Cinderella 3: Genevieve

I was jealous of the kitchen on this side of the house with its granite counter tops, beautiful, almost stained glass looking floor tiles, a much fancier refrigerator, and stove. I was sure the kitchen in the servant's quarters at one point used to be spectacular, as it used to be the one my father would use in addition to this kitchen. When we had guests of high esteem, I remember my father pitching in to make appetizers on this side, while his chefs prepared the entrees and desserts for the elaborate feasts. Years of neglect in the servant's quarters had left it looking outdated and obsolete from the rest of the house. Shortly after my father was murdered, my stepmother fired all of his long time house staff, making me take over everything that they used to do. Of course, I wasn't able to do everything for her and my stepsisters on top of keeping my side of the house looking nice, so my side suffered.

Cooking for my stepsister Genevieve was the most difficult because she was a vegetarian and a health freak who constantly questioned everything I made for her. She would stand at the counter in the kitchen staring at me, scolding me if I dared put anything in her food that she considered unfit. I usually just made her a fruit breakfast of some sort with grains and yogurt, since she was the most satisfied with that. I had to cook everything simultaneously because if one stepsister's meal was ready before the other, and they couldn't eat at the same time, my stepmother would yell at me. Today I was making pancakes for Jacqueline and my stepmother, which meant cracking eggs. As I cracked the first egg into the batter, Genevieve glared in my direction.

"None of that filthy disgusting slime better come in touch with my breakfast, do you hear me, Thia?"

I ignored Genevieve, annoyed that she was calling me using only the last two syllables of my name. Honestly, I hated all the nicknames my stepsisters called me because they were all just annoying. Genevieve was not pleased that I was ignoring her, so she grabbed a wooden spoon off the counter and smacked it against the surface.

BANG-BANG-BANG.

"I'm not going to quit until you answer me, Thia. Mom's going to come out and slap you for making me mad. I wouldn't be banging this spoon if you would just answer me. Answer me, Thia, answer me!"

I decided to pick my battles, considering I didn't want to have a physical headache on top of the misery I already felt daily, so I told her she didn't have to worry about eggs in her breakfast and she stopped, throwing the spoon at me. It landed in the pancake batter, splashing some egg yolk onto my clothes. I sighed, wondering to myself how someone as immature as Genevieve could actually be the same age as me.

"Mom's going to teach me how to drive today. Are you jealous, Thia?! Are you? You should be, you little bitch, because you're the little slave who has to take taxis everywhere you go."

"Good. Maybe you'll crash and I won't have to see you anymore."

"CINDERELLA! How DARE you talk to my darling Genevieve that way!"

My stepmother's shrill cries of despair mixed with anger echoed through the kitchen, and I swear the pots and pans moved, just from the sound of her voice. She grabbed my right arm tightly, yanking me forward so hard that I lost my balance and nearly collided into her, only saving myself when I managed to gain my footing back on the slippery tile floor.

"Apologize, now, or I'll break this little arm, and make you do your chores one handed!"

"I'm sorry, Genevieve."

"That's better, Cinderella. Now hurry up and make breakfast. I'm hungry. You've stalled long enough."

Stepmother let my arm go, but not before practically throwing it back at me as if it was a filthy piece of garbage she was sick of touching. My arm flew backwards and I bit my lip as I tried not to scream from the pain radiating from where my wrist had come into contact with the counter behind me. I braced myself and took a deep breath, trying to continue making breakfast now that I was injured. It's okay, Cynthia, it's better than it could be, your arm isn't broken, or burnt, you can do this. I gave myself a pep talk, tuning Genevieve out as she continued to blab on about nothing. She was a typical sixteen year old, who enjoyed 'texting her besties' and being over-dramatic about everything in her stupid life.

"Oh my God, Thia! I am so excited to learn how to drive. Ugh, I can drive Lindsey and Rebecca to the mall with me, and we can go stare at the hot guy who works at Foot Locker. Oh my God! He's like, the cutest guy ever, Thia. He has huge muscles, ugh, I just want him to hold me in his big arms. He's so cute he would never even look at a lowly slave like you. Ugh, I think he has a crush on me because he totally smiles at me, a lot, like more than at Lindsey and Rebecca. I'm not surprised, cause even though I have stupid glasses and stupid freckles, Lindsey and Rebecca are way uglier than me, cause Lindsey's got kind of an ugly hair color, and Rebecca has really bad teeth, so like, he wouldn't be looking at them at all. Aren't you so happy for me, Thia?"

I flashed a fake smile at Genevieve and nodded. I didn't know or care whether Genevieve knew I was being fake with her or not, but at the same time she probably didn't care as long as I nodded and let her talk. I smiled for real when I thought to myself that Genevieve was probably too stupid to know the difference between a real smile and a fake one. Despite the pain in my arm from my stepmother's earlier assault on me, I managed to finish making breakfast. I put everything on the table, and then my stepmother waved me away from the kitchen as if I was a fly and would somehow taint their food if I stayed in the room while they were eating. I took advantage of the dismissal and used the easy access door from the good kitchen to the servants' kitchen. When I was finally alone, I grabbed my arm and looked at it, seeing that it was red and starting to bruise. It was sensitive to the touch, and I was irritated because it was only 10am and I had already been slapped twice, pinched on the cheek, grabbed, had various things thrown at me, and banged my arm on the counter.

I knew my stepmother and stepsisters wouldn't bother me for a while, as they always seemed to take a long time to eat their meals, and then they would sit around talking. I made my way to the bedroom that had a bathtub in it because I really wanted to soak my arm and give it some water therapy. I had a bittersweet feeling when I went into the bedroom because it was the room where my old crib and high chair had been stashed when my stepmother was ridding the 'good' part of  the house of my presence. My childhood items always reminded me of my father, and I missed him.

I wasn't sure how my father was completely blinded by my stepmother's cruelty. I didn't know how someone as mean as her could even fake being nice and have it be believable. Perhaps there were things about relationships and love that I just didn't understand. It made sense because I never got the chance to date or even really hang out with boys. I was old enough now, of course, but there was no way my stepmother would let me do anything fun or normal. I believed in love, however, because I just couldn't fathom that the universe was evil enough to subject me to a life of misery forever. I also believed that someday I could live a different life. I didn't know how, but I knew I would fight hard to figure it out, or die trying.