On some days, I wish morning didn't have to come and this day was one of those days. My mind was disturbed and I clearly had no reason to want to get up the bed and get ready.
I woke up dreading going back to my parents, seeing them, seeing Maggie, my step sister that barely spoke to me except when she wanted to brag about the men in her life or the money she spent on her new shoes.
i thought about taking a long shower but that would just delay my torture, so I didn't waste time with that. I knew, however, that I would need my morning coffee no matter what. It usually helps me get through the day and days like this are when I need it the most.
What I did not expect was a chauffeur waiting for me.
"Who are you?" I asked as I got out of the front door. He was waiting for me at the door.
"I am Micah, ma'am. Your parents sent me. Are you ready to leave now?" He asked, looking at me smiling like it was just normal for him to do so.
I figured my parents did this to ensure I did not run away and I commend their efforts, I wasn't planning on doing that.
I got into the car and settled in while Micah helped me unload my bags into the car. The drive to the airport was long, but short still. I didn't bother taking in the scenery of the place I have come to like, I didn't want to miss it as much, so I kept asking, "Are we there yet?" And the reply I got each time was, "almost ma'am,''
I was just about to ask when he answered my unspoken question, "we are here," then he got out really quickly and got my door for me. If I didn't know any better, I would think my parents got me to ride in their private plane alone but of course, it came with a surprise, my sister.
"Oh, isn't it nice to see you, my dear sister," she said to me immediately as I stepped into the plane. The shock on my face was clear and even she could see.
"I'm not your sister," I muttered under my breath.
"You didn't expect mom and dad to let you ride in the plane alone now, did you? Come on, you are not that important," she continued to say while taking a glass of champagne off the tray served by the hostess.
I didn't expect anything and I didn't say a word to her. Instead, I went straight to have my seat, and made sure it was by the window. I plugged in my headphones and went off to block off the world, particularly Maggie.
Then the memories came flooding in…
A few years back…
They say children have no memory of their childhood but somehow, my earliest memory is of my sister Maggie's hand, clasped in mine, as I watched her in her crib. She would always gravitate towards me warmth and even then when my sister would cry, I would rush to pet her.
Despite the behaviour of her mother to me, I loved my sister still and hated to see her cry.
Growing up and being the babysitter, I and Maggie became so close that we were literally joined at the hip. No one could separate us.
Everything began to change when Maggie grew older. Her mother began to poison her mind against me and seeing how my father, our father treated me, Maggie must have thought all her mother said was right.
"She killed her mother," she would whisper to her. "She not your real sister," she would tell her and Maggie believed her.
While Sophie's eyes sparkled like diamonds, mine shone like emeralds, a subtle distinction that foreshadowed our distinct paths.
As she grew, Maggi excelled in every aspect, effortlessly mastering piano sonatas and ballet routines. She became the talk of the house and our school. My father became more involved with his work as he did, our riches did too. Soon, my father was coming in late from work, keeping late at night but even with all these, he always made time to shower Maggie with praises while I struggled to keep up, my fingers stumbling over piano keys and my feet tripping over ballet bars. I wasn't one for things like this. I loved art, but her kind of art wasn't mine.
My father's and attention was all focused on Maggie's achievements, leaving me feeling like a shadow in her light. i became my stepsister's shadow, a child that other parents used as 'don't be like Rhea, be like Maggie,'
I thought that perhaps when we grew older, my father and his wife would finally relax but it was then that their words worsened. But it only wdded to the pressure. Dad, a self-made businessman, valued perfection and precision, while his wife, a former beauty queen, emphasized grace and poise. Maggie embodied both qualities, while my rough-around-the-edges nature often drew disapproving glances.
"I can see why your mother died, she must have been so angry giving birth to a failure like you," Sophie, my father's wife chided, her voice laced with a hint of disappointment.
My defiance sparked, and I knew, in that moment, I'd never be like Maggie. The dress felt like a suffocating mask, and I craved the freedom to be myself.
I started working to make ends meet since they would not even be bothered about me.
"Sophie," I called out to my Stepmom one day.
"I am your mother, Violet, whether you like it or not,"
Rolling my eyes, I ignored her statement. "Your daughter just took the bag I wanted to take to school today." I said angrily and the reply not surprising.
"You are older, violet and you need to learn to sacrifice sometimes."
I gasped but it was then my father came in and asked what was going on, Sophie told him and he just looked at me and spat the words at my face.
"Come on, Rhea, now is not the time for you to act like a child. Your sister likes that bag and she chose to take it. Try to share sometimes and stop acting like a selfish spoilt brat,"
I wanted to ask him how I was acting spoiled but I held my tongue and just watched how my family, my father once again took her side.