 million dollars on Dr. West’s surgeries– Emma was her own biggest investment and she would see herself to the end. Emma begged Dr. West to think up something new– some revolutionary procedure sure to win back what was rightfully hers. She didn’t want subtle anymore; she wanted people to notice this next change. Dr. West acquiesced quickly, seeing the headlines as she spoke: “Love Doctor Reunites Billionaire Couple.” No longer would he be held up in the shadows, kept silent by multiple millions thrown to him like a dog¬–he would be the name in every celebrity’s mouth, the hand on their cheeks, the scalpel in their necks. If anyone could propel him to that point, it was Emma Derry– the lovesick and vapid, 30-something teenage girl.

Looking at her, Dr. West saw what the magazines ignored and what her husband only recently realized– Emma was closer to monster than human. A monster different from that which became all other women with work done. Emma was becoming a much scarier one because there seemed to be no limit to what she’d do to herself in the pursuit of beauty. The deformities she saw in herself when she was younger disappeared after a dozen or so visits to Dr. West. With another dozen, everything she was before she had ever heard of having one’s face professionally ripped up was gone. But now, with more than 50 procedures under her belt, those deformities she ran from as a girl were reappearing in different and more pronounced forms.

Her nose had become far too small for the massive slab of porcelain that was her face. After collapsing twice under the stress of five back-to-back surgeries, the fragile member required support from two small, metal rods that dug into her cheekbone, creating sizable dents on either side. Her eyes, with their lids reduced and the surrounding skin pulled tight, swelled in her face, resembling two painted Easter eggs. Emma rarely blinked and when she did, it appeared to be a painful process. With cheekbones so starkly defined, the space bellow them looked hollowed out, giving her a skeletal look that made Dr. West silently shutter whenever his secretary announced Emma’s arrival for yet another appointment.

But Dr. West didn’t have to fear his patient much longer– he would get a chance to mend the monster he had had a hand in creating, really the only hand at work in the process. But, he had to remind himself, it was only ever under the direction of Emma herself that he conducted any procedure on her. He didn’t make her into what she had become without her asking for it. But now, she was coming to her senses and would allow Dr. West to torture her still-so-young-skin one last time in attempts to bring her back from the ledge to which he brought her. Emma’s story of infidelity and her pleas for help had had a strange effect on Dr. West, an otherwise unfeeling man.

When you spend years carving people up, it’s no surprise when emotional experiences dwindle in number and magnitude. But here was this young girl–too naive, and yes, too rich for her own good– handing over her body as if it were only a means to a much more important end. The things this girl would do for love, had done for love since she was 15-years-old. It was valiant and Dr. West had a soft-spot for acts of self-sacrifice, so he promised himself to make Emma into exactly what she wanted. On the day of the surgery, Emma arrived unafraid. She was confident in her family’s money and Dr. West and herself. As Dr. West ticked away at her face and neck with a thin black marker, Emma slipped quickly away into a familiar state of blackness. The last thing she thought of before going into that peaceful sleep was Jack with some woman, who had neither Emma’s money nor her beauty, sitting at a bar.

Winning him back would be easier than she’d thought¬¬–a poor, fat waitress woman would be no competition after Dr. West was finished with Emma. Then, she and Jack could never grow old together; always stay young forever. Emma awoke from her deep sleep and, for the first time in all the times she’d come out from under Dr. West’s drugs, her head was clear. She felt around to account for herself like she always did– ensuring all her limbs were present and able. But when she went to move, her arms and legs were held in place by a thick belt coming out from under the operation table. She scrambled to find her voice and when she couldn’t, she searched for Dr. West. It was dark in the room and metal poles carrying bags of liquid too closely resembled darkened human figures. The heart monitor reflected the hammering member in her chest and as the beeping grew frantic, a door out of Emma’s line of sight swung open.

Dr. West unstrapped her, apologizing for the wait and explained how she’d grown restless midway through the procedure to the point where he’d had to immobilize her. As Emma listened, she wondered why she didn’t feel sore and when she touched her face, she wondered why silk lay on her cheeks and soft clouds on her forehead. Dr. West explained that the procedure and its immediate recovery time had turned out to be longer than expected– Emma had been out for three days. Emma didn’t understand how the procedure could have require her to be unconscious for three straight days. She thought of Danny–who had watched him since she’d gone under? Then, Emma noticed Dr. West had removed the mirror that hung on the wall in the far corner when she’d first entered the operating room. Something was very wrong and Dr. West had removed the mirror so Emma wouldn’t see it. She scrambled to her feet, surprised at how easily they steadied her, and ran to her purse, pawing through it to get to her makeup bag. She pulled out a small compact and scrubbed at the mirror in it that had accumulated a thick film of powder.

As it cleared, a face slowly revealed itself to her. She looked upon herself long enough for Dr. West to tentatively cross the room and lay a hand on the small of her back. He met her eyes in the mirror and before he could say a word, he was driven back a full two feet with the most charged, all-consuming hug he had ever received. He felt thick tears and a large smile pressed up against his blue scrub. He held off on reminding Emma to keep a neutral face for the next few days– the girl could spare a few moments of happiness. Before he could wrap his arms around her, Emma took off running. Dr. West knew exactly where she was going and what would be waiting for her. He let her go without a word. Emma didn’t understand how, but she knew exactly where she was going. As she ran through the streets, she thought of that face she had seen only briefly in the mirror.

She thought of all the years she’d have to spend looking at it in order to truly believe it was hers. She could hardly contain herself. Emma ran feeling so completely secure at the seams that she felt she’d never come apart again. She swung the door of Muldoon’s open to find it dark and completely empty save for two figures in the far corner. She didn’t bother applying rouge or primping her hair– her face was a masterpiece that needed no assistance. Emma glided towards the bar, knowing exactly who to expect set up against it. As she got closer, she saw one figure hunched while the other hung over them, like a big, fat, ugly shadow. Both turned and pulled apart at the sound of Emma approaching. She flashed a big, toothy smile as the hunched figure pushed his overbearing shadow off– just as Emma had expected him to do. “Emma, I tried calling.”

Jack’s face was streaked with something. “Baby, they found Danny. The babysitter didn’t hear him all the way downstairs. He had some kind of infection. His…”. Jack groped for something to hang onto. Catherine grabbed him, but he shook her off. “He had sores all over. On his back, on his stomach. He was missing skin.” He croaked the last word and grabbed his head to steady it. “A lot of skin. So much skin, they didn’t understand how.” He slammed onto his knee, but was up a moment later, colliding into Emma. He grabbed at her sweaty arms and clung to her body, using it to hold himself up. He pawed at her surprisingly soft back and innocently smooth shoulders, pushing his face deep into her cheek that felt like a pillow he wanted to lay on forever. Then it hit him. Emma felt Jack’s body shudder and in the quickest moment of her life, she felt him rip away from her with so much force that he slammed himself into the bar. His eyes were wide and dazed. Catherine grabbed for him and this time, he let her take hold. Emma saw something in her husband’s eyes that began to tell a story she didn’t want to hear.

“You.” Jack said it painfully slow, as if it were the hardest word he had ever had to pronounce. Emma didn’t understand and Jack didn’t wait to enlighten her: “The coroner said the skin had been removed…surgically.” All at once, Emma’s mind went to Dr. West, to him insisting Danny come to him for checkups and dietary supplements…and baths. He had said they were special baths, baths good for a little boy’s skin. Emma stopped breathing. She hadn’t washed her own son in weeks– she never had the chance to notice the sores along his back and all over his stomach. She remembered the night, not two weeks back, when he had cried out to her, saying he was hurting all over. Emma was busy painting her face with serums¬ given to her by Dr. West himself; she didn’t even go into Danny’s room.

Emma raised her hands as if they were white flags offered after a long-fought fight. She silently thanked herself for forgetting to cut her nails last week. She took all 10 fingers and placed them at the base of her hairline. With the inside of her forearm raised up against her face, she could smell him–the skin still had Danny’s scent. Then she dug, feeling all ten fingers slip into the skin of her forehead. She felt droplets of blood warm her fingertips and took this as a sign to proceed. She looked at her husband, down on his knees at her feet with a big woman wrapped tightly around him. She wondered if Jack could breathe and then she ripped her fingers down the middle of her face, tearing through her eyes and then her cheeks. The skin peeled easily; after all, it did belong to a five-year-old. She raised her bloodied hands to her face again, this time starting at her temples. The screaming Emma thought was the waitress’s silenced when she tore her own lips into shreds.

Jack and Catherine watched and did not try to stop her as she ripped herself apart. No one ever had. She slashed through her neck over and over, marveling at how easily her body unraveled. Fingernails snapped off and stayed lodged in the muscles of her arms and legs as she pulled and pulled for the skin to come off. It was all gone by now, but it still didn’t feel like enough. Emma wondered what her 13-year-old boyfriends would think of her now. She thought she had to be close to dying and hoped that wherever she went after she did, Danny was nowhere to be found. Emma hoped he was somewhere with skin and a mother who wouldn’t take it from him. Emma’s shoes were soggy with blood and they left whole footprints all the way to 66th and Riverside. That’s as far as anyone could tell she’d gotten–her prints went from dark red stamps on the sidewalk to nothing at all. Since then, some claim to have seen her around Riverside at night, pink and crying and asking for a Dr. West.

Submitted October 25, 2019 at 02:32AM by noniesweets345 https://ift.tt/2p2vwnM