Part One
"Cecelia, meet Oliver. Oliver Martin." my father gestured to the young man in front of me, a tight smile hiding his expectant expression. Or should I say, 'controlling'. His dark eyes bore into the side of my turned head, although I refused to meet his gaze. I wouldn't be surprised if there was a steaming hole in my hair. Nothing a little trip to the salon can't fix! I laughed inwardly.
The boy was grinning from ear to ear, hand outstretched for a handshake. I kept my arms at my sides and examined his hand like it was the most contaminated thing on earth. He finally got the clue and gave up, although his expression didn't change. There wasn't even a flash of hurt across his face. A feeling inside of my gut gave me a thumbs up. I took the silence to take in his appearance. He had blonde hair styled in an "effortless" quiff that he obviously spent too much time on. His skin was sun-kissed and flawless, hinting outdoor sports. Check. He wore a white v-neck that drooped down far too low. Does that count as cleavage? Who knows. A pair of designer shades hooked on to his shirt, in addition to the pair already pulled back on his hairline. I smirked at this. His dress pants (ironed to perfection) led to brown leather shoes that sparkled in the sunlight. One thing was for sure- he spent time and money on his demeanor.
"You can call me Olly. Oliver's my father. Would you mind if I called you Cece? 'Cecelia' seems so formal." he laughed lightly, running a hand through his hair. His blue eyes twinkled and added to his radiating smile.
Poor boy, what a mistake you've made. I narrowed my eyes, "You may call me Cecelia. It's very nice to meet you." I shot him a secret glare through my fake and irratated smile. Inside my mouth, my toungue bled lightly under the power of my teeth. Behind him stood his parents, both clothed in expensive fabrics and extravagant jewels, clutching their hearts and hanging on my every word. I almost snorted at how they prayed I would accept their son as a husband. Their lack of pride disgusted me. My parents also took in the scene behind me, my father sending me mental signals not to mess this one up. My mother probably couldn't care less, as long as she gets her allowance this week.
"I'm sorry, Cecelia. May I comment that you look gorgeous today." he remarked, sending me a genuine smile. I sighed, exasperated. Well what did he expect? Did I look terrible yesterday?
"Flattery gets you nowhere Oliver-" I retorted dryly.
"Olly," he interrupted with a bothered expression. His parents immediately widened their eyes, looking like they were ready to rip his head off. Who did he think he was? He comes to me, begging for my hand in marriage, and then decides to go and interrupt me? I hated people who thought that they were above everyone. The nerve.
"Olly," I repeated, giving him a deadly stare, "if you'll excuse me, I have better things to do than be interrupted by a low-life like you." Smiling sweetly, I spun around on my heels to walk off with my heels clacking on the tiles of our lobby. I heard several gasps from the Martins and a loud grumble from my father. I smiled to myself. My hand was hovering over the doorknob to the outdoor balcony when I heard a call from behind me.
"It's people like you who make me embarassed to be who I am." Oliver scoffed, causing me to freeze in my spot. All was silent, as everyone held their breath, waiting for me to respond. Very slowly, I turned around and began to speed-walk back to the lobby. When I reached the group, I stalked up to the boy and looked straight into his eyes. This idiot messed with the wrong person.
Searching his eyes, I only found determination.
"Do you know who I am? You disgust me. Go crawl back into your Middle-Class hole." I spat, resisting the urge to push him back. Don't sink down to his level. Waaaaay Down. It became quiet again if you forgot about the loud sobs coming from Mrs. Martin. Desperate much? Finally, Oliver laughed in my face, feet planted on my floors.
He's. Laughing. At me. When it sunk in I pursed my lips and felt my face heat up.
"This is exactly my point. Who do I think you are? You are simply a girl with pretty things, Cecelia. Accept it, you're never going to look in a mirror and accept it. You know what, I decline this marriage proposal. You're too good for me. Is that what you want to hear?" his voice dripped with sarcasm as he rolled his eyes and smirked down at me.
I was furious, ofcourse. No one has ever talked to me like that in my life. And I certainly didn't want him to be the first to. "You do not decline the proposal. I do. I. DO. And that's what I'm doing. I wouldn't be seen together with you anywhere!" I started to shout and wave my arms around, crazy. "You little bag of shit NO ONE talks to ME like that! Get out of here and take your snivelling parents! YOU need to learn how to pay your respects to people who are higher than you! YOU are in NO PLACE to talk to ANYONE like that!"
The next think I knew, a pair of firm hands grabbed onto my shoulders and harshly pulled me backwards. I started screaming and thrashing around. I screeched the worst things I could think of as I was dragged away into the balcony. I heard a door slam. When I opened my eyes I was sitting on a patio chair outside, my purple-faced father glaring at me with bulging eyes.
"WHAT have you DONE?" he shouted, making me wince. I looked down at the floor.
"But Daddy," I whined with a sniff, "he said mean things to me!" My father just threw his head in his hands and scrouched down with a loud sigh. Pouting, I crossed my arms. I always got my way.
"Cecelia, baby." he started, kneeling in front of me and softly taking my hand, "I've found a wonderful televised camp, for girls like you." he spoke very softly, refusing to meet my gaze.
"What sort of camp? Television? What are girls like me?" I demanded, gripping on to his hand and standing up.
"Calm down, it's fine." he coaxed, urging me to sit back down. "Beautiful girls like you from wealthy families. It'll be a wonderful experience and-"
"No." I laughed, standing up again and putting a hand on my hip. "There is no way I would do such a stupid thing." I shook my fathers hand away and prepared to leave.
"No, baby come on," he pleaded, "it's for your attitude, to make you a better person." I whipped my head around at his words.
"A better person? Attitude? I think I'm fine the way I am, Father." I protested with a snort.
"Yes, but don't you think that a little personality adjustment would be in order? Just in case we go bankrupt? And you haven't been accepting any of these proposals and we need you to-" he reasoned, using the voice he would use to talk to a baby.
"I HATE YOU!" I screeched, feeling tears prickling in my eyes. I dashed out the balcony and ran into my room, slamming and locking the door.
I hate my life.
