The Fractured: Elena: A Blemished Novella (Blemished Series)

by Sarah Dalton

  “This is not working, at all.” He stopped and put his camera on his hip, waggling a finger in Elena’s direction. He turned to walk away.

  “Wait!” Elena called out to him. “Give me five more minutes. I’ll take a good picture, I swear.” Her heart quickened. She needed this. She had to make it work.

  She flicked her hair back and put her hand on her hip. She took a deep breath and concentrated on composing her face, remembering being a little girl in the Area 14 Pink Cheeks competition when she placed first and her mum squealed with joy, shouting out, “That’s my baby, my baby!” over and over again. When she opened her eyes she worked it like she never had before.

  “That’s more like it, sweetheart. Work-that-thang!”

  Clarissa stomped her foot at the back of the hall. She turned around, her blonde hair trailing her like a sun-flare. Georgiana and Arabella followed with pensive expressions on their faces. Elena saw them stop at the back of the hall and convene with their heads together. Clarissa looked up and met Elena’s eyes. They were planning something and that was never good news. The three of them hardly had a brain cell between them, but they were vindictive enough to try something. She’d have to check her shampoo for hair-removal cream, or her lip gloss for poisonous residue.

  “All right, darling, that’ll do. Let’s get you over to the measurement station!” squawked the photographer. He helped Elena down from the small stage and backdrop. Someone else shoved more paperwork into her hands and then pushed her towards the next phase of the competition – weight and measurements.

  Elena saw the guy at the measurement station from behind first, hunched over a table. He was broad shouldered, wearing dark jeans and a dark t-shirt, the same dull browny colour as his hair. He looked out of place amongst the skinny camp guys with their glitzy belts, and the domineering female organisers clutching clipboards and shouting into their Plan-Its. Elena walked over but he didn’t bother to turn around.

  “Stand on the grey cross,” he said in a monotone voice. He sounded even less pleased to be there than Elena felt.

  She looked down at the cross marked out with duct tape and planted her feet on it. Finally, the guy turned around from the table and looked at her. Elena had seen a lot of hot guys in her life, the GEM guys at school all had this perfect symmetry to their faces that were attractive and boring. This guy knocked all of them out of the water. Yeah, he was hot, but he was hot and different. Whoever constructed his genes did a damn good job because he was just as good-looking as the guys in school, but at the same time had this rough-around-the-edges thing going for him. She’d never seen eyes so dark and so deeply set, and she wanted to stare into them, get lost in them. But he refused to look at her. When he stepped towards her Elena held her breath.

  “Arms up,” he said. He didn’t seem the slightest bit interested as he wrapped the tape measure around her waist.

  It was weird. Why wasn’t he interested in her? He didn’t seem gay. She guessed he could just be super-butch gay, but she had pretty good gay-dar from all the modelling shoots she’d been on, and she was pretty sure he wasn’t. He just wasn’t attracted to her. He wrapped the tape tight around her waist, took the measurement and then moved back to the table to make notes.

  “So, how did you get this gig?” Elena blurted out.

  The guy walked back to her and she couldn’t help but noticing that he walked with attitude, something else that wasn’t like the other GEM guys she’d met. They were way too goody-two-shoes to show any attitude.

  “Excuse me?” He looked at her like she was crazy.

  “I just mean, you don’t seem the type to work somewhere like this.” She was blushing. Was she blushing? She’d never blushed in her life.

  “Oh, I live for this stuff. The fashion… and the skinny girls who need a good meal. Yeah, I’m totally into it all… you know, the photography and that.” He stepped forward so that they were just inches apart. He looked down at her, and Elena felt herself getting lost in his eyes. “Arms up.”

  She obeyed and he wrapped the tape measure around her chest. Elena trembled as his fingers brushed against her body. She let out a little gasp and the guy started. He met her eyes for a second and Elena thought she saw something in them, some sort of conflict. He snatched the tape measure away and jotted something down on the clipboard resting on the table.

  “Are you okay?” she said.

  He didn’t answer. Instead he walked back and wrapped the tape around her hips. He yanked his hand away and made another note on his clipboard. All of his actions had this urgency and aggression, even writing – it was like he attacked the paper with his pen. He ripped a sheet of paper from the clipboard and thrust it into Elena’s hand.

  “Here, take this to the next station.” He didn’t meet her eyes, staring right through her instead.

  Elena took her sheet of paper and walked away feeling strangely dejected.

  Chapter Three

  There are plenty of horrible jobs in the world – working in sewage for example. Literally moving crap around. It’s necessary for society, but a job that no one in their right mind would want to do for the rest of their lives. Elena didn’t have to move crap around, but she did feel that modelling was up there with some of the worst jobs in the world.

  She’d made it through the first round. The final photograph had come out great – she’d managed to smother every modicum of her personality in favour of someone with a lot more “pep” and a lot less “attitude”. Her measurements were good – she had a naturally slender but curvaceous body thanks to the expert gene constructor who put her together – although she had been warned to stay away from carbs for a few weeks. Her mother had echoed this sentiment and Clare was under strict instructions not to make toast at breakfast. Elena would now be living on juices and raw food until the end of the competition in two weeks. She already craved white bread smothered in butter with a thick layer of jam on top. But she had to keep her eyes on the prize – as her mother so often said – getting that contract to London and getting the hell away from Murder-Troll.

  At school, she was alone. Clarissa and her pals eyed her from corners of the room, whispering behind hands and giggling. They had something planned, something bad. Elena knew that Clarissa, with her cute button nose and large doey eyes, was the main competition for the prize. Georgiana and Arabella were out. Elena sniffed every drink before she drank it. In the showers after PE she would squirt her shampoo into her hands to examine it before washing her hair. She opened her locker very carefully, making sure it wasn’t booby trapped. The anticipation was killing her. And all the time, Murder-Troll watched her during school. She knew something, she could feel it.

  “Just a few more weeks,” Elena said out loud. She was stood in another line; this one shorter. Her mother had bailed again – the Botox had made her face slightly too paralysed. Of course the other mothers would judge her and therefore she couldn’t come. She was beginning to think that her mother was turning into some sort of agoraphobe. She’d quit her job and spent all of her time in the house getting beauty treatments and ordering herself fruit baskets online. The only time she ever left was to drive Elena to school, and even then she wore sunglasses and didn’t leave the car.

  “What was that, Elena, were you talking to me?”

  Elena turned to find the one person she didn’t want to see. Who else but Clarissa? She wasn’t alone. Her mum had come out to support her daughter and had her arm looped through Clarissa’s as though they were best friends.

  “Elena, is that you?” said Mrs Highbury – Clarissa’s mother. “Why, I’ve not seen you for months, dear. How are you?” She smiled. There was something about that warm smile that made Elena’s chest ache for just a moment. It was a mother’s smile.

  “I’m fine, thank you, Mrs Highbury.”

  “Oh, dear, you know you can call me Susan.” She leaned forward and gripped Elena’s arm. “How are your parents?”

  “They’re well, thank you,” Elena said
. She tried not to sound quite as despondent as she felt.

  “They aren’t here,” Clarissa said with a glint in her eye. “Are they busy?”

  Elena never faltered. “Mother wanted to be here, to support me, but she’s feeling unwell, so…”

  “Such a shame,” Mrs Highbury said in a voice dripping with genuine sympathy. “I’ll have a fruit basket sent to your house. I do hope she feels better.” She gripped Elena’s arm again. “You can stick with us for the rest of the day. Can’t she, Clarissa?”

  Elena’s eyes shone, and she smiled her first real smile of the say. “I’d like that.” She held Clarissa’s eye contact with a wicked grin.

  Clarissa’s cheeks turned bright as beetroot. “Yes I suppose she can hang around with us. Why wouldn’t she be able to?” Her frown switched into a grin wicked enough to match Elena’s. “What could Elena have possibly done to mean she can’t hang out with us? I mean, it’s not like she helped the Blemished escapees of anything.” Clarissa and her mother burst into a fit of laughter.

  “What a silly thought,” Mrs Highbury said with a chuckle. “Imagine Elena doing something like that.”

  Elena laughed along with them, all the time glaring at Clarissa. “Yes, imagine that!”

  The line moved along and Elena ended up stood side by side with Clarissa and her mum. It had already begun – the change within her. She was becoming the other person, the one people would like. Competition changes people, especially beauty competitions. Why else had Clarissa turned into such a nasty cow? Modelling wasn’t the worst job in the world but it did take a part of you. It took a part of your soul.

  Just a few more weeks, Elena thought.

  *

  Once inside, Elena was split from Clarissa to go to the screen test, which should have been simple – she just had to stare down the camera lens with a dumb smile on her face and answer dumb questions like, “Where would you like to be in ten years?”, “Would you like to be famous?”, “Who is your favourite movie star?” But it wasn’t, because it turned out to be Mr Personality himself asking the questions – the guy who made Elena feel weak at the knees, the guy with the dark, dark eyes. As soon as she sat on the stool she felt herself stiffen. It was only after stumbling through the first question that she pulled herself together. She told the camera what they wanted to hear, with a tiny little twist on each one to keep it interesting: “I see myself on the red-carpet in ten years. But I won’t say who with!” wink.

  “Who would you say is your greatest role model?” he said, in the same disinterested voice. He sat opposite her on the other side of the camera, with his feet resting on a table, leaning back in his chair.

  It riled Elena that he wasn’t taking this seriously. But she had to focus. She hadn’t prepared for this question. The smile froze on her face and all she could think about was how Mina had fought her way out of Area 14. She wanted to be brave enough to do that. Her head was stuck on that one thought and nothing else came out of her mind. In the distance she saw Clarissa and her mother walking across to the small café-cart to buy lunch. Mrs Highbury had her arm around her daughter’s shoulder. She had to do something. This was the final stage before the actual competition which would be televised to the entire country.

  “My mum,” Elena said. “She’s so beautiful and caring. I’d like to be just like her when I grow up. She’s poorly today, but would be here if she could.” She broadened her smile and waved down the camera lens. “Hi Mum! I love you!”

  The guy rolled his eyes and Elena had a sudden urge to punch him right on his chiselled jaw. He leaned forward and flipped the switch on the camera. “That’ll do.”

  As the moody guy was fiddling with the camera Elena noticed some clapping to the right of the interview. When she turned around she saw Clarissa and her mother standing just off screen, both clutching sandwiches.

  “That was lovely, Elena, so moving. It’s so lovely to hear about a good relationship between mother and daughter.” Mrs Highbury flicked her long blonde locks and smiled some more. Her eyes were wet with tears.

  Elena’s chest felt a bit tight after that. It was another part of her taken by the fake-outs. More people fooled into thinking she was perfect, when she was far from it. Clarissa stared at her with eyes so cold they could freeze a cup of steaming hot coffee. She took a huge bite from her sandwich – at least her mother let her eat carbs. Clarissa and her mother wandered off, and Elena stared at them from a distance.

  “Hellooo… I said you can go,” the guy said.

  She must have zoned out without realising. “Oh, right. Sorry.” As she stood to leave she knocked over her bag and some of her belongings fell out onto the floor. The guy bent down next to her to help collect them. At the same moment a huge tear escaped from her eye.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. He held out a hairbrush.

  Elena snatched it from him. “What do you care?” She sniffed, wiped her eyes and stood up. She flung the bag over her shoulder and walked away, not noticing how the guy watched her leave, his expression one of curiosity.

  *

  Finally, time rolled forward to the day Elena had been waiting for, the final day of the competition. Elena had Clare to keep her company, which wasn’t ideal because Clare still wasn’t quite all there. Elena had been forced to almost shout at her to remember the special hair mousse and her swimsuit, and she really hated being mean to Clare, but she was so stressed out she couldn’t help it. Her mother wasn’t coming – she was stuck inside the house having a panic attack about how fat she was, which was not fat in the slightest. But according to her mother the other mums would judge her for being so fat, and even though she really, really wanted to see her only child crowned as Miss Area 14, she could at least see it on the screen at home, so everything was fine. As for her father – well, she wasn’t convinced he even knew what was going on.

  “Clare, don’t forget to check everything before you use it on me,” Elena said to her nanny. She hadn’t seen Clarissa hanging around but she wasn’t taking any chances. She imagined pepper spray in her blusher or her hair spray. “Put a little bit into your hand first. Here, I’ll show you.”

  Elena squirted a little bit of foundation onto her finger and rubbed it between finger and thumb. “That’s good – nothing burns my skin or looks a funny colour.”

  They were backstage at the Area 14 concert arena. The room bustled with the excitement of the competition, which had been whittled down to fifteen contestants, some of whom Elena recognised from school. Clarissa was one of them, of course, and Elena considered her the main competition. Some of the contestants had an army of helpers, from make-up artists to stylists to people to fetch them water. Fabric swished and floated, skimming over the runners from different Area television organisations. They pressed their ear buds and tapped on their Plan-Its.

  “Why do you need to do this, Miss Elena?” Clare asked, her hazel eyes suddenly quite tender.

  “Because I don’t trust that bitch Clarissa Highbury.” Elena’s eyes narrowed. She’d have to watch that on stage. It wouldn’t be good to let the audience see her looking annoyed.

  “No,” Clare continued. “Not that. Why do you need to do this?” She pulled a tiny swimming costume out from their bag of things. “Why do you need to be here? Why are you taking part in this…” she looked around her at the tantrums thrown by contestants, the make-up brushes thrown to the floor and the girl grunting as her mother tied her into a corset, “spectacle?” Clare began to brush Elena’s hair in gentle strokes. It was soothing. “You’re better than this. I raised you better than this.”

  Elena felt her shoulders soften. It was a comfort to have Clare here, and she was right, she had raised her. She turned around on the swivel chair, away from the lighted mirror, so that she was face to face with Clare.

  “I need this,” she said. She lowered her voice. “I need this because I messed up, Clare. I really messed up and I can’t fix it. So I need to get out of Area 14.”

  Clare
didn’t say anything. Her mouth thinned into a grim line but she just nodded. “Then let’s make you beautiful.” She placed her hand on Elena’s shoulder and touched her forehead with her own.

  Elena had the strangest feeling that someone was watching them. She turned around and noticed the annoying guy from the measurement station stood a little way away, transfixed by them. He was holding another clipboard and wore a headset.

  “Can I help you?” Elena said. She found him more annoying than anything now, he’d almost put her off the interview, jeopardising her chances of winning. Sure, he was hot, but that didn’t excuse his rudeness.

  He shook his head and moved away, leaving Elena feeling strange. It was almost as though he found her curious – an anomaly. She didn’t know what he expected from her, but apparently she was surprising him.

  Chapter Four

  It was time for the group dance. Elena had on her short sequin dress, which moved and stretched with her body. Clare topped up her hairspray after testing it first. No sabotages yet, but it was just the beginning. They’d practised this dance routine twenty times and luckily Clarissa was at one end of the troop and she was at another.

  They stood on the stage, waiting for the curtain to open to the crowd. A red haired girl stood on Elena’s left wished her good luck. Elena didn’t reply. She wasn’t there to make friends. She was there to win. Her smiles and pep were for the judges and audience only. The music started. Lights shone through the fabric of the curtains. Elena teased her hair to fall across her back. She stretched her arms out and rolled her head around her shoulders. She looked left to see the measurements guy standing in the wings, watching. There was a grim expression on his face, almost disgust. She didn’t know why, but it made her feel a little bit ashamed for being in the competition at all.

  “Aaaand here’s your host – Chuuuuck Summers!” said the voice-over.