Me and my clothes I have to wear, have a love hate relationship. I don't mind having to wear restricting clothes really, I just don't like the colours; pale pinks, midday blues, and sunny yellows. It just not me.
I prefer dusty rose pink, midnight blue, and deep reds. I understand in some way why I have to wear them. But it doesn't mean I have to like it or the way my mother handles my 'despicable behaviour'. I do everything she asks yet what do I get? Scars.
It's my birthday soon. In two days. I don't like the clothes, extravagant gifts. Nor the falseness of the rich, either trying to get up my skirts (Raphael), or 'overhear' something bad to make my family fall from what I call living hell. Above all I hate, absolutely despise the music. My brother Jon once took me to a 'pub' I think it was called dressed in trousers, a tee shirt and him also in a hat. Since I don't go out much, I didn't need one no one recognized me. But the music that they call 'rock' was fantastic!
Don't get me wrong I don't have a music taste. Weird isn't it? But listening to the same noises over and over again just makes me loose it and acting happy at the same time is preposterous!
'Clarissa!' Snapping back into reality, no longer the past, I realized my Mother asked me a question.
'Huh?'
''Pardon' Clarissa. And I said are. You. Going. To. Dance. With RAPHAEL?!'
'Mother, please I beg of you! Don't make me! He's vile!' I begged, already braced for what I knew would come. But I had to try. I was bargaining for my sanity.
'Clarissa, don't talk about him that way!' She spat at me giving me the look that meant I'd pay for it, I'd regret it later. I never do.
I was having a dress made for the ball in two days, on my birthday. Midnight blue Puffy skirt, made of layers of closely woven netting in black and thin transparent layers of silks in both blacks and blues. No petticoats since I do not like the restricting steps I need to take to move in it. I think my mother allowed this small indecent thing since she wants Rafael to be able to easily do what ever he wants. She wouldn't care.
The corset was the same blue as the skirts and was a sweetheart style neck-line and had lace going up around my neck and also the sleeves were the same black lace. A navy blue sash was tied around the base of the corset and top of the skirts and formed an over sized bow in the back.
A few minuets later I felt a faint prick on my stomach and I reacted. I instantly regretted it.
'Ow!' The panic on my maid's face was excruciating as I knew what would happen if she got found out for even that one small prick. If my mother found out the maid was as good as dead. I knew what would happen if I lied but she wouldn't hurt the girls.
'Ah, that hurt my ankle!' I lied. Not the best acting and I knew she saw right through the façade.
'Clarissa.' I knew I was In for it. Especially when all the maids other then Maryse stepped away. I stood rigidly my gaze on the floor. 'Don't lie to me. You know I hate liars. SO DON'T FUCKING LIE TO ME!'
Suddenly I was on the floor with a stinging cheek my arm twisted beneath my small body. Bring y undamaged hand to my cheek I felt something warm, something sticky. bringing my hand to my eyes I realized her ring cut me. It cut me.
Slowly lifting my eyes to my mothers furious gaze I cringed back. Wrong move.
As her healed foot connected with my petite waist I doubled over and collapsed. laying in the foetal position. I cried not because of pain. I blocked that out years ago. I cried for a mother I never had. I cried for my fragile and broken body. I just cried.
My mother left the room slamming the door behind her, saying the words she always says when I disappoint her. 'You are a pathetic exuse for a human being. You are not my daughter.' Worst thing was, I was actually starting to believe her.