The Price Of Being A Beauty




                      The sun crept its way through the gaps in the curtain, caressing her skin in an intricate lattice. He always loved how it managed to make her look - like she was wrapped in lace; despite her naked form. It wasn’t the only thing he loved about her. The way she seemed at ease around him, comfortable in her skin. Of all the girls he’d been with, she would always be exceptional in that sense.

He wasn’t her first. Not by a long shot. But there was something odd about this one, she reflected. Not odd like weird, odd as in striking. He never ran out of things to talk about. He was younger than her previous “lovers” - that was for sure; perennially yammering on like an excited puppy. She really couldn’t put her finger on it. She glanced up at him in a rare moment of silence to find him beaming at her with teeth that nearly blinded her. “Fucking toothpaste model,” she remarked, eliciting an unending giggle loop on his end.

When they first met, he was fresh out of college, jobless, penniless (more or less, as most new kids on the block tended to be), and his long-term, long-distance girlfriend had just fucked him over. Now, if that had been literal, perhaps he would’ve been in a better place. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. She had chosen her career and future over his sorry ass. His male ego was more than just a little bruised.

They were supposed to be “forever”, the perfect proposal, walk down the aisle, get that cosy house somewhere secluded yet central, grow old together.. you get my drift. Heck, he even decided on what their cats would be named! Needless to say, this was most certainly a rebound. Or so he thought.

She? By the time she got ‘round to him, she was old and tired. She had seen them all. The Casanovas, the Romeos, the Sugar daddies and everything else in between. Settling down was never on the cards for her. As much as her mind wanted it, she could never quite get around to it. Columnists from Cosmo would label her “The commitment-phobe” in a heartbeat. But she couldn’t give less of a fuck, honestly.

In his mind, they were making love. It was so effortless with her. He had fallen for her hook line and sinker. And once they were done, he was more than excited to just be there with her. She was so beautiful and pure and always had an unending trove of tales to share.




To her, it was far rawer. They were like fuck-buddies and that’s where it could end at best. The other day she heard him drop the L-bomb when he thought she wasn’t listening. That scared her more than anything. She couldn’t even begin to explain to this man-child why they would never work. Instead, she used the age-old tactic of distraction. With a story, an anecdote, a kiss; literally anything.

In the morning when they would wake, he would take that final long glance at her. Ecstatic at the prospect of being away from her just so he could see her again.

In the morning when they would wake, she would find a few crumpled up 500 buck notes on her dresser. 

“The price of being a beauty!” she scoffed and awaited her next customer.

Sketch By: Pranavi Kanduri