ET chapter 13: Mirror, mirror on the whole…who do we hate most of all?
December 12, 2011
Seasons are coming closer and closer, which has been on everyone's mind. So many things to buy and so little time to get everything. In NYC, things were hectic and here it's not different. Javi, Anita, and I have been working our butts off to get ready for the holidays. They both have started taking double shifts to get some money for gifts, the tree and food. Half is going towards the Holidays and the other half is going towards Anita's family back in Puerto Rico who seriously need the money.
As for me, my money is being split into thirds. One going towards Javi and Anita to help with the bills. Another towards gifts that I hope can be within my budget. Another going towards my savings. Thank God, though, I don't have to worry about flight fare when I met my dance crew in good ole NYC.
Gabriella took a break from writing in her journal to smile to herself.
She wasn't lying when she told Pup she was still in the company, the Cultural Blend. They could take everything else, but she would be damned if she had to leave the company, too. God knew she gave her all into that, the troupe was like her family, and the thought of some other dancer taking her place was more than enough to make her cry. It meant to much to her, all seven hundred and ninety members of that troupe were her family, a family she half the time considered her only family. Especially Madame Groksi, who was like a mother to her. A mother she never had at home.
Madame and everyone from the Cultural Blend agreed she should stay. After all, their official tours didn't start till the end of the June went onto the second week of September, around the time when schools usually started. So her moving wasn't going to affect them. She did, on the other hand, have to try to meet them during Thanksgiving break and Christmas break to rehearse for their winter show in New York. But since those were during holiday vacations, no one could say it'd interfere with school. And on, the top of that and the hundreds of people she had to back her up, no one wanted to go against Madame, so it was all settled.
Before they never really done a winter show. Then six years ago, Debbie butted heads with a producer from the American Ballet Company. Producer bragged how their Nutcracker always got sold-out every year, much better than any of their shows. Debbie challenged they could do a Christmas show that would sell ten times better.
Her idea: the Nativity story.
It was spontaneous, unthinkable, which was why she believed it was perfect. Seeing the story of Jesus' born on stage may be just as good or better than reading it from the Bible or visiting a church.
"It's original," she said to them. "The Nutcracker has been done so many times, it gets boring after awhile. Retelling the Nativity story with dance and some singing would be so unexpected, which makes it perfect."
Naturally, everyone had their doubts, but in the end was proven wrong. The performance not only had incredible sales, but received outstanding reviews from the best critics in the city. Since then, they've been performing the Nativity Story every holiday season. So while Anita and Javi would be celebrating Christmas with Paco in Albuquerque, she would be dancing onstage at the Palace Theater on Broadway Street four times a week for the next the few weeks.
Madame has been emailing her reminders since November. Remember to pack light, but still have the necessities. Remember to print out plane ticket. Remember to get there on time. And, of course, to practice, practice, practice.
Gabriella glanced over at her small closet. Against the doors, next to the tote bag and suitcase half packed for her trip, were the powdery white pointe shoes Madame given her on her final night in New York as a See You Soon gift. They were so pretty and perfect when they were in the box. Now they looked as if they've been threw under the train twice.
Don't get her wrong. She loved shiny new shoes as the next girl, but to her dance shoes didn't look right until they got some worn in them. Or, in her case, a lot of worn.
Today, I went over to Pup's 'house'. I use the term loosely because the humongous building I spent over six hours in was anything but a house. But that didn't impress me. Okay, so it was big. It was more than four stories. Yes, there was a pool. And yes, it had the features and extras like Hollywood mansions. But see, I cloud visit Donald Trump's houses and still not be impressed.
What did impress me was Pup.
Today, he found his groove and his inner Don Jose. A lot earlier than expected. He was passionate, intense, a completely different person. He let go of himself-finally-and that was actually a thrill to be part of.
Half the time, though, I wonder why he doesn't let himself go more often. Why he must always be so uptight and perfect about everything.
It's a shame he can't say fuck it and let it go more often
"Gabriella!" Anita called from the living room. "Come here."
Dunking her cigarette, her sixth of the night, into the ashtray, she tucked her blue pen into her journal and closed it. She went into the living room, where Anita was doing some work on the couch. By work, she meant designing and sewing. Her white, rusty but still durable sewing machine was on the coffee table. Baskets of fabric in different colors and textures and other things piled up by the stacks which sat on the floor. A bunch of clippings and printed out pictures was spread out in front of her. She finished the sparkly belt she sewn onto the skirt, with a dozen pins in her mouth.
"You called?"
Anita looked up at her, but one whiff of the smoke coming off from her clothes, a sour look appeared on her pretty face. What Gabriella found ironic was, despite the fact she came from a long live of heavy smokers, Anita couldn't stand smoking. A habitat too strong for even her to help break for the Montez smokers. So Gabriella and Javi had their cigarettes when she wasn't home and Paco wasn't present, outside, or in Gabriella's room.
"Spare the lecture, Anita." Smoking will kill you. Your poor lungs will be become black mush. You're a cigarette closer to an early grave. It was a long day for Gabriella, and she was not in the mood.
Anita let out a loud, heavy sigh, releasing her frustration and exhaustion. It proved she was just as tired as giving the lectures as they were receiving it. She quickly got over it, though as she smiled, got up, and held out the skirt, unraveling the tumble of beautiful crimson red.
It was insanely sick, truly beautiful. Gabriella could only grin wildly, her excited eyes looking up at Anita's.
"Well, don't just there stand and gawk," she gestured towards the gray plastic stool in front of the TV. "I need to see how it falls."
Gabriella, dressed only in a white night cami and her underwear, wasted no time getting on, spreading her arms out and staying still. Anita helped her onto the skirt, which felt cool and smooth, smoothed out Gabriella's form, and begged her to be as still for as long as she could. She quickly got to work fixing up the skirt, adjusting it so it would fit perfectly onto Gabriella's hips and still show off her curves.
The material felt so smooth, so soft, like a blend of the softest cotton and the sleekest silk. The color a rich crimson red. Anita had made it so beautifully. A shimmering band of blood encircled above her hips. Black and blooded red oversize sewn-in belt adorned with big golden-colored stubs. Three shimmery chains strands of black, thin chains attached from the left side going back to the right.
Gabriella swayed her hips, watching the skirt fan out and twirling with her movements. She could see Anita really put a lot of detail into it, making sure it looked sexy enough to measure up to the sultry gypsy, Carmen, but still made it flowy and comfortable enough for her to dance in.
The sound of rumbling clouds brought Gabriella's attention over to the window, where she could see a storm was brewing outside. She could barely contain a smile. She loved the rain, loved the thunder and the lightening. To her, it symbolized power and strength, God in a way. Like how the heavy rain drops could be tears from heaven, because God was saddened by the all the injustice he saw in the world. Half the time she would stay inside during the storm, reading or writing with the weather as the perfect background music. And sometimes, when the sudden impulse had control of her, she would rush outside to dance in the rain. For hours and hours she would dance nonstop, unafraid of the thunder or the lightning nearby. They only added to the beauty of it, the magic she felt being in the middle of Mother Nature at its' work.
"Don't even think about it," Anita scolded as she pinned a needle extra hard in Gabriella's ass, reminding her to keep still. "It took me forever to find the right fabric, and even longer to make the skirt perfect." She stood in front of Gabriella, grabbed her chin, and looked directly into her eyes. "I will cut you if you ruin my master piece."
Gabriella rolled her eyes half-heartedly, unable to stop herself from smirking. "Okay, okay. No rain dancing in the skirt. I got it."
After an hour and a half of pining and stitching (and poking Gabriella's ass), Anita took a step back from her life mannequin and sighed in relief with a smile. "Perfecto. The top is halfway done, so it should be done in another three weeks. Then I'll switch over to Don Jose's uniform."
Gabriella snuck a peek at Anita's portfolio, the final copy of Carmen's dress. Although, it was a more like a top and skirt combination that screamed gypsy and was amazing. The top was pretty much the same version of the skirt, minus the gold stubs. She looked over at the other pictures Anita laid on the coffee table. Esmeralda from the Hunchback of Norte Dame in her red gypsy dress. Paz Vega as Carmen from the movie. A red flamenco dress next to a skimpy belly-dancer's. Jade from the Bratz in a pink genie and gypsy-like outfit.
"Bratz, Anita?" she asked. "Seriously."
She shrugged, sticking all her pins back onto her red wristband she used as a holder. "¿Por qué no? It's actually gave me some inspire on how the top should be. I was thinking a busty tank top. Or a bustier over a short-sleeve blouse. Or maybe just a bustier." She spoke the ideas more to herself than Gabriella as her designer mind began working. She quickly grabbed her portfolio and a pencil, making some adjustments. "Maybe, for the rose, we can have a beaded arm winding up on your arm."
Gabriella felt a sense of pride as she watched her friend and her quick hand drew down her ideas. Anita has been designing and sewing clothes since she was twelve, a gift she inheritated and learned from her mother and grandmother. She was insanely talented, but for now had to stick to sewing buttons onto shirts, making dresses the Godzilla brides had in mind for their wedding, and fixing clothes for carless customers. Still, Gabriella had no doubt thing would look up for her. "Seriously, thank you, Anita. For doing this for me."
A thank-you from Gabriella was almost as rare as a smile from her, which may be the reason why hearing it sounded so meaning to Anita. "You're welcome," Grabbing all her pictures; she stuck them into the portfolio folder, and gathered up her things. "Keep in mind you can also thank me by giving my business card to rich kids who might be interested in my clothes. And their mothers who are more than free to spread the word among their circle of friends."
Gabriella giggled. "Can I please at least dance in the house? Por favor?"
Anita looked into her big brown eyes pulling off the puppy eyes, knowing she was a goner. No one could the resist the puppy look, including her. She took her sweet time gathering all the fabric boxes, stacking one on top of the other, and placing them on the table. She then turned to Gabriella, sighed, and said up to the ceiling "Alright."
Feeling victorious, Gabriella jumped off the stool, into Anita's arms, hugging her tight. She moved onto the center of the room, leaping and spinning, loving the way the skirts fanned out in a twirl of red, feeling so free.
"Dance, my beautiful gypsy," Anita clapped her hands rhythmically. Gabriella moved her body to the sound."Dance."
She danced all around the living room, pretending to play a tambourine, and carried the dance over to her room. There, she stretched her arms over her head and stood high on her pointy toes, spinning so swiftly and gracefully. So fast, she collapsed onto her bed half a minute later, out of breath but renewed with energy.
Two minutes later, once the dizziness subsided, she slowly sat up. While catching her breath, she laughed at herself and her random acts of silliness.
"You better not ruin that skirt or you're going to wake up with fifty needles in your eyes." Anita cried.
"Love you, too, Anita." Gabriella replied, getting out of her bed and walking over to her vanity dresser.
Her dresser wasn't so bad but wasn't all that hot either. Javi got it at a good price from The Salvation Army. Three drawers that were in a color pattern from brown, light brown, and close to blackish-brown, black brass handles that were a bit loose, a fairly big circular mirror. Sure, some of the wood was chipped off, but she could deal. On top of the dresser was some of her hair stuff: a hairbrush, comb, and some hair lotion. Her small makeup bag containing about six beauty cosmetics. Some loose change she was too lazy to collect. And, of course, her Disney collection.
Her six favorite Disney Princesses (and non-Princesses) with boyfriends and friends leaned against the mirror glass, smiling at her. Alluring Esmeralda with Phoebus by her left and a plush Quasimodo by her right. Beautiful bookworm Beauty and the Beast Belle with her beastly prince. Sassy Princess Jasmine and Aladdin with their mini plush Genie. Free-spirited Pocahontas and Captain John Smith. Courageous Mulan and Shaung. Hot 'n' cold Meg and Hercules.
Gabriella picked up her Esmeralda doll and studied her. Her pretty face and emerald green eyes. Her loose, black hair and pretty gypsy dress. Her tambourine attached to her hand, ready to make music. Holding her in her hands made Gabriella feel as if she was a little girl again.
"How much longer, Javi?" Curious, tired from being woken up early, and impatient. Not the best combination for a four year old girl who was pulled from her safe dreams by her brother who decided they needed to go somewhere at four something in the morning on Christmas morning.
She didn't have time to ask questions. Javi quickly got her dressed, slipped her quietly passed by the drunken woman passed out on the couch, and forced her to walk a long flight of stairs that seem to go on forever.
"Not long now," repiled the eleven year old. Javi from time to time had to sometimes tug her hand, so she would quicken her pace. He turned back and smirked at her, the bum. He thought her impatience was funny.
She stuck her tongue out at him, getting a chuckle out of him. Her eyes glanced down at the backpack he had strapped on his shoulder. She wondered what was inside.
Maybe something for her.
"Don't even think about it." He didn't even need to look over to know what her sneaky, little hand was reaching for.
Defeated, she stuck her tongue out at him and blew a loud raspberry.
Once they reached a tall, black door, a thousand steps later, Javi scooped her up into her arms and asked "You ready?"
She nodded and watched him push the door open. The first thing she saw was white. Pure, angelic white. Piles and piles of snow covering up every inch of the rooftop, heavy snowflakes falling from the sky, and everything so white and pretty.
For a moment, she was stunned. She never been up the rooftop before, but imagined it was dirty and old like the rest of the apartment building. Now, it didn't look old and dirty. It didn't look like it belonged to the building. It looked like it belonged in Winter Wonderland where everything Christmassy and beautiful was at.
"Wow." she breathed.
Javi smiled and walked over to the railing of the rooftop, setting themselves down on the floor and singing her a Christmas song along the way.
Pulling her onto his lap and placing his bag on the ground, he said "I'm going to ask you three questions. If you get them right, then you win a prize."
Gabriella nodded eagerly.
"Okay first question and this is a hard one by the way. Who…is the best and most handsome brother in all of New York?"
Rolling her eyes, she couldn't hold back her small smile as she answered "You, Javi."
"I know, I know, Thank you," She rolled her eyes again at his big ego, but listened to the second question. "Second question. What is a name of a wander that goes from place to place? Sometimes have their own camps? Who people sometimes go to so they can have their fortune told?"
"A gypsy!" She was starting to get an idea of Javi's questions.
"Very good. And now final question. What is the name of the girl these soon to be friends fight over?" To demonstrate the question, he brought out Quasimodo and Phoebus, smashing them against each other.
Excitement burst in her as the answer came. "Esmeralda."
Javi intimated the sound of a game show bell going off when someone has won a prize. He passed Gabriella her toys, which she put on her lap, and clapped his hands. "Unbelievable! Ladies and gentlemen, this is a memorable moment. For the first time, a contestant actually got all three questions correct. And that contestant is Miss Gabriella Rosa Montez."
Gabriella had to laugh at her brother's enthusiasm. It was moments like this that reminded her how much she loved her brother and how much he cared for her in return.
Dropping a kiss on her head, he unzipped his backpack and brought out a green and red wrapped present, tied with a shiny, satin red ribbon in a perfect bow. "And now, Miss Montez, your prize."
The first thing she did once she eagerly snatched the present from her brother's hands was to carefully untie the ribbon and store it onto her pocket. It was too pretty to be forgotten. As for the wrapping paper, she tore that sucker up like a wild animal.
She gasped at the sight of the gift, unable to believe her eyes.
It was a Disney Esmeralda girl. An actual Esmeralda doll. In her own hands. Despite the fact she was holding it right in her hands; she had to look at it to know it was really there. The gypsy was wearing the same clothes she wore in the movie, with the white dress she wore when she was also burned by the fire. Her raven hair tied with a pink hair wrap, her tambourine attached to her right hand, a pretty smile on her face.
"Esmeralda!" she squealed so loudly apartments blocks away could hear her. "You actually got me an Esmeralda doll."
She jumped on her brother, nearly knocking them both to the ground, and squeezed him tight. "Thank you, thank you, and thank you!"
He returned the hug with the same fierce tightness, practically crushing her small body. "I knew you loved it."
"Of course, I love it. She's my favorite Disney princess. You're the best brother in the world-" her voice trailed off as she noticed something on his neck. Pushing back loose strands of his hair, she could clearly see the vicious red scratches on his skin.
The wounds were really bad, still fresh with a deep reddish and purple swelling around it. It was like he was mauled by a wild animal. Or had something like glass threw at him. Something like a half-empty liquor bottle.
Maria. Her guess was confirmed by the hint of heavy alcohol she could smell on his neck. A sickness hit Gabriella hard like a punch to her stomach.
Noticing how quiet she suddenly was, Javi put his little sister down and squatted down to her level, meeting her eyes. He brushed back her hair and held her cheek. "Its okay, Ella. Just enjoy your new doll and let me worry about everything else."
She knew she should. She wished she could. Problem was she couldn't. Every time her brother had to deal with Maria, things ended badly. Usually with black and blue bruises. It always made her feel scared, scared and helpless because he preferred handling things on his own.
Javi brought her attention back by tapping the doll's box in her hands. He smiled at her softly; her favorite smile that said everything was going to be okay, the same smile that could say more than words could.
"Okay," She understood whatever happened he didn't want questions or thoughts about it. She had to accept that. She looked down at her first doll, her first girl doll that it. And not just any doll, but her favorite Disney girl. She then looked up at Javi, seeing her favorite smile on his face, slowly smiling herself. 'Thank you, Javi. Merry Christmas."
He gathered her into his arms and hugged her. "Merry Christmas, Ella. And you're welcome."
Pulling her back, he looked at her sweet face and said "Now we have two crazy gypsies under one roof."
Gabriella shook her head, breaking herself free from the memories. She looked at her gypsy doll, picked her up, and used a small purple brush to straighten out her hair. When the raven hair was smooth and untangled, she smiled in satisfaction.
"How about that, Esmeralda?" She held the doll to her chest, smiling at their reflection. "Two crazy, pretty gypsies under one roof."
It wasn't like she didn't love the other Disney dolls because she did. Each one was her favorite. Each girl she could relate to. Belle because of her love for books and looking past appearances. Jasmine because she refused to be claimed like a prize and choosing what she wanted. Pocahontas because her free-spirited way of letting the wind choosing her destination. Mulan because of her selflessness and bravery, refusing to be the typical girl and actually doing something. Meg because she was careful around people after learning a painful lesson. But Esmeralda has always been her favorite.
For one, she wasn't a princess. She was a heroine, besides Mulan that is. She stood up for not only Quasi, but her people, the gypsies. She was the first person who looked past Quasi's looks, seeing a kind-hearted man behind the hideous face. She wasn't afraid of anything, not even the powerful Frollo who set her on fire. She was kind, fearless, fierce, and free-spirited. And the fact she was a dancer and knew how to work it was a plus. And she was also a gypsy, which fascinated Gabriella.
Brushing back Esmeralda's hair, she felt like she was a little kid again. Spending so many hours playing with it, keeping it in her backpack during school hours, holding onto it tightly as she slept. She basically went everywhere with her doll. "Two crazy, pretty gypsies."
Saying the familiar word to her doll reminded her of the interesting time she spent at Bolton's place. How red he turned when the German maid believed she was his girlfriend-his new girlfriend-and she was pretty. How he turned redder when he said the word wasn't quite right for her, believing it wasn't enough.
"I'd say exotic. It suits you better. Unbelievably stunning. Drop-dead gorgeous. Beautiful."
Gabriella slowly put Esmeralda back in her place, and stared at her reflection, her inky hair and olive skin. Like many other people, she considered herself Latina because of the passionate drive she had in her, especially in her dancing, and restless, raw spirit she possessed. But although she was Hispanic with more than several Latin bloodlines, she was also mixed.
From unknown, faceless dark-haired dude whose sperm was used to bring life to her, she was part Filipina. A reason why she looked half Asian from certain angles. From the other side, she was Mexican, Cuban, Argentina, Brazilian and Italian with some blood tracing back to Arab, Egypt, Native American, and Romania.
Pup was right. Exotic was a better word for her looks. Looks that were given to her, thanks to her mother.
Maria.
Dark hair in the deepest shade of black that was sleek, dark mocha eyes that could bewitch anyone with a single look, a small nose and full lips, a petite body that was small but made it for it's lack of height with hot, attention-grabbing curves completed with full breasts and a nice ass, a face too intoxicatingly stunning for words.
For as long as she could remember, people have been saying how much they looked alike. How they looked so much like each other, it was easier to think Maria was an elder sister instead of a mother. How they could pass as twins.
It was meant to be taken as a compliment, but Gabriella rarely took it as one. It was more like an insult, something hurtful and stinging as a punch or a slap.
Maria had once been a great, incredible beauty. Perfect face, perfect body that could outshine a model. And she always let that beauty get to her head, believing it was take her many places. And in some ways, she wasn't wrong. When she was thirteen and living poor in Mexico, a rich older man who was exploring the country noticed her right away. She was beautiful, too beautiful, and he thought she would be the perfect treasure to bring back to America. She was only thirteen, a young teenager, but it didn't matter to anyone, least of all her father, if she left. And so she went.
Sure, in reality she was the guy's mistress, meant to please him anytime and anyway he wanted. But she was given the best clothes and jewelry, got to live in the nicest mansion, got to travel all around the world with her guy, and was treated like a princess. She also had a successful go at modeling, her face making it onto Billboards and magazines around some places in Europe. So, for awhile, Maria had been living the good life.
Fast forward to two years old later, coming to New York to make a fresh start after she was ditched by her ancient boyfriend for Playboy bunny twins. She was still young and gorgeous, so she believed she could get something out of New York. And she did. She got Riff, a dark-haired cute guy with a snake tattoo on his forearm and the darkest black eyes. He was a struggling guitarist who taken her into his home and his life, introducing her to the beautiful thing known as cocaine. Cocaine, meth, ecstasy, marijuana, and, of course, heroin.
For a few months, things were going alright with them. Riff was starting to go some places with his music, and Maria was starting to get some offers for either modeling or her dancing. They were in an alcohol-and-drug hazed, sex-filled paradise. Everything was coming together and running smoothly. Until Maria found out one tearful day she was pregnant. Still, even as she sobbed and clung onto Riff, she wasn't too scared. After all, they were on their way, things would look up, and Riff loved her. She really believed he loved her and would stay by her side. Which was why when he claimed he'd be back from the drugstore once he got some cigarettes and never came back, the pain from the heartbreak and the abandonment nearly killed her.
Her solution for the pain? Alcohol and lots of it. Her usual was two bottles of Jack with a side bottle of vodka, although she was known to mix drinks together to get the ultimate buzz. Those were what she had with her cocaine and heroin that was her breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
Javier once told her, when he was five, he asked Maria about his father. He was wondering what he looked like since all the pictures of him have been cut off, torn, and burnt long ago. She put down her vodka bottle, looked at him long and hard with no anger or resentment in her eyes, and said in one word that had so much loathing, pain, grief, sadness, and rage behind it.
"You."
She then slapped him across the face, so hard and painfully, that he banged his head on the coffee table before hitting the ground. He said it was like getting punched by the Hulk, the superhero he both loved and feared. So much rage and fury behind the abuse, he never forgot about it.
That was the first time Javi got the picture. It wasn't just that Maria was uncaring and unkind. That she was neglectful and poorly prepared, he had to start doing things on his own so young. He understood how much Maria resented him, how much she hated him.
And only two years older than me, Gabriella thought, remembering the swing incident and how Maria looked down so poorly at her. Her daughter covered in the dirt, the perfect place for her to be in as far as she was concerned. She was only three when she realized Maria hated her.
Actually, as Gabriella thought about it more carefully, she realized that wasn't right. Maria hated Javier because he strongly resembled the smart asshole that left her. But she hated Gabriella even more-a thousand, million times more because she looked exactly like her.
Some would assume it was because Gabriella was somehow prettier, fresher, and younger compared to her. That with a younger, fresher version of the once great beauty, she took attention away from the original. But there was more to it than that.
Gabriella was seen to Maria as a dark reminder of the past, reminding her of the youth and beauty she lost as the years went by. Making her remember about her idiotic, naïve self, the mistakes she made, and where her choices have gotten her.
A former beauty whose once gorgeous face had hardened, her voluptuous figure shrunken to skeleton skinny, and her black hair that lost its' luster and was streaked with early gray. An alcoholic who couldn't go a day, much less an entire week without a drink, and was terribly addicted to alcohol just like Huckleberry Finn's father. An addict, whose addiction was just as bad as her alcoholism, needed her drugs or all hell would break loose. A cold mother who beat her children regularly because to her it was their fault her life was shitty.
"A fucking bitch, cheap whore, and inconsiderate ass all mixed together to make a sickening combination. I swear to God, you're just like her!"
Bile rose in her throat as she recalled Javi's words a few weeks ago. Thinking about what he said twisted her stomach even more, making her sick. Javi may have apologized afterward, but it still didn't make it any less okay. It still didn't leave her mind. It was planted in her subconscious, coming out whenever it felt the need to make Gabriella feel like shit.
The fact Javi, her own brother she once knew so well, said it in the first place revealed something. Since she was the spitting image of the bruja, then she also must have her personality traits as well. He thought, just because she forgot to write a stupid, little note explaining her whereabouts, she was Maria: a useless, bitchy whore in the making.
Her fists clenched so tightly, her skin was close to breaking. All the anger and shame she felt came back almost instantly. How dare he! How dare he actually compare her to that cheap whore!
Gabriella made a run for her journal and channeled her emotions onto the paper.
Today, I was given the chance to see glimpses of the picture-perfect Troy Bolton. Glimpses I'm sure his friends hadn't even seen. He showed me his passion-photography of all things-and talked to me about his brother, Mike. He told me about the accident, the aftermath, and how much Mike meant to him but at the same time how much he hated him. For leaving him, breaking him his promise, leaving him in a really fucked-up position with his cocksucker dad.
Believe me, this was a conversation that was far too familiar for me.
She stopped writing for a second to breathe in deep, letting it out slowly, before she continued. Those goddamn memories don't know when to take a hike.
He looks too much like his brother; he could pass as the guy's twin. Pup flinched when I mentioned this, saying it all in just one tiny gesture. He didn't see it as a compliment any more than when some idiot tells me I look like Maria. It made that feeling come back, the same feeling I've been feeling lately whenever they're seemed some kind of understanding between us.
In some ways the two of us are alike.
We both hate thinking about the past. Because we both know there's no point unless we want to be reminded how naïve we were, thinking everything was going to work out in the end. To be reminded of broken promises and everything horrible that came after that.
Which is why it's so unbelievably sickening we're reminded of the past every time we look into the mirror and see the demon's reflection, smirking at us. Mocking us. There's no other feeling or word that could be used to describe how wrong and sick it is.
Nothing at all.
She read the last passages she written and shook her head. Her fit of rage died down into pure exhaustion from not only the whole day, but everything else.
She yawned softy into her fist, and closed her book, placing it on the nightstand. She lay back flat on the bed, closed her eyes, and gave into the exhaustion.
With the holidays coming closer, parties have been thrown at the Boltons' mansion since Thanksgiving weekend nearly every Sunday. His dad, and sometimes his mom, going all out with the food, decorations, gift bags, and inviting hundreds of the thousands friends they have.
All night long, Troy has been walking around the living room, mingling with friends and colleagues, dressed in his best suit with the perfect smile plastered on his face. The smile was so perfect, so believable no one would suspect his misery underneath.
God, he hated parties. He hated them so much. It was always the same people from the country club members to his mom's colleagues and their friends who brought friends. It was always the same flashy food and coolers of never-ending drinks. Always the same conversation going on about who's divorcing and who's having an affair, and so on.
It's been a tradition for the family since Mike was two, and Jack claimed it was for spreading some cheeriness with his closest friends. But Troy knew it was really all about his dad showing off his wealth, reminding everyone who he was and where he came from.
Troy was listening to Mr. Lama, his dad's golf partner from the country club, go on and on about his perfect game yesterday. Well, more so, nodding and pretending to listen until he cleverly excused himself to get some refreshments. He went over to the buffet table, picked up an appetizer, and took his time chewing it, as if it could possibly give him the strength to continue the party.
As he chewed, he felt a familiar pair of blue eyes burning holes at the back of his head. He quickly gulped down before he turned around, meeting his dad's cold, hard stare.
You're mine, those eyes said. Their gaze reminded Troy of vampire's dark, malicious stare when they came face to face with a human.
Suddenly, he didn't want the party to end.
Sadly, though, it did end. Two hours later. His dad played the perfect host almost as well as Troy played the put-together son. He escorted each guest to the door, telling them to come back any time, handing them a goody-filled gift bag and complementary bottle of expensive champagne.
With the last guest gone, Jack ordered Troy to stand behind him. As he heard the hesitant steps, he turned back and the happy mask he wore all night was gone in an instant, replaced by a scowl.
"Let's go to my office, shall we." It wasn't a question, it was a request. One Troy was too smart to ignore. He quietly followed his father upstairs to his office, telling himself not to worry too much. Even though Jack's speech was a bit slurred, his eyes bloodshot, and he grabbed himself two bottles of vodka on the way.
Once they were in the spacious office, Jack gestured for Troy to sit at the brown leather couch. He obediently sat, and sighed in relief as his dad sat down on the recliner chair. He was glad for the space between them, but couldn't help being on his guard.
So far, the whole way up, his dad was calm. No glaring, no explosions. Just calm and quiet. For example, he was pulling back the recliner and getting comfortable in the chair. He glanced over at his son's face, studying it like he was an unusual painting, trying to get the true meaning behind it.
Troy forced himself to remain perfectly still and calm as his dad watched him. The façade, though, was slightly chapped at the sight of the smile on Jack's face. It so alarmingly, almost frightening, because it wasn't his usual dry or forced smiles. It was a pleased, bright smile, as if he was happy with his son. A smile Troy couldn't remember ever receiving from the cold Bolton.
"My boy," Jack finally said. His smile widened, watching Troy's eyes widen. "My son."
First the smile, then the endearments. Which had no sharp, sarcastic venom in his tone. It wasn't his dad's usual behavior, it was the very opposite. Troy wasn't sure if he should be worried about Jack's health or his own.
Jack torn his steady, adoring gaze away from Troy to his liquor cabinet, getting over there to grab two glasses and a flask filled with either whiskey or rum. He poured himself a drink, spiked it with rum-Troy could smell it-from the flask, and stirred. He finished the drink in a gulp and poured himself another one.
"Oh. I'm sorry, Troy," If Troy wasn't so cautious, his jaw was sure to drop. Jack, who mostly referred to him as the weakling or jackass, rarely called by his actual name. His smile was still present on his face, bright and pleasant-looking, as he poured Troy a glass of vodka and passed it over to him. "Would you like a glass?"
He wasn't yelling at him. He was actually smiling at him like Troy was worth something. Calling him by his name. And offering him a drink. Troy definitely was starting to get frightened.
"No thank you." he answered.
Not missing a beat, Jack took the drink and had it for himself, sighing in content when he finished. "That hit the spot."
My health, Troy decided. That had to be the thirteenth drink his dad had today, and knew how the game worked. Five and under, expect some yelling and act with caution. Seven to ten, expect not only yelling but some roughing up. More than ten, then simply be prepared. His dad was on his thirteenth and counting, drinking his fourteenth, and knew his health was the one in danger.
After another bright smile, Jack walked over to his shelves and pulled out a picture of himself. The popular Wildcats captain in his basketball uniform, smiling proudly into the camera, basketball tucked under arm. He smiled at the picture, then showed it to Troy. "Me at seventeen. You're seventeen, too, right, son?"
Hesitantly, Troy nodded, but Jack didn't notice. He was too busy staring at the picture, remembering the days of his youth with such clarity like it was only yesterday. "High school definitely was the best four years of my life. But senior year definitely was my best and my favorite. You're a senior, too, right, Troy?"
Again Troy nodded hesitantly.
"Wild parties. Lots to drink. The insane pranks. So much fun, although for me the real fun was happening behind closed doors," Without taking his eyes away from Troy, he smiled as he put the picture back. Then, he took slow steps toward him. "The fun included a bedroom as the setting, me, and a pretty girl. Sometimes the girl was your mother, most time it wasn't."
"Dad, I swear to God-" Troy barely had time to react before Jack's steel-hard hands were wrapped around tightly his neck. His grip was so tight, Troy struggled for air.
Pulling his son up by the neck, the older Bolton smiled at his pale face. "Imagine my surprise. I come home and go upstairs myself to remind my son about the pre-Holiday party tonight. And I see my son and a pretty girl having fun on his bed behind closed doors. Having big fun,"
His grip tightened, cutting off Troy's air circulation. "And I laughed because I thought to myself, this is so unbelievable. Troy's an idiot, but he couldn't be that stupid. There is no way he would allow a distraction-a fucking distraction-come between him and basketball. There's no way he'd be that stupid enough to throw away his future, everything we've built and worked hard to get, for a mistake. A mistake that could so easily make him a father and me-me-a grandfather at forty-five."
Dots were scattering across his vision, making him weak and pratically blind. He could feel his lungs dying from lack of air. Troy stammered weakly, suffocating, but it made his dad more amused.
"And you know what really took the hit? The pretty girl you were having fun with was no ordinary girl. She was a pretty piece of Spic filth whom you decided should be the one to ruin your future. A whore who'll spread her legs for anyone, break your heart, and take your money. That was the surprise I walked into."
"...Dad?" Troy choked. Too many dots, so little air, such a strong grip to beat. "It-it…was-wasn't…that. We….studying."
Jack brought Troy up close to him, and he nearly gagged from the liquor on his breath. Up close, his eyes was so calm but filled with such crazed fury, practically maddening. "Wrong answer." He growled.
Troy was thrown at the glass table, banging his head against the sharp edge before falling to the ground. There was a sickening crack, and blood dripping onto the carpet.
Jack jumped him, fists smacking against his face, his stomach, his ribs, hitting anything and everywhere.
When Troy came through, Jack was gone, and he was lying on his bed, back in his room.
The first thing he felt was the pain. Severe, brutal, body-numbing pain that was sharp like a whip and spread throughout his body.
The pain was too much, all he could do was lay his head back and suffer through it. It hit at every inch, from head to toe, the throbbing pain powerful like rapid-fire punches. It pained him to breathe, and each time he had to inhale, he whimpered softly.
"Weak is what you are. Fucking weak!"
"Maybe next time you'll think twice before letting filth into my house."
"You deserve this! You hear me, you little piece of shit. It's all your fault. Mike would have been alive and successful if it wasn't for you."
Troy remembered his dad's words, filled with anger and hatred, as he was beaten. He remembered the last thing Jack screamed before knocking him into oblivion with a hard punch to the face. That Mike would have been alive if it wasn't for him.
So it wasn't just because Gabriella was here. It may have been the breaking point, but there was more. It was because it was soon going to be his birthday.
Despite the pain that stung his body with every movement he made, he scooted his body over to the right edge, over to his nightstand. He reached inside, pulled out a small mirror, and looked at his reflection.
His own face was bruised, up to the point of deformation, and bloody. But Troy looked past the bruises, the dry blood, the black eye, and found his face looking back at him. The blue eyes sparkling with life, a warm and easy-going smile forever plastered on his face.
Then the image changed. He didn't see the Mike he remembered. He saw the Mike doctors showed the family at the morgue. Bruised beyond recognition, body badly burnt from the fire, eyes puffy and swollen purple.
"Mike would have been alive and successful if it wasn't for you." Jack screamed at his bloody face.
"How did you like it?" Mike turned away from the road for a second, just a split second, to smile at the eager little boy bouncing in the passenger seat.
He couldn't get over what the day he spent in the museum. So many amazing paintings, so many cool models and statues. The new camera Mike gave him, part of his birthday present, was filled with millions of pictures he took today. "Awesome. Thanks for taking me. It was the most-Mike, look out!"
That was the last thing his brother said to him before he died; asking him how much he liked his birthday present. Something so simple, it was made things even more horrible.
Troy, as hard as he could, threw the mirror against the wall, sickened by the image. If he only seen the first car coming, if only he hadn't convinced Mike to stay longer at the museum even though it was late. Or better yet, if only he hadn't made a big deal about his birthday and Mike's promise about an awesome gift, then his brother would be alive.
It's all my fault. Tears rushed to his eyes before he could stop. If it wasn't for me, Mike would still be okay. If I didn't make a big deal about my stupid gift, Mike wouldn't be dead.
Once the tears started, there was no way to stop them. There was nothing else Troy could do except cry himself to sleep, hating himself more and more with every tear falling down his face.