• Chapter 1: Thieving Prince-Charming
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    I always wonder what my family would be like if my mother was still alive. Would she be reading a story to me while I’m in bed, as father sat beside her with a smile, making noises to excite the story even more? Would she be singing songs along with me as we do chores together? Cooking, smiling, etc. like any other mother would. Would it always be fun and games like any other family, but with a little strictness put in? Or would it be boring and dull?

    Which ever it is, it's better than this hellhole with my new mother… step-mother.

    Like everyday, I looked over to my nightstand, a photograph stood in its frame in the morning sun. It’s the only photograph of my true mother holding me, as a baby, with father towering over us with a smile and a watchful gaze. I eyed only on the woman with her long brown hair hanging loosely around her making her look like one of those antique doll. Tired blue-gray eyes stared straight back at me, like I it was showing sadness for my position I was in now. Delicate ivory arms and hands wrapped around the new born baby, with care. As I was about to take in more of her details I heard the yells of my so-called ‘Stepmother’ downstairs.

    “MINA!!!!! Come down here and cook us dinner!” Sighing I sat up, brush my teeth, drink my medication, went to get dressed, pausing to kiss the photo, out the door, and went downstairs to cook breakfast for my Mistress and father.

    If you think Cinderella's stepmother was bad, mine is ten times worse. The only thing that is different from me and Cinderella is that she has stepsisters, a prince charming, a fairy-godmother, and that she is in a fairytale.

    The door was slightly ajar and the voice of my step-mother came through as I stood before the door between them and me, “... always have to pay her medical bills. A fourteen-year-old girl should be able to work now. Why can't we just take her to an adoption center and leave?” she muttered as she looked though the mail that just came in.

    “Why couldn't you choose a wife without a hereditary disease before letting her have your child in the first place?” Only a sigh was heard from my father.

    Not wanting to hear another yell, and another bruise to go with it, I entered the doorway to the kitchen pretending that I hadn't heard anything. Her chattering stopped immediately but the shuffling of papers could still be heard. Father just watched me as an audience does when the beginning of the movie starts, as I could see though the corner of my eyes.

    Silence dragged on, but of course with the sizzling of the cooking only interrupted the silence it was eerie. I cooked and put the plates of food in front of them with no emotions showing. At first I thought I saw a hint of sadness from my father's eyes and mouth opening as if trying to say something. As I turned my head it had left him as he started to eat. Because my stepmother was there I couldn't cook or eat my own food. I always had to wait until she and father leave before starting on mine.

    As she finished her last bite of eggs and toast she got up until she was in front of me.

    “Clean the whole house while we're going shopping. Also...” I bet that she is thinking of something really hard to eat, "I want you to cook a full course Italian menu, got it!" she looked at me.

    One thing I think my father has is his good taste in women. Her hair was brown and cut into a perm, which followed the curve of her tanned face. Eyes were ocean-blue, in which the mascara made her eyes become more almond shaped. However, she can't hide that angry face behind that facade of a mask of expensive makeup and perfume.

    The closer she got I just wanted to shout at her ugly face, "What am I to you, a maid? Do it yourself you prostitute!" but I didn't want to see any sadness from my father, so my mouth kept shut.

    The only reason my father was heads over heals over this Barbie is because she is rich and beautiful. Every man, in noblemen and 'commoners' in whom she called them, has flocked towards her. Because my father was the handsomest of the bunch she married him, after my mother died. Another was that he has no money left because of my medical problems.

    Because of me I have used up most of her 'pocket money' from her fathers inheritance. So she takes them out on me. How? Chores, work, and abuse. So what is the reason for her to pay for my bills? So she could keep her reputation of being the most beautiful and kindest lady in the neighborhood.

    I forgot I hadn't given her an answer when a slap came across my face. I screwed it up into a forceful smile when I finally said, “Yes, Madam.” you maid worker. Picking up the plates from the table, I didn’t look at my dad as he stood up to take up the plates for me. But before he could take his second step Mistress slapped at the plates to make them fall and shatter to pieces. Looking up I noticed the smirk, like she had the last laugh.
    I hope that god punishes you to hell!! I said in my head as I put the dishes into the sink and got a broom and dustpan to pick up the shattered pieces. The smirk was still on her face as she walked on top of the shattered pieces to make even more work. My father just stepped over the pieces, not looking at me at all, as he followed the royal pain in the neck.

    A slam was made as the Mistress left the house with her faithful Dog, basically father. I sighed as they left, continually sweeping the shards into the dustpan, then into the trashcan. After that was finished I started with the rest to not anger my stepmother, knowing the punishment.

    When I was five-years-old, father remarried to her while I was being hospitalized from a bad attack... a heart failure is what I mean. She was the only chain he needed so that he doesn’t lose me. I bet he begged her to let us move into her two-story house. Either that or she gave him two options that changed him to the way he is now. He became a person that was overprotective and talkative; even I have never seen his smile since; to a silent and uncaring father now. When I was discharged I was moved to my new house, not knowing that someone has taken over our live until we entered. At first I thought she was kind when she smiled, but I began to realize the true face behind that smiling mask.

    Maids were once in this house that we lived in until my medical bills drove my mother to being a second rate on the food chain of enterprises. All the maids left, feeling no remorse, only smirks upon their faces for their former mistress. After all, you can’t blame them. The mistress has a bad attitude and seriously bad manners. The maids left only us in the house. However that doesn’t stop her.

    In the end she pushed all of the house chores to the person that caused this to happen.... me. Something also told me that she made some other contract with my father because, now, he wouldn't even say my name or make any eye contact with me. The kind father that I loved has fallen through the hole of darkness done by her.

    Looking at the clock I noticed that I have been standing there for ten minutes. Grabbing the broom I started the regular sweep through the house, beginning my daily choirs. I swept every nook and cranny until everything is done from top to bottom. Cleaning the dishes, laundry, hanging out the laundry, bringing in the laundry and fold them, mopping, cleaning the mirrors, etc. altogether took me three hours to do.

    “Next up, grocery shopping.” I said as I went to my room, pulling off of my clothes and searching through my closet. The full body mirror, lying on the wall, showed my bruised and scarred back that continued down the back of my arms and legs. Sighing I pulled out a thin long-sleeved shirt with jeans and pulled them on. Walking down the stairs, grabbing the keys and money, and out the door, locking it behind me.

    Walking past 15 blocks I reached the small supermarket. As I entered I could see the owner sitting in his usual apron and cash register. I avoided his eyes that trailed me as I grabbed a cart and went out to look for the ingredients for the Italian course dinner. I knew why he watched me. He has seen my horrible step-mother once and he couldn’t forget it. He treats me like I’m his daughter as I treat him like a father when my life with my step-mother began. I remember that day too well for someone that was only five.

    We walked in with her behind me. I smiled, like I always did with father, to the owner and followed my step-mother. He smiled back and waved at me as we passed by and went to get the ingredients for spaghetti. I have remembered the stuff my father always bought so I went around to get them. However when I grabbed for the Ragu tomato sauce she slapped my hands and made the jar shatter, and splatter, around the floor. I looked at her with bewilderment.

    “I’m not eating things like that which have been already made and standing in the shelves for however long ago!” she yelled as anger spread across her face, “I want it freshly made things!”

    “But father always made them that way, and she said it was much cheaper.” I said with a little harshness of an adult.

    “Oh don’t give me that! I bet that’s why you are always sick.”She sneered.

    When I heard those words I yelled, “Don’t say that about my father! I bet that you are just picky!” Her face bloated up and struck me with her hand making me fall to the floor with the shattered glass. All the customers that were their gasped as they saw me with tomato and bloody hands. The owner came running picking me up. Everyone was whispering as they looked at her.

    “Who is she to harm a child like that?”

    “I bet she’s the new wife for that girl’s father.”

    “She wasn’t too bad when I saw her at her wedding.”

    “Someone call the police for child abuse.”

    My step-mother fumed in anger and stomped out of the door with humiliation. The owner watched her go with her car and sighed. I cried as he carried me to his car and to the hospital. The nurses that cared for me during my episodes came out crying to see my wounds. They dragged me to one of the examining rooms, carefully pulling out one by one of the shatter Ragu jar out of my hands and dressed them. I think it was an hour when they came in when my father and the owner. My father looked at me with his lifeless eyes, but I knew he was thinking it was his fault.

    “I’ll tell sorry to mother, papa.” I said before he could say a word. The owner looked at his friend that he knew for years and back to me. My father paid and left with me behind him. Over my shoulders I could see the pain on the owners face. When we got home the beating began. My step-mother was holding the stick and told me to turn around. I looked at my father’s face but couldn’t see anything so I obeyed. She yelled and screamed saying, “It’s your entire fault that I lost face in that filthy place!” as the stick hit my back. The pain was like a slicing hot iron on my skin as she kept whacking.

    After a few minuets, which felt more that it was she stopped at pushed me out the door. “You won’t be setting foot in this house until you understand what you did!” slamming the door shut behind me.

    I ran down to the store crying as the owner saw me. Grabbing me he saw the bloody and long whip lash on my back. He fumed and was about to storm to his car saying, “Why didn’t your father stop her!”, but stopped him saying it wasn’t his fault. He faced me with a retort, but stopped when he understood what I meant. However, since then, he kept looking after me closely after that.

    I sighed and placed the items one by one onto the counter still not looking into his face. I could still feel the sizzling sensation of his eyes burning through my head. I looked at the products being placed into the bags and the prices of the products flashing on the screen. As the last item was scanned I placed the $160 on the counter knowing how expensive it would be.

    “That would be $45. 85.” He said which made me look up and see the price.

    “That can’t be right!” I argued as I saw all the food that was in the bags, “It’s supposed to be way more than that!”

    “It’s a discount, Mina.” He said with his sympathetic eyes showing through his old wisdom like green eyes.

    Glaring at him, “Don’t be sympathetic with me. I’m 14 already, so don’t start that again!” but knowing him, he ignored me and gave me my change. I sighed and whispered, “Thanks.” And out the door.

    Going straight towards the ally way that I came from. I turned around and looked at the place of where the owner was. Silently I thanked again, and was about to turn around when a hand placed it around my mouth and a knife in position of my neck.

    The items that I had dropped to the floor and my hands on the attackers, trying to pull off the hands that were covering my mouth. He was desperately trying in stopping me from shouting.

    “Be quiet or I will silent you with this.” Whispered the young voiced man. I stopped struggling as I saw its sharpness, but I also couldn’t stop staring at the ocean-blue eyes that were staring in it behind me. Those blue eyes were similar to mine….. Empty and lonely.