My Mother's Boyfriend

But First, Be Presentable

Maya

“Fcuk, you can’t go like that.”

Gaping at the man who bought me, I dropped the book that I had been taking notes on. Why waste precious time, right? Left alone after his phone call session, I decided to focus on my studies after understanding why I was left without guards.

I could not escape even if I wanted to, I understood that much. The window was too high up, and the front door was locked- I checked. The only thing I did was turn up the A.C. as it was too cold in here.

Too frightened to ask any questions, I did not even go to explore the kitchen and drank water from the tap (faucet) in the bathroom that I had to sneak in to use the wash-room. Sneak because the apartment had one bedroom and the man was in it, asleep. The man, who paid my grandmother to attend my mother’s funeral and my father lied about- well, omission is a lie, by default. Right?

Does anyone actually go around boasting that they beat women up? I cried then cried some more. I had nobody to call, and I did not have my phone to call. I judged my mother so wrong.

These were the thoughts in my head before I decided to study instead. It would provide as a good distraction. I just accepted this as my new home as my father had intended. I am at least grateful that my future husband is not an old, wrinkled, soft-bellied man.

And now, just as he had vanished into the room hours earlier, he reappeared, insulting the way I looked. With his sleep-tousled hair and unrumpled clothing- black turtle-neck sweater and blue jeans, not even looking as if he had been asleep this whole time.

When you have money, I guess even gravity falls in love with you.

Had it been me, my face would have been greased in sweat, and possibly dried dribble down my mouth.

Speaking of- what exactly is the actual time? I have been here since morning.

Raking his fingers through his thick black hair that fell over his forehead, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Bring the car around, in twenty, will you?”

He’d been asleep so peacefully after uprooting my entire life. How? He had no worries either that I would harm him to escape. It unnerved me that he was so confident in himself. But it also indicated to me what he might be capable of as well- he belonged to the mafia after all.

Picking up the heavy book, I remain silent with my head down, my eyes on the shoes that my mother bought me more than two years ago. She hated it as most adults did, but I loved it as it was trendy. I guess my mother’s boyfriend would hate it too, for he is of the old age bracket as well- his upturned eyes had told me his dislike of it.

Also, he would be referring to my clothing. My very good choice of clothing for my age, considering what teenagers wear these days, would be inappropriate for my introduction to his family. It was way too casual and so not formal dinner-wear. And in his tantrum to get me out of my home, he did not allow me any chance to wear any clothing of mine.

All I have with me currently, are my books.

Joy fills me up on the inside when I think of my family, that he is about to take me to, despite my grievances towards them.

Covering his eyes with dark-shade sunglasses, he says to me, “Pick something beige or similar.” When we were exiting the lift, I realise that he had told whoever was on the phone twenty minutes, and it’s only been two minutes since. So, where the hcek are we going now?

Immediately, I am deflated. Also, what is similar to beige? White, yellow, brown, rose-pink?

Briskly, I follow him across the road to another huge building like the one behind us, only it’s a mall. He’s not taking me home; he is purchasing a new garment for me. It annoyed me.

Had I never met him, I would have loved this store. I would have been overjoyed to wear any of the dresses brought to me by the staff. Fifteen minutes later, we left with three dresses and two pairs of shoes that the annoying snooty sales assistant helped with.

“Do you have make-up?”

Caught off-guard, I once again gaped at him. I have never worn make-up in my entire life. If he wanted it on my face, then he would have a mess on his hands. I do not know how or where to start.

“What is your preferred brand?” he goes on saying, shoving me lightly inside the back-seat of the car that awaited us in front of the mall, taking the seat beside me.

Of what, Chap-stick?

Sinking into my seat, I pull in my lips not quite sure how to reply. I guess being as handsome as he is, it is expected that his fiancé be just as stunning. While I know I am not ugly, I also know I am not a great beauty. My mother always said that I look like her, so I am pretty, but every parent says that to comfort their offspring.

But we never had that mother-and-daughter bonding over boys and frills. Let alone lipstick. Once she took me to wax my eyebrows when I was fifteen, and I cried, refusing to wax the other one. Mum shaved the other one to even it off, but I never did either again.

I am so not a tomboy. I love dresses and skirts with glorious jewellery and high heels. I just didn’t take much with what felt to me like changing my face. It’s weird. I know what powder can do to my looks by enhancing them, but I am good with not being a beauty queen.

Fidgeting with my fingers, I hear him mumble, “Of course you don’t. Fcuking Christ. Mierda.”

My cheeks heat up in embarrassment. I am ashamed for him that he has me as a future wife. I am anything but elegant- I won’t go as far as to say I am a tomboy but yeah... The women they are usually spotted with are all gorgeous. Why hadn’t he and my mother gotten married? Then he probably won’t be forced to hook up with me. And I would have been content at home to finish my studies.

Despite only recently learning the truth about my parents’ relationship, I am annoyed with my mother once more for having left me in this dilemma.

“It’s three, do you think Sandra will be home now?” he directs at the man who came with him on the day they broke our front door.

“Raise your head,” he instructs, and my back stiffens, but I do obey him, knowing he was talking to me then.

“Too early,” the man replies from the driver’s seat.

“Take me there, we have already got the shoes,” the scary, annoying, and irritating man commanded.

Sandra, as it turns out was a hair stylist but was willing to ‘fix my face’ as Alejandro said it. The woman had a contoured face that a model would die for and a voluptuous physic. Tiny on top and wide on the hips. Long blond hair with streaks of gold- obviously not her real hair colour-with matching red nails to her pants-suit outfit, so long they should be considered as weapons.

And like me, no earrings.

She looked annoyed as well, so I could tell the beauty was one of Alejandro’s girlfriends. I couldn’t help but wonder why he didn’t marry her. She seemed that she would be willing and in the same age group as him.

She washed my hair and fixed it up. Then ignored my protests at waxing my eyebrows but did it anyway. It’s not like I could make a dash for it, like when I was with my mother when Alejandro Michael was sitting on one of the salon chairs, fixing me with a hostile glare.

Then instructing me to wash my face, Sandra worked her magic.

“Very little foundation powder, because honey we are two different shades,” she explained. “Ale brings you here, and I am not a MUA, but I will help you as it seems important to him.”

I do not know what a MUA is, but I know she is digging in her bag, which means she is using her personal products on me. I am smart enough to figure out if it has something to do with- products along that line.

Sandra was a darker shade of brown than me, while my skin tone was a light shade of brown. Alejandro was even lighter with a Greek shade.

The woman’s bangles clinked, and it annoyed me. Why be noisy while working?

She told me what she was doing while she was doing it, which I appreciated to fill up silence. “Now, this lipstick gave me an entirely new look and I think it will work for you, baby. Now close your eyes for the finale.”

Dismayed that she wanted to ‘wow’ me for the person I hated the most, I did so anyway because I knew he was watching us. Sandra either wanted to please him because she was overly friendly, or she was just a bubbly person and that annoyed me as well.

She’s annoying. Everything is annoying, I guess, because of my situation.

Next, I feel the brush strokes on my cheeks. Blush.

“Open your eyes, baby,” she says happily.

Honestly, I would have beamed at the reflection had it been under normal circumstances. Although she had not done anything major, the simple mascara, pale pink eye shadow, and blush did give me a more polished appearance.

But I am unhappy, so I stare blankly.

Alejandro thanked her and then headed back to the apartment where he gave me more instructions to shower but to not wash my hair and face. As if I am stupid to not know this.

Shows how much he thinks of me.

Cave-woman.

Wait, I smirk. This could work for me.