Читать книгу The Barkuu - Lauren Wright - Страница 8

Onyana looked in the mirror. She was not just beautiful, but the epitome of beauty. And she knew it. From the time when memory first served her, "You're beautiful" was the mantra everyone sang to her.

Upon meeting people, they would treat her with the same regard as one might give a noble. They would give her whatever she wanted and say, "No charge, sweetie," or "I couldn't take a beautiful girl's money."

She turned her head to the side. Her jawline was perfect. So elegant, soft and tender, the line veered off and ran gently down her neck to her collarbone. She kept looking, slowly rotating her head. Her chin was petite, framing the most perfect lips humankind could produce.

They were smooth, plump, sensual, and with just a tiny tilt upward at the ends, giving her a natural smile. They had just the right amount of fluff, and they expressed a longing to be kissed. They looked like that even when she was mad.

Her smile could stop traffic, and her body had caused accidents. She felt horrible at the time, even though she had done nothing to create them. She had been wearing something more provocative, in retrospect.

To be fair, small shorts and tops are comfortable on a hot day. Who wants to run in a burka? Onnie, as she was called, had stopped running in little shorts after that incident.

Her face was the depiction of perfection. She always found people staring at her. If she looked at them, they would snap out of it and either be embarrassed or pretend they were looking at something else. So she pretended not to notice them. A girl gets used to it, I guess.

Alas, even with a face so lovely, it was her body that stole the show. Really, her body was the only thing that could steal your attention away from her face. It was a curse, and she hated it.

She kept looking. Her nose was cute, with the tiniest little dimple in the end. It crinkled when she was happy or excited. People loved her nose. They were always telling her jokes, just to see her nose crinkle inadvertently.

The bridge of her nose was a delightful slope that washed into the endless swirling pools that were Onyana's eyes. Soft brown with flecks of copper, they seem to glow when she was happy.

Often men had made themselves into pseudo court jesters, acting a complete fool to evoke a happy response. Endless suitors laid everything from flowers, jewelry, and cars, to promises of Queenship and billionaire wifehood with no prenup.

She kept looking into the mirror. Her face was perfectly symmetrical, or at least the closest anyone has come. Her eyebrows were full, but always looked freshly sculpted.

Her brows, of course, had never been touched. The flare that caught everyone's eye was natural and unintended. As you were mesmerized at her eyebrows dancing around on her forehead, you were drawn to her thick, full hairline of long, voluptuous hair.

She studied her ears, mesmerized in their wavy lines that draw you in and make you want to smell her hair, to kiss her adorable earlobes. She straightened her head and looked herself in the eye, flawless, literally and figuratively. She could not find a single flaw, ingrown hair, zit, wrinkle, blemish, or imperfection.

Not a single indiscretion dared impair her glowing complexion. She could examine the entirety of her body to the same extent, and find the same.

The nearest thing to a blemish was a single birthmark one quarter the size of a dime. It was located about an inch in from her left hip, a perfectly formed heart-shaped freckle. One that bikini photographers were obsessed with. Come to think of it, everyone was.

When she was young, her parents were laborers: good, honest, hard-working people who had adopted her when she was three. She loved her parents with all her heart.

When they looked at her, she knew they loved her. You could see it in everything they did; they loved her for who she was, regardless of how she looked. They were the only ones. How could anyone else like her for who she was, when all they could see was beauty?

When she was young, they worked hard, and they had lived well. Though they couldn't afford much else, they drove an older minivan with no features and rented an apartment.

But they were there for her, every birthday, every Christmas, family meals, barbecues, road trips, and even Disneyland! She loved Disneyland, but more so, Disneyland with her parents.

When she was older, despite her parents' lack of income, they were able to travel a great deal and became very well provided for. Disneyland, Disney World, Hawaii, Universal Studios – they had even taken cruises to Alaska, the Caribbean, and Australia.

Onnie and her family always had the newest stuff, the most expensive brands, and designer whatever they wanted. At age sixteen, she had received a brand new Audi, and her parents received the same.

The gifts had started when she was ten years old, near Thanksgiving. A scout had said she was "the poster child for an American Christmas."

He had promised a sizeable check and a fantastic Christmas for all three of them. They let Onnie decide everything.

They respected her and did their best to be her guides, rather than dominate her life. She did the ad, and the scout delivered on his promise, plus some.

Ever since that ad, she has been constantly bombarded with offers, gifts, and compensations. Her family was never to want again. She did select a few jobs and maintained strict ground rules.

It had to be tasteful, respectable, and it had to be a pleasant, clean, friendly environment. Even at a young age, people wanted her to pose more provocatively, so she added, nothing sexually oriented.

She would later do some bikini modeling, but again, tasteful. Her most important rule, if anyone hoped to work with her in the future, was that her and her family's privacy must be respected.

Any intrusions would result in blacklisting them and their associated organizations. Onyana was very serious about her rules and forced adherence.

She insisted both of her parents quit their menial jobs and go on the road with her. She orchestrated jobs throughout the country and did an RV commercial for the nicest one on the lot. She had formed an agency that charged all expenses the family encored to various clients.

The clients were happy to pay. They would pay her to fly around in a private jet, eating caviar and drinking vintage 2020, Don Perignon at $3,000 a pop if she wanted.

Her refusal to jump on board like everyone else made her a valued commodity. People would jump through any hoop she presented to them, and earnestly thank her for the opportunity.

It was in large part because she was a pleasure to work with. "More delightful to deal with than to look at," she'd often heard. Though she doubted this, she took pride in their words.

Onyana never liked any of the attention, except from her parents. As far as she could remember, boys acted so silly around her, so stupid. She hated it! She could never have a friend who was a boy; none of them could see who she was!

All they could see was her perfect face, staring like an idiot into her amazing eyes. She had, on many occasions, wanted to grab them by the ears, shake them, and scream, "Look at me!!!"

When she was in seventh grade, she noticed even some of the girls were acting silly toward her, and all the other girls hated her for the attention she received. They used to start rumors and call her names, until she became famous, and then they all loved her.

Onnie was intelligent, and she never had to try in school – not because it came so easy, but because someone always wanted to do her work for her.

First, they would offer to study with her to get close; she would politely refuse. But then they would beg to do her homework for her, anxious to show their worth. She tried not to take advantage of them, but she felt bad for telling them no.

Even when she did her work, her teachers often sugar-coated her grades. They would give her looks that you only give other adults, asking her to stay after class to "talk about her grades."

The other girls would always look at her and snicker afterward. They would call her a whore, and insinuate she was earning her grades some other way.

Onnie just ignored them. Her parents said they were just jealous; they weren't getting the attention themselves. It was kind of obvious when you looked at things abstractly.

Onnie was perpetually upbeat and friendly to everyone, a trait many took the wrong way. Despite the troubles, she wished to remain that way and instead withdrew from the world. She focused on her family.

When she hit puberty, she had wanted to scar herself so people would leave her alone. Her breasts grew large, supple, and firm, her hips widened, and her buttocks filled pants in a way that inspired mannequin manufacturers.

The attention she received amplified significantly. Everywhere she went, guys would wait for other guys to finish asking her out, so they could have their shot. It was a never-ending charade that she was already growing tired of.

She often thought to herself: These people. These people tell me I'm amazing. They tell me I'm a great person, that I deserve to be given the world and treated like a princess.

It's disgusting. They have no idea who I am or what I have done. They tell me I am amazing because I'm pretty. I don't have to try. I could treat everyone horribly, and they would still let me walk all over them.

They would probably chew my food if I'd let them. It feels terrible when you strive to be a good person, but all they can see is your face, like a well-decorated prison.

The truth is, Onnie did have a secret, one that she learned when she was ten. It came in a dream she had a thousand times since, and with ever greater detail. It was the one thing she had yet to reveal to her parents, but she was nineteen, so she was supposed to have secrets.

It wasn't all bad, though. By the time Onyana was sixteen, her figure had become renown among designers. Her wardrobe was growing vast. She had an eighteen-wheel, semi-truck – a mobile closet that met her anywhere she wanted.

The entire wardrobe consisted of clothes designed and tailored specifically for her. Designers loved every inch of her figure and relished the opportunity to develop a full line around her.

They would turn around and market it to the masses, making a killing. The clothing looked so good and hugged her in all the right ways. No matter how she moved, it moved with her, effortlessly.

Onnie was very flexible and fit. She had always maintained herself with exquisite attention. Her body more than looked amazing. It felt amazing.

When she wore the exclusive fabrics, the designers used, they were so soft, smooth, and breathable. They glided across her skin, and gently brushed the little hairs all over her body in a beautiful symphony that enlivened her. It made her feel so sensual.

Alas, she could never wear the clothes she loved in public because they drew too much attention. People stared everywhere she went; couples would end up fighting after she walked by.

Guys would stop listening to their girls and watch her. It was a terrible effect to have on society; it made her feel dirty. But she refused to wear drab clothing trying to hide; she would not be defeated.

She would, however, limit her public access further, which was fine with her. She loved nature with fervid enthusiasm, and she looked forward to solitude in nature.

Onnie had, of course, decided not to mar herself. It would kill her parents, and they would have to go back to work. She knew they would happily go back to work if they even thought that's what she wanted.

But she would never get to see them. As of now, they could go anywhere and do anything they wanted. True freedom.

She valued so much merely waking up to them and only them. To see how they loved her, how they would rather spend time with her than anything else on the planet.

She also loved waking up to all kinds of various nature scenes, mountains, valleys, and ocean beaches. They would wake up to the view, and eat at a local eatery. Then they would walk around exploring, go boating, or perhaps go to a theme park. It was worth it to have "the world is your oyster," as some put it.

Plus, she ultimately decided, if she rashly did scar herself, she would still go down in history, and then be hounded for much worse reasons. Besides, Onyana had a destiny whether she liked it or not.

She was destined to be the most beautiful and recognizable figure of her time. It was one that she had realized when she was ten. It came to her in a dream, and she had always known it was going to be reality.