My life changed shortly after my seventeenth birthday. That's when my new mother, Cyrilla, and her daughter Jane moved in. Jane was of my age, and I suppose that under different circumstances, we might have ended up as good friends, as
sisters perhaps, and I'm sure that's what dad had in mind. A new, happy
family. Unfortunately, that's not how it went for me.
But
let me start from the beginning. I'd lived together with my dad for
thirteen years at that point. I was an only child, and my mother died in
a car accident when I was young. It was probably not the happiest
childhood one could imagine; my dad was always a taciturn man, and more
so after mum's death. Still, he took good care of me and I lacked for
nothing. Then at some point he met Cyrilla, and things started changing.
At first, the changes seemed good; he smiled more and seemed more
energetic. So I was happy for him. But after I met Cyrilla a few times, I
started realizing she didn't like me much. She never openly showed it,
and acted friendly enough, so it was hard to pinpoint why exactly I knew
she disliked me - but I knew it was true. To be honest, I wasn't even
sure she loved dad, and secretly suspected she wanted my dad for his
money, although I'm not certain of this. Dad has a high position in his
company and earns a high salary, which over the years has accumulated to
us being quite wealthy. Anyway, dad was head over heels in love with
Cyrilla, so talking to him about it was pointless - he would never
believe a bad word about her. As for Jane, I can only conclude that she
was simply jealous of me. And if you think about it, it wasn't that
unreasonable. I don't want to brag, really, but the fact is that I 'had
it all': I was attractive, intelligent and rich (at least, my dad was
rich). Jane isn't ugly, exactly, but neither is she attractive; and at
the time she suffered a lot from acne, which didn't help.
So as I
said, Cyrilla and Jane came to live with us. I wasn't really happy
about it, but there was nothing I could do or say to dissuade dad. Maybe
I would have tried harder if I knew just how my life was going to
change, but I doubt it would have made a difference. Anyway, it happened
as it did, and I now had a new 'mother'. Cyrilla insists that I call
her 'mum', but in my mind she'll always be Cyrilla. But that's not the
only thing she's adamant on. From day one she also interfered with my
clothes. I liked wearing dresses that accentuated my good looks, but she
would have none of it. She claimed I had to be more modest, and that I
was also not appropriately dressed for the weather. It was September at
the time, so it wasn't exactly cold, but from then on I had to wear
long, baggy pants with a long-sleeved shirt and a thick, hooded
sweatshirt over the top, thus obscuring most of my pretty body. And
every excuse was good to have me wear the hood of my sweater - whenever
it was a bit cool, or cloudy, or windy, Cyrilla would tell me to wear my
hood. But that wasn't all: she had a strict rule that every time I wore
my hood, it had to be tied around my face. A tied hood looks
ridiculous, and I'm sure that was her intention. Jane and I went to the
same school and walked together every day, so there was no way I could
take my hood off without Cyrilla knowing. Even during breaks at school I
had to wear my hood up every time, with Jane watching me like a hawk
and checking if it was tight enough. I complained to dad, of course, but
it was pointless. It seemed as if dad had completely lost his wits, at
least on the subject of Cyrilla.
After a week Cyrilla took me
shopping, because I needed more 'appropriate' clothes. We were out the
entire afternoon, with Cyrilla bossing me around, telling me what to try
on, and deciding what to buy. With my dad's credit card, of course. But
there was nothing I could do about it; I protested often, but she just
brushed off my protests in her sweet, soothing voice (how I hate that
voice) while making it clear that if my dad got involved, he would side
with her. Although the day was bright and sunny, she made me wear my
hood the whole time, even while inside the shops. I only got to take it
off when trying on another sweatshirt - of which I then had to put the
hood up immediately, every time. After we had acquired enough
sweatshirts, Cyrilla said I needed a proper raincoat as well. Eventually
she found something to her liking (but not mine!): a raincoat, rain
pants, and rubber boots, all in bright yellow. She made me put
everything on right there, and put the hood up and tie it, of course.
When I had everything on, she walked me over to a mirror and said, again
in her horribly sweet voice: "Don't you look nice in that, dear? You'll
be so well protected from the rain. From now on, you'll get to wear
this outfit on every rainy day, Nina. And you'll get to keep it on the
whole day. Because every time I tell you what to wear, you stay like
that the whole day. Every break, every time you're outside. So even if
it's not raining, if I tell you to wear your rainclothes, you'll wear
them the whole day. Understood, missy?"
Aghast, I stared at my
own reflection. This was just too much for me. I looked ridiculous, like
a five year old kid dressed up for the rain. I untied the tapes of the
hood and took it down. "I'm not gonna wear this," I shouted angrily, as I
took off the raincoat and threw it on the floor. "Forget it. Not in a
million years!" Cyrilla calmly looked on as I kicked off the rubber
boots and pulled the rainpants off. "Oh no?" she said with her friendly
smile. "I'll make you an offer, Nina. Either you take those clothes to
the counter like a good little girl, so I can pay them, and then we go
home. Or you keep throwing a tantrum, and then we'll also buy those
rainclothes, but you'll get to wear them the rest of the day. Which is
it gonna be?" Wear those rainclothes? With this nice weather? "You're
crazy," I hissed, and turned away to stalk out of the shop. I didn't get
far. After I took two steps she grabbed my arm and forced me to face
her. "Now think very well on what you're going to do or say, missy. I
can do whatever I want, and you know it. I can cut your allowance. I can
ground you for a month, or longer. While denying you access to computer
or television. Woud you enjoy that? If I tell your father you're to be
punished, he'll believe me. I could make up whatever story I wanted, and
he'd accept it. You know it's true, don't you? Or do you want to find
out the hard way?"
I stared at her evil, smiling face, and my
anger ebbed away. Only now did I realize how dangerous Cyrilla was. She
was right. She could do any of those things. She could make my life
hell. Just imagine, every single day not getting to do anything other
than going to school. No free time, ever. No computer or television to
divert my mind. She could do it. I had never felt so utterly defeated,
and she saw it in my eyes. Her grin widened, and in a voice dripping
with honey, she said: "Now dear, why don't you pick up your rainclothes,
and we'll go up to the cashier. Then after that, you can put on your
lovely new rainclothes right away, you lucky girl." And so it happened.
My mind blank, I picked up the clothes and carried them to the counter.
"Don't put them in a bag, please. Nina wants to wear her new clothes,"
Cyrilla said, and as soon as the rain pants were checked she handed them
to me. Without a word, I put them on, followed by the rubber boots.
Finally I donned my yellow raincoat, put the hood up and tied it over my
sweatshirt hood. The cashier could only stare at me open-mouthed, but
said nothing.
Of course, we didn't go straight home after that.
Cyrilla walked me in and out of some more shops, although she bought
nothing else. Finally we had a drink on a terrace out in the sun. The
whole time, people were staring at me and commenting on my outfit, as
though I was no longer a person who could hear them, but just a
curiosity, an odd-looking object. While we were having our drink,
Cyrilla told me: "You see, you don't like it when I have to punish you.
Let this be a lesson for you. You will never refute me or argue against
me again. The only thing you'll accomplish is punishment. You also won't
complain to your father about this ever again. You wouldn't sway him
anyway, but I don't want you nagging him all the time. If I hear you've
been talking to him about me or the way I treat you, you'll be punished
much harder than today - harder than you can imagine. In fact, if you
complain against anyone, you can expect the same punishment. A teacher, a
friend - it doesn't matter. If I ever find out you tell people that you
don't like how I treat you, you'll be very sorry. If anyone wonders
about your change in clothing style, you'll pretend it's your own choice
and you're happy about it. Have I made myself clear?"
Dejectedly, I nodded. I felt like a trapped mouse.
"Say 'Yes, Mum'," Cyrilla urged.
"Yes, Mum."
Smiling, Cyrilla leaned back in her chair.
-- on to part 2 --
Overview
