Hands Off Me! Your Doormat Is Dead!

~~Lucia~~

I was reading a novel about a woman who couldn't stand up to her cheating husband and the stepsister he was screwing behind her back. Honestly, I wanted to jump into the book and slap some sense into her.

I wasn't asking her to be some badass heroine. All I wanted was for her to stop letting those motherfuckers walk all over her.

They called her a fat pig, and all she did was cry.

I let out a disgusted scoff.

The woman was so beautiful that even her husband's brother was in love with her. Though he was a playboy, so I wouldn't exactly recommend him either.

And she was rich enough to make half the city bow to her.

So why the hell was she humiliating herself over a man who couldn't keep his dick in his pants?

When she finally decided to divorce him after he embarrassed her at a gala, he apologized and told her he'd planned a couple's trip for them.

And guess what? She agreed.

I nearly rolled my eyes, but I kept reading. I knew that bastard was up to something.

And I was right.

The moment they arrived, he pulled out a gun and forced her to sign over her inheritance to her stepsister. The moment she did, he shot her in the chest.

My grip tightened around the book as I rushed through the next few lines, desperate to know if she survived.

But before I could find out, someone started banging on my door.

“Lucia!” my mother barked from outside. “Are you still in bed? Get your fat ass out here! The business won't run itself.”

I glanced at the clock. It was barely past five, and my alarm hadn't even gone off. I had been awake throughout the night reading the book I hadn't even kept track of time.

With a tired sigh, I closed my book.

There I was, getting angry at a fictional woman for letting people walk all over her, when I couldn't even stand up to my own mother and stepsister.

The irony was painful.

Sometimes, I wondered if I was just as pathetic as the woman in that book.

“Lucia, I won't tell you again—”

I opened the door before she could finish.

“Yes, Mother?”

“I've told you never to call me that!” She pointed a finger in my face. “Do I have to slap that disgusting fat face of yours before you understand? I have only one daughter, and that's Lucy!”

Of course. Lucy, her perfect daughter.

She was the Royal Ballet Group's principal dancer, with the face, figure, and talent everyone admired. And she had a mother and father who looked at her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

Me? I still remembered Dad telling me I wasn't even good enough to be Lucy's substitute.

Those words had hurt more than I wanted to admit.

Sometimes, I wanted to ask my mother what I'd done to deserve so much hatred. Was it my fault I was born fat? Had I chosen this body myself?

But whenever I stood in front of her, the questions died in my throat. All I could do was lower my head and hope she'd say something nice to me for once.

Just once.

Was it too much to ask for my own mother to look at me the way she looked at Lucy?

“Are you listening to me?” she demanded.

“Yes, ma'am.” I lowered my eyes.

“Good. Now go shower and get to the store. It's almost dawn.”

She walked away without waiting for my reply.

A moment later, Lucy's bedroom door opened.

“Mom!” Her voice was bright as she hurried towards her.

But when Lucy noticed me standing there, she slowed down and gave me a smug little smile.

“Yes, darling?” Mother asked, turning to her with a smile I wished she'd give me just once.

Lucy tilted her face towards her. “Mom, do you see any pimples on my cheek? I feel like one is coming out.”

“Oh, no, darling.” Mother gently touched her face. “Your skin is flawless. So beautiful and perfect. Unlike some people.”

She didn't have to mention my name. The way she looked at me said enough.

I clenched my fists.

Would I ever know what it felt like to have a mother who looked at me with love instead of disgust?

I couldn't bear to watch them anymore, so I turned towards my room.

“Wait,” Lucy called and I stopped.

“I'll leave you two to talk,” Mother said before walking away.

Just like that, she left me alone with my sister.

Lucy walked over and took my hand. Her touch was gentle enough to fool anyone watching us.

“Chloe, I know life hasn't been easy for you,” she said softly.

I waited for her to continue.

“But you need to be realistic. Look at yourself. Do you honestly think anyone would want a fat freak like you? Instead of wasting time reading those stupid books, why don't you go to the gym?”

Her words hurt, just as they always did. I hated how easily she could make me feel small.

But I wasn't going to cry for her.

“You say the same thing every time,” I replied, pulling my hand away. “It's getting boring. Try something new. Maybe then I'll actually cry.”

Her smile disappeared.

I almost laughed. She could insult me all day, but one little reply was enough to wipe that smug look off her face.

I opened my bedroom door.

“Lucia—”

I slammed it in her face.

My heart was pounding as I leaned against the door. Then I looked at myself in the mirror.

My round cheeks. My full figure. All the things they hated about me.

I wished I could say their words didn't hurt, but sometimes, I'd look in the mirror and see every ugly thing they'd ever called me before I could even see myself.

With a sigh, I got ready for work. I couldn't afford to be late. Mother would find another reason to make my life miserable.

Downstairs, Dad sat on the couch, scrolling through his phone.

“Good mor—” The words died on my tongue.

He didn't even look up.

I waited a moment, hoping he'd notice me. Maybe ask how I was doing or wish me a good day.

But he never did.

I'd spent years hoping Dad would defend me whenever Mother and Lucy treated me badly. Just once, I'd wanted him to choose me.

He never had.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and walked out.

I hurried down the street, determined to get to the store on time. The last thing I needed was Mother yelling at me in front of everyone and blaming me for bringing my bad luck to the business.

Knowing her, she'd probably find a way to make even that my fault.

The streets were already getting busy. Trust Brooklyn to wake up before the chickens.

When I reached the crossing, I stopped and looked both ways.

Cars rushed past, their engines filling the morning air. I waited for a gap, then stepped off the pavement when the road finally looked clear.

I was halfway across when a horn blared.

I turned.

A car was speeding straight towards me.

For a second, I couldn't understand what I was seeing. The car was too close.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

Move!

I tried to step back, but my legs wouldn't cooperate. My bag slipped from my shoulder and hit the ground.

The horn blared again.

I could see the driver's side of the windscreen now, but I couldn't make out the face behind it. All I could see were the headlights growing bigger and brighter.

I tried to move one last time, but the headlights swallowed everything.