As I trudged downstairs, the afternoon sunlight streaming
through the windows seemed to mock me. Mom's voice, dripping with excitement,
called out, "Tea time, everyone!" Ugh, tea time. How quaint. How suffocating.
I hated this life, where ancient traditions suffocated
me. Why couldn't we just grab coffee like normal people? But no, my parents
were stuck in their old-fashioned ways.
As I entered the room, I caught sight of the beautifully
set table, the delicate china, and the steaming teapot. My stomach churned with
resentment. Why did I have to dress up like a princess for this farce?
Mom's message, conveyed through my nanny, still echoed in
my mind: "Put on makeup, dress up like a princess, and wear the beautiful pink
gown in your closet." Pink? Ugh, how trite. How predictable.
But I decided to play along, to be a little mysterious. I
slipped into the pink gown, feeling like a porcelain doll. I brushed my hair,
the soft strokes a soothing balm for my frazzled nerves. Then, I snuck into
Roomy's room, swapping my heels for his sneakers and my watch for his Rolex.
The thrill of rebellion coursed through my veins as I
made my way back downstairs. But my mom's voice, shrill with surprise, cut
through the air: "Trina, why are you wearing Roomy's things?"Roomy appeared,
flashing his mischievous grin as he held up my heels and watch. My mom's eyes
narrowed, her voice firm: "Hold her down, girl." The maid's grip was like a
vice, holding me in place as my mom began to primp me, applying makeup and
styling my hair.
I felt like a canvas, a blank slate for my mom's artistic
expression. The makeup stung, the brushes tickling my skin. I hated the feeling
of being trapped, of being transformed into someone I wasn't.
As we gathered around the table, the tea steaming in our
cups, I felt like a prisoner in my own home. The delicate china, the dainty
sandwiches, and the polite conversation all seemed like a farce, a mask hiding
the secrets and lies that simmered beneath the surface. As we gathered around
the table, the air was heavy with an uncomfortable silence. It was as if
everyone was waiting for someone to break the spell, to shatter the fragile tranquillity.
Roomy, ever the trickster, obliged. With a mischievous
glint in his eye, he spoke up, his voice dripping with sarcasm: "Trina, now we
know why you don't like makeup. You look ugly, girl." The words stung, but I
knew he meant the opposite. Roomy's teasing was a thin veil for his true
feelings.
*Roomy 's Point of View*
As I gazed at Trina, I was struck by her ethereal beauty.
She looked like an angel, her features delicate and refined, as if the gods
themselves had touched her with their divine fingers. Her eyes sparkled like
diamonds, and her skin glowed with a soft, luminous light. She was breath-taking,
a true masterpiece.
I couldn't help but sneak a glance at Felix, who seemed
entranced by Trina's beauty. His eyes were fixed on her, his expression soft
and awestruck. I could almost see the wheels turning in his mind, his thoughts
consumed by the lovely Trina.
I felt a pang of amusement at Felix's obvious
infatuation. Trina could indeed use her beauty to her advantage, but I knew she
was more than just a pretty face. She was strong, fierce, and independent, with
a heart full of fire and spirit.