THE GLASS CAGE

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

​We spent the day shopping, and the contrast between my purchases and my friend's was obvious. Mine were expensive, while hers, although designer brands, were always the more affordable options. I didn't criticize her, but I didn't share her way of thinking either. She could have studied for a good university degree and had a good job where she earned more than she does with her "blue page."

The truth is, Sophia studied at the same school as me because she had a scholarship; she was from a different world, one that my classmates and I didn't belong to. I don't even know how we became friends, but today I can't imagine a life where she isn't in it. Upon finishing school, I decided to start my university studies; I studied interior design and had my own company—small, but sustainable—though it wasn't as if money was an issue for me since my father took care of all my expenses. On her end, my friend hit a wall of reality; university was too expensive for her, and even with a partial scholarship, the other expenses were just too much.

She didn't want to take out a student loan because she said it would just be a lifelong debt, so she decided to start working. They didn't pay her well and she had no time for anything. My father offered to pay for her studies, but she very politely turned him down, especially when her mother got sick and the only income in her house was hers. I helped her in every way she would allow me, because she was—or rather, is—very proud and doesn't like anyone giving her anything for free. She felt she had to earn things; she didn't even like getting gifts for her birthday.

Then she discovered this page where people paid you to upload risqué photos. At first, she started doing it with a lot of shame, but as I told you, my friend is beautiful. Soon she was doing wonderful, and she started generating enough to quit her job and dedicate herself entirely to that. I didn’t know how much she made, but I knew—or assumed—it was good money.

​"Come on, let’s go home. I’ll make you a delicious dinner before we go out," she tells me, and I nod because, truth be told, I was already tired from so much walking. "You know you can count on me for anything, right?"

​"I know, Sophi, seriously." She smiles and gives me a hug before we head to her car. I didn't justify what she did, but it had provided a house of her own for her mother and younger siblings, an apartment for herself, her car, and the ability to support her mother financially while maintaining her own lifestyle. Over time, she also gained followers on i********: and other social media, which sometimes led to ads and modeling jobs that she didn't hesitate to take. She was proud of who she was; she didn't care what others said about her, always keeping her head held high.

​When we got to her apartment, she went to the kitchen to make the meal she had promised me while I headed to the bedroom. It was small, I'm not going to lie—two bedrooms, one bathroom, a small living room, and a kitchen with just enough space—but it was hers, and I think no one in the world could take that satisfaction away from her. I wished I could say the same.

To be able to say, "This is mine and I got it by myself," but I knew that wasn't the case. Even if I didn't admit it, I was nothing more than a girl spoiled by her father—and it’s not like that was a bad thing; I liked my life.

​We ate and then got ready to go out for the night. I showered first since I was always the one who took the longest. When I got out, I applied lotion all over my body, put on one of my friend's silk robes, and sat at the vanity to do my makeup. I had taken many courses, and although for big events I preferred to pay someone to do it, I was also very good at it. So, I always got myself ready first and then did Sophia's makeup, as she believed that putting on makeup only meant applying powder, mascara, and lipstick. I didn't blame her; she was beautiful and didn't need those things to be pretty—she was already perfect naturally.

When I was ready, I just straightened my hair and then moved on to my friend, who had already done her hair but wore no makeup. After finishing with her, I got dressed. I had taken something from her closet since, as I hardly ever went out partying, I didn’t have suitable clothes—and honestly, I wanted to look sexy, not like a heartbroken woman who had just been dumped.

​I put on a black cargo skirt, a top with a nice neckline—it was like a corset style, also black—and tall black boots. I didn't usually dress like this, let alone all in black; I felt that color made me look pale, but today especially, I felt I looked pretty. Once we were both ready, we headed out. I had called my driver to take us and stay on alert for our departure, as it wasn't safe to drive drunk—and I was sure we would be very drunk by dawn.

​We went to a very popular club in the city, where we entered without waiting in line since my friend knew everyone. Once inside, we ordered some vodka drinks, and after a short while, we were already dancing in a relaxed way. The good thing about this club was that there were older people; I mean, you weren't going to see 18-year-old kids. For the most part, everyone was over 20, so you always had a great time. I had stopped going out because Leonardo didn't like me being in these places much, and I always did the impossible to please him and make him feel comfortable in our relationship, even though sometimes that meant losing pieces of myself.

​"There's a guy who won't stop looking at you," my friend whispers in my ear since you couldn't hear much over the music. "Up there in the center, the one dressed all in black."

When she gives me the signal, I look for him, and it isn't hard since he commands all my attention—and that of all the other girls around him. Our eyes lock, and he smiles as if he had won a prize. He was a beauty, somewhat well-built; his hair was black, and his skin, while not dark, wasn't white either—at least, that was the little I could make out in the darkness of the place.

​"He's very hot," I tell my friend, looking away since the last thing I wanted right now was to get tangled up with some guy. "But he's not my type." That was very true; my type was Leonardo—fair-skinned and preppy—and that man looked dangerous.

​"That man is any woman's type," she says with a smile, continuing to dance.

​I couldn't help but smile because I knew she was right, but I preferred to stay away from men; I wasn't in the mood for that now. However, it was impossible not to feel his gaze on me all night, and as the drinks went down and began to take effect on my system, I let myself go more. My movements were more sensual, more provocative. Soon, my friend had a guy dancing next to her—he was handsome, her type—but my attention was on that unknown man. I didn't know why, but it seemed so fun to try to seduce him, knowing that it wouldn't lead to anything.

​For a moment, I lose sight of him, so I head to the bathroom after telling my friend, but she was very focused on her new conquest. I wait in line to enter. I feel like I'm floating; I know I'm very drunk, and the best thing would be to stop now and go home if I didn't want to do something stupid.

While I’m sitting there, I check my phone. Leonardo had posted a photo with that stupid girl; they were kissing, telling the world they were expecting their first child. I was filled with rage, and in this moment, I can't think clearly.