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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Riley — 18 years old
I don’t know why I’m here.
I should have stayed home, should have refused coming when my mother forced me to dress up for the Christmas charity gala.
But I’m incapable of denying my parents anything. They say walk; I walk. They say smile; I smile. They say jump; I jump. Even if it’s jumping to my own demise.
As long as I’m under their roof, I have no choice. I can’t make any decisions for myself.
And somehow, I have a feeling that even when it’s time for me to leave — they will still try to control my life. When the time comes, my father will choose the perfect, rich husband for me, someone who is useful to him and his selfish ambitions.
I will become the trophy wife that my mother is.
Last year, I had a fever and couldn’t attend. My sickness was a blessing in disguise. While my parents attended the gala, Lila came to keep me company. She made sure I ate the soup her grandmother made and that I took my medication on time. Then she tucked me in and waited until I had fallen asleep before leaving.
The year before that, at the Christmas gala — well, I don’t want to think about that night.
The night of my ruination.
The night that left scars on my soul.
But this is the first time I’m making a ‘public’ appearance since that night. Exactly two years ago. My father is expecting me to clean up my reputation tonight.
I need to look beautiful, calm, poised and sophisticated. Smile at everyone. Laugh softly. Speak with elegance.
My mother called in a whole professional team to get me ready for tonight. She had chosen a light blue, silk gown and silver heels for me. My makeup and hair were done professionally. I even have pearls in my hair.
“You’re giving off Cinderella vibes,” the makeup artists had gushed earlier. “Flawless, I tell you. Everyone’s eyes will be on you tonight. You will be the center of attention.”
But this is no fairy tale.
And I don’t want to be the center of attention.
Except, I have to be.
Because my father says so.
Prim, proper and poised.
I made sure not to eat anything before coming here tonight. If my stomach is empty, I won’t be puking on my father’s polished shoes. The horror of that night still makes me sick when I think of it. And I think of it often.
Till this day, it haunts me. I still get disturbing, vivid nightmares from that night.
I can feel their eyes on, the heat of their stares burning through my gown. Everyone is openly staring and judging and they’ve already found me lacking.
I’m standing tall, but it’s not enough for them.
A pretty smile is plastered on my face, but that’s not enough either.
The humiliation from two years ago is still fresh in their mind, and nothing I do will ever be enough. So, it seems tonight is already a fiasco before it even begins.
My anxiety rears its ugly head, and I feel my stomach recoil. I hate the crowd, I hate people staring. It makes me want to dig a hole and bury myself there, where no one else can find me. Where they can’t see me or judge me.
There’s a dull pain starting in the back of my skull, and my head pounds with tension. Cold spider-like fingers race up and down my spine and I fight back a shiver. I hate this feeling.
Anxiety can be debilitating, and I hate that I’m constantly put into situations that worsen it.
