After the bath, my arm felt a lot better even though it was now a disgusting shade of purple. I got dressed in the same clothes I had on earlier, because I still had a lot of cleaning to do. The next thing on my cleaning schedule was my stepmother's room, and the quickest way to her room was through the kitchen door. I sighed, knowing that there was a chance I would have to walk past my stepfamily since they would probably still be eating breakfast, and knowing that they would probably not be able to resist insulting me as I walked by them. Still, the morning had to go on, so I opened the door and nearly power walked through the dining room to my destination. I heard my stepsisters snickering among each other, knowing that they were making fun of me, but not caring as I opened my stepmother's bedroom door and shut it behind me.
The overwhelming stench of stale beer and wine permeated my nose, making me immediately feel like the bath I had just taken was for naught. My stepmother was an alcoholic, but a functioning one. She never got so drunk that she passed out... except for late at night. I'm pretty sure she drank excessively every night before she went to sleep, just based on how many beer bottles and empty bottles of wine I had to pick up every morning. I wasn't sure why she drank so much, but if I was as big of a bitch as her, I might drink a lot too to try to forget how much of a bitch I was. I sprayed Febreze around the surfaces I wiped down and straightened because that was the only way to get the stink out of her room. I wondered if she had gone nose blind to the smells, or if my air freshening efforts were so effective, that I was the only one unlucky enough to be exposed to them.
I don't remember her being an alcoholic when my father was still alive, and I wondered what had made her start. Then again, did she really need a reason? She wasn't exactly a good person, I know she had her eyes on my father's money, rather than on him as a person. Even when I was a little girl, I always had the feeling she was evil.When they first started dating, I would shy away from her because I was afraid, and that's when the distance between my father and I started. My stepmother would pick me up and hold me, but I never felt comfortable. I used to cry when she picked me up because I never felt any warmth from her when I was in her arms, and she made me feel like something bad was going to happen. I saw that my father was sad about my behavior towards her, so I tried harder to be strong when she hugged me. Once my father saw I was making nice with her, he was back to his warm, loving self. It still baffles me to this day why my father couldn't see past my stepmother's cold exterior.
I wondered if it was because she hid that cold, distant part of herself from my father. I know now how manipulative she is, so she for sure played him until she got him right where she wanted him. I knew one of my father's biggest flaws was him trying to see the good in everyone. Perhaps that's where he went wrong, maybe he didn't want to believe she was cold and calculating, even though he may have felt that way about her?
Oh Papa, you may have been too kind for your own good. The part of my day when I missed my father the most was when I cleaned my stepmother's room. I speculated about how they met, remembering the day when my father brought her home with him to meet me one day, saying he kept running into her at the park when he would go for a morning jog. My mind was reeling with ideas, and I seriously had a hunch that she was stalking him, making it
seem like it was coincidence that she was always at the park. She probably already knew he was rich, knew who he was, where he lived, that he had a daughter. Ugh, it disgusted me to think that she might have been stalking my father as if he was a piece of prey. I hated her so much.
I finished cleaning her room, and put the bottles in a bag, so that I could take them to the recycling center. It was one of my favorite parts of my day, when I could leave the house and be alone, away from the cruel glares and ugly words. I had one more unpleasant thing to do before I could leave, however, and that was to get money from my stepmother so I could pick up some fresh fruits and vegetables. She had wanted me to start a garden the other day, and I hadn't gotten around to it yet. I went upstairs and changed out of my cleaning dress into some casual clothes. Afterwards, I went to go find my stepmother.
"WHAT, Cinderella?! Whatever do you want?"
"I am going to take the bottles to the recycling center, and I need some money to buy groceries."
"Oh, right, of course. Here is $40. Everything
better match up price wise with what you come home with,
little bitch, or you'll have a
very unpleasant afternoon."
"Yes, madame."
"I love when you behave like the little slave you are. It makes me proud of you. Now run along."
I hated having to pretend I was agreeable with my stepmother, but I always made sure that I catered to her whenever I needed to run errands because I loved leaving the house. If I gave her attitude, she would lock me in the servants' quarters and I wouldn't be allowed outside until the next day. I know because I tried it once. I know that going out and being in the daylight helps me a lot with the situation I am in, it gives me a sense of sanity, and normalcy, which I need because I have such a shitty home life.
With the money in hand, I put the bills in my pocket and grabbed the bag of bottles, then headed out the door. As soon as I stepped outside and smelled the fresh air, I felt a burning desire to run away, but I knew I couldn't do that right now. Maybe someday, but not today. Still, being outside was exhilarating, and I finally had time to myself to just enjoy my surroundings, rather than cringing at every turn.
Freeeeeeedooooommmm! My thoughts went to silly imitations of war movies where they fight for freedom.
I dropped off the recycling first, and then went to the grocery store. One thing that my stepmother did well was that she didn't care how long it took me to run errands as long as I came home to cook dinner. Her and my stepsisters usually went to a restaurant for lunch, or ordered take out, so I didn't have to cook for them. This gave me multiple hours away from her so that I could breathe. Most people would probably not find a grocery store very exciting, but from my perspective, it was heaven. The brightly colored produce and the fresh smells were intoxicating, and I savored every moment of my time at the store, not caring that it was ridiculous for me to enjoy a grocery store so much. I spent as much time browsing the aisles as I could, which usually meant I wandered the entire store after picking out the groceries I needed.
When I got back home, I put all the groceries in the refrigerator, and cleaned up the leftover pizza, ignoring my stepsisters who seemed to be entranced with the bass that my stepmother had recently bought. One of them would play, while the other would listen, and surprisingly, they would take turns, only bickering occasionally about who got to play it first. I went upstairs and changed back into my ratty dress so that I could make dinner, knowing that I'd become dirty again while doing it.
Once that was all done, and my stepmother and stepsisters were happily shoveling their food into their ugly mouths, I went into my part of the house again and made myself a bowl of ramen noodles. Naturally, I wasn't allowed to have any fresh fruit, meat, or vegetables on my side of the house, and I doubted that would change once I started the garden. The only thing my stepmother would allow me to have was ramen. Luckily, I didn't mind the taste of it, but it was boring to eat ramen all the time, even though I did pick up multiple flavors for myself.
I looked at the clock, and saw that it was almost 7pm. I was grateful that my day was almost over. All I had left to do for my stepmother was clean up after their dinner, and I would get the rest of the evening to myself. The only thing that was good about her hating me so much was that unless she needed something from me, she left me alone because she couldn't stand the sight of me. After finishing my dinner, I cleaned up, then prepared myself to go back out to the main house. I went to the kitchen and started busying myself with the dishes, trying to ignore the shrieks of Jacqueline and Genevieve who were bickering among each other.
"Genevieve!! It's
my turn to play the bass!!"
"Ugh, no it's not, Jacqueline! You already played it after lunch today! I haven't gotten to play it since yesterday!"
"But.. but, Gene
vieve!"
"Girls! Girls! Please.
My ears. Now,
what is the problem?"
My stepmother settled the dispute between my stepsisters, without laying a hand on them, and they immediately stopped whining, which was a good thing, despite the fact that I hated that she was so nice to my stepsisters while she treated me like dirt. It's not to say that I didn't think she should be nice to her own daughters, but she didn't have to treat me like I didn't matter. That's how I knew she was evil, she was only nice to people if it suited her, not because she felt like she should be a decent person. In this case, she was trying to get her daughters to stop fighting so
she would be spared a headache. Jacqueline sat down and started playing the piano, while Genevieve strummed the bass, and my stepmother went to sit on the couch, resuming her relaxation, or whatever the fuck it was she did all day. I finished in the kitchen, glad that everyone had ignored me, and went back into the servants' quarters.
I breathed a sigh of relief, smiling to myself that I had finally finished my torturous day, satisfied that I would be left alone from now until tomorrow morning. I changed into my sweats, throwing my nasty stain covered dress into the hamper. I exited the laundry room and stood in front of the sculpting station I had found tucked away in a corner of the servants' quarters. It had been my father's property originally, and he had used it to make lots of different things that he sold for money in the early days of his marriage to my mother. I still don't really know why my mother left, my father always told me that she wanted something else for her life, but that it wasn't my fault. I believed him that it wasn't because of me, but I do wonder now what exactly made her leave. Sometimes I speculate, if my mother could have seen what would become of me, would she have stayed to spare me such a horrible life? In that case, my evil stepmother might actually be a better mother than mine was because at least she's in my stepsisters' lives.
Slashing and hacking away at the sculpting station really served to relieve the stress of my day, plus the added benefit of creating something. Usually, I just put the things I made throughout the house to make it more elegant because my stepmother didn't care if I did that.. I know if I tried to sell things I made, my stepmother would probably take the station away, or even worse, destroy it. I couldn't bear to have something that was my father's fall into her hands. I knew how her mind worked, and she wanted me to be her slave, forbidding me to have anything nice for myself, and that included using any of my skills to earn money. I stopped sculpting, putting down my hammer and chisel since I was tired, and decided to just read before bed. I wished I had a television or anything else other than just the bare essentials. As I crawled into bed, I hoped I would have sweet dreams tonight.
