The Warning

I was just a teenage girl. Completely clueless of what I was doing. Completely lonely. The only child of a hard headed father and a submissive mother, each of them married to their jobs. I didn't mind really because just like my mother, I was nurtured to be submissive to my father. My religion. The Bible. And God. Aside from all that, I was still a teenager. I was still silly. Immature. Lost. And had raging hormones. That's why he caught my eye. Like a moth drawn to a flame, my eyes followed each move he made. His long brunette hair dancing above his forehead which seems to be scrunched creating some wrinkles on his clear skin. His eyes downcast at the phone he is furiously tapping on. I don't know if it's because I had stared at him for too long and he felt it but the next thing I know, his brown eyes are focused on me. In replacement of the wrinkles is a smile. Teeth brighter, pearly than an Angel's halo. What I did next was the foundation of building my personal hell. I used to think that living with strict, literal Christians was the bottom end of hell but how wrong I was. I smiled back at him right before my father summons me into the elevator where they must have been standing all this time. The golden elevators close, putting a rightful barrier between that beautiful man and me. Like my father always says "stay away from temptation, its like venom which eats you overtime". He was a temptation, that I do agree with. Since from the day I laid my eyes on him, I knew he was no good for me. My justification for doing what I did with him was "because something is not good for you, doesn't always mean that its wrong." Now that I think about it, what does that even mean? "Hello." I hear my father's voice from my right side. Through my peripheral vision, I check to see if he is speaking to me even though I already know that he isn't. I bet that this is one of his business calls again. My father is a typical businessman, not those "hot, six packed, self made, young billionaires" portrayed in romance novels. Those ones are just meant to excite us a little and turn a blind eye on what is real. Reality is that self made billionaires work. They don't have time to make friends because there is no such thing as friendship, just allies. They don't have time to go to the club and meet their Romeo/ Juliet because they are too mature for such pertinence. Pick yourself up a submissive woman from church, get married and pop a child (preferably children if they were not so difficult)into this world. Lastly but certainly not least, they don't have time to get the six pack. I mean, why would you need that when you can just make your girls see dollar signs in place of your beer belly or your bold head or your countless wrinkles. There is more but we will just leave it there. My mother opens the door to the penthouse when we get out of the elevator. Father is still on the call with someone, so engaged in a "business" conversation to realise that I am holding the door open for him. Mother is already out of sight. She knows that she is not the only one, she knows that she is not the love of his life. Far from it actually, none of us are the love of his life, not even God himself. Shockingly, alcohol is my father's true love. It courses through his veins like blood. It lies where his heart is meant to be, it keeps him alive. It keeps his head above the water that he is slowly drowning in. "What did I say about you listening in on my calls? You should have followed your mother." A thank you wouldn't kill. "Yes father." I follow the direction that my mother walked, leaving father to do his things. I find her sitting on a bed in a room which I assume is theirs. Surrounded by such a idyllic view, she seems out of place with tears running down her cheeks. Poison on the middle of a rose. A tiny human in a world too heavy for her small framed shoulders. I love my mother. Truly. I just don't understand her, I tried to but she never lets me. All she ever says is "I'm fine" and she acts the same too. She is like a real life doll/ puppet, you choose what it says, you choose what is wear, you tell it when to smile or cry and it will do it without questioning because you are the owner. An owner and an object is the best way to describe the relationship between my mother and father. I want to fight back for her but we are not that different. I am doll, but the one that no one wants, the one that everyone finds less significant. The one that gets put away in a box and gets locked in alone. "I'm fine honey, you can go to your room." She says as she wipes the tears from her now red cheeks. Bless, poor thing. My room is at the far end of the corridor. Before opening the door, I can tell what to expect. Ceiling to floor glass windows with a killer view to die for. A king sized bed, with dozens of welcoming flowers on the bed side table. A massive walk in closet which is already packed with everything I need for yet another stay. When I do open the door, I wasn't surprised to know that I was right. I head for the bed, throwing myself without care. Finally. I lift my lower half a bit to reach my phone which is in the back pocket. Only a notification of my bible studies. What else did I expect? A miracle from Jesus? I have no friends, something that I have in common with my father.  Partly because I am home schooled but also because I am too mature and elegant for those rebellious young minds. I don't think that is the way I would narrate myself if I had the chance. If I had the chance to act normal, to act my age, to give into the teenage girl trapped inside of this false layer. I could have made friends at church or bible study but they think I am too Christian. Isn't that what church people are meant to be? Talk about God all the time and follow all the rules of the bible precisely. My father isn't much help as well, everyone is scared of him. Why? I do not know. Maybe its his position in society. The closest that I come to making friends is when we host the Racter Charity Ball, otherwise known as "An open door of making connections." Anyways, that ball is the reason why we are at this hotel in the first place. "Selena! They are here!" I rush downstairs when father calls me. It means it time. Time to cover the pimples covering my cheeks. Time to cover that permanent chicken pox scar on my forehead. Time to straighten my natural curly ginger hair and try on dresses which are five sizes smaller. Call it dress up or something but its torture for me. I think that I am beautiful. Scratch that, I am beautiful. Ginger hair, a deep green shade of eyes, pink plump lips, a wide nose and olive skin. I don't like covering my true self. The spots on my face are my only reminder that I am still going through puberty. Something that my father couldn't control. Until he met something called makeup Something that can make me look the same way as I act. "Sit down. We don't have all day, I want you to be ready by 6 pm. Kelvin will come and pick you up." "Yes father." He nods his head at the team he hired to "fix me" and walks out of the house, his attention brought back to the phone in his hand. Eyes puffed up and red, blending in with her face which is also swollen. Mother walks out of the corridor from the direction of our rooms and sits down next to me facing the mirror. Oh yes, like mother like daughter, we both have to get dolled up. Million hours later "Where is your Mr Racter?"Doing "business." "You look beautiful ladies." Thank you. "Here Mrs Racter." Where? Mother is on my right, a completely changed person. Not just because of the hair dos and dress up but because she is smiling wider than a giddy toddler who got candy. Her problems already forgotten. The fact that she was just crying is already thrown out the window. Like I said before, her master is in charge of when she smiles and when she cries or when she ever does anything really. To my left side, there is just a bunch of celebrities posing for the reporters on the red carpet. You know how I told you the reality of being a billionaire; now I am going to tell you the one of celebrities. There is not much difference really. They are both sad, troubled and judgemental. They think that they are some type of super human just because of the money they bare.  You have to think of it this way, billionaires, millionaires, celebrities, lawyers, doctors e.t.c they are all humans. Its just the power in the title that separate them from the rest of the population. They have more money, respect and are probably higher than you based on the hierarchy. But if you strip all that stuff away, they are still human, they still feel and think the same way that commoners do. Commoners have power over all these people, they are the ones who dictate whether they want to support you, whether you are worth the fame or whether to buy your products . Commoners gives all this power and respect to these people and they can also take it away. "Selena! Tell us about your outfit." One reporter shouts. My outfit, oh, the dress. One of the stylists just forced it on me because he thought that emerald green was the best colour to match my eyes. "Let's go." Mother says while dragging me to the entrance door by hand. Chandeliers. Big golden, crystal chandeliers hanging from the endless, tall ceiling. Pure, white circle stairs covered with a gold carpet. Waiters and waitresses running in between the swam of business people who are already making deals before the event begins. Glass cubes with expensive jewellery for the auction are neatly scattered around the room, visible for anyone to see. A huge stage with occupied by a chamber orchestra playing some classic piece. Decorated, ornamented chairs and tables are on the other end , opposite  the stage. "What do you think?" Father asks while kissing his wife's cheek and holding her hand as if they were lovers. Where did he even appear from? "It looks marvellous." Mother replies with a smile pasted across her face. "Um. You both look_"Someone behind me interrupts what father was going to say. "Charles, Vivian. Its been a long time." George Meal, 65 years old but acts like he is still one of the boys. Tiny man but a huge brain which is accompanied by a big head which is filled with blackish spots on top. Single by choice, p********e by choice. A tattoo which is written tattoo across his neck, which he makes sure he flaunts in people's faces at every event.  He is still rich so everyone just kisses his buttocks. " Long time Mr Meal." My father says while shaking hands with his "friend". Mother is still stuck in the smiling mode. I draw myself away from my parents and George because we all know that I am not wanted here.  My job at these things is to only make it look like our family members are very supportive of each other. The truth is I could get kidn*pped from one of these things and no one would notice. I only get summoned when its time to go home. My parents usually stay back until everyone is gone, apparently, no kids are allowed. In this case, I am the kid but in everything else, I am grown up. I navigate my way through the tables until I get at the back where there is barely anyone. I know father would be mad at me for not sitting at my allocated space but I would rather that happened than to spend the entire night with people like George. "Is this seat taken?" I drag myself out of my thoughts and look up from where I am sitting to see a tall guy. The guy that I saw earlier today. He looks different as well, his hair pushed back and laid down with some gel. A dark blue shirt which is opened a couple of buttons down, showing off his neck chain and part of his clean, shaved chest. A white blazer and trousers complimenting his dark hair and eyes. "Um, no." Comes out my raspy voice. "No, its not taken." I say after clearing my throat. He smiles in my direction as  takes a seat next to me. Why couldn't that seat be taken when he asked me? Why couldn't I have just sat where my name was? Those are the questions I still ask myself but have no answers to them.  What do you guys think of the book so far?