Neptune

Chapter 8 | The Beautiful Doll

C A S S I E

Age ten

That day, I remember holding her hand, wiping my tears away. I watched as Dad was buried in front of me. My heart broke for the thousandth time as I thought that I wouldn't be able to see him anymore.

Here, in the graveyard, people had gathered, most of whom were his business partners. He didn't have any close family or relatives here—he was an immigrant who married Mom.

All I knew was that he was an only son whose parents lived in Portugal. But I'd never met my grandparents.

"Poor little thing. After her mother died, now she has to lose her father too."

"I know, right? Who would have thought that Fabian Castillo would die because of a heart attack? He was still young."

"Thank God she still has Morgan. Poor woman. It's only been one year since they married."

I could hear people whisper about us, and I wondered if they knew that we could hear them. Well, maybe not, because Morgan was crying almost hysterically beside me—she was too consumed by grief, mourning Dad, that she wouldn't have had any idea even if the whole world was talking about her.

I watched again as the soil was poured onto the coffin. This was real. Daddy was gone. He would never make me laugh, carry me on his shoulders or kiss my forehead every night before I went to bed anymore.

And the realization of that made more tears fall onto my cheeks.

"She is so pretty even when she's crying. She's like a doll."

"Look at her skin. It's flawless."

"She would make people stop on the street."

I shifted uncomfortably as I stood, hearing all of those compliments. I knew whom they were talking about. I'd heard too much of it. It wasn't about Morgan.

It was about me.

Morgan sniffed, her sobs finally stopping. I wondered if she could hear the whispers.

God, why were adults so stupid? Why couldn't they just stop talking?

"With that look, she can become a celebrity when she gets older."

I froze. That was the first time someone was being specific about predicting my future. It was the silliest thing I'd ever heard, though. I knew that I wasn't that pretty, not when I looked into the mirror every morning only to see my eyebags and hair all over the place.

I mean, didn't all celebrities wake up pretty? Like all those memes, "I woke up like this," with Barbie's image.

Morgan squeezed my hand, and I glanced at her. She was still crying, her eyes squeezed shut.

That day, I should have known.

That day, I should have realized that it was the first time the idea struck her head.

*

Pleasing Morgan was the idea that had been planted in my head ever since I lost Dad. All my life, I'd never had any figure of a mother because Mom died when she gave birth to me.

When Dad married Morgan, I'd thought that I could finally have a mother. I'd been so over the moon. She'd been so nice, and she was beautiful.

We looked different, though. She was fair, blonde-haired and had eyes so enchanting that it could make me feel like I was drowning in them—her eyes were the color of amethyst.

Meanwhile, my hair was chestnut brown, so dark that it was close to black, my skin tanned. My eyes were chocolate.

I always wondered why people were talking about me instead of her every time they encountered us. It was like her light dimmed when she was with me.

However, she looked pleased every time someone complimented my beauty. She would buy me pretty clothes after she got back from work—she worked as an editor for a magazine—and say, "Cassie, you look so pretty in that. You're my beautiful little princess."

And I would grin from ear to ear. She was like an angel to me, showering me with love and affection after I'd lost my parents. She'd taken care of me when I had nobody else to turn to. She'd sacrificed her life for me. I knew that Dad had left some money and inheritance for us, but she worked hard to top it up so that she could provide for me.

At that time, I always thought, What did I do to deserve her?

Why was she so kind?

I didn't know what I would do without her. I was a lonely creature.

She was the only thing I had. And she was everything to me.

*

Age 12

Things became different as years passed. Morgan used to be very attentive to me and looked at me like I was the most beautiful human being in the world, but then, the adoration in her eyes was replaced by something that I couldn't really identify. Something like a mixture of ambition, impatience and insecurity.

One morning, I was having breakfast with Morgan when she suddenly snatched my cereal away from me.

"Enough," she snapped. "You'll get fat."

My stomach growled. I knew that she most probably wouldn't let me, but I decided to take a chance.

I whispered, "But I'm still hungry—"

"You've had your salad," she reminded me, turning away from me before throwing my food into the sink.

Right. That salad had barely been one-quarter of a small plate. I watched as Morgan settled back in her seat in front of me, resuming eating her pancakes with bacon and eggs.

My mouth watered as I eyed her food. It had been weeks since I'd had my favorite meal.

Morgan glanced up at me, noticing me watching her with envy, and she said sharply, "Not until your tummy is flat, Cassie."

I looked down at my tummy. My friends in school told me that it was the flattest tummy that they'd ever seen. How flat did she want it to be?

I sighed in desperation. That moment, I finally realized the huge change in the way she thought of me. That no matter what I did, I was never beautiful enough in her eyes.

And that to gain her love, I had to be.