Cinderfella ~A Modern Fairy Tale~

They say that Cinderella was blessed with her prince through her kindness and hard work and a little bit of magic. Well. The magic part's definitely not going to happen for me. Don't mistake me, I'm no Cinderella. But my prince is...


12. Chapter 12


Hurt, betrayal ran through my flesh, seeped through my veins, but I refused to let it show, my face remaining stony as I strode away.

How could she invite the paparazzi to the garden? How could she manipulate me, use me for money? 

I'd thought she was different from her, different from my stepmother, but as they say, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Didn't she know that if they did a story on me, they'd find out my background? The son of two illegals, worthless trash, one ran back to Mexico, one died after remarrying some rich whore he duped into thinking he was upper class from Mexico, probably a reformed drug lord that had repented and kept the cash or something. I don't know the lies my father told to cover his back, only they were fast flowing off his tongue, dripping deceit.

"Xavi, don't worry, you'll be able to go to University."

"Xavi, you'll never need to work again! Polishing shoes for pennies on the streets of Arizona, our luck has changed!"

"Xavi, I love you."

I sneer, lips curled into cruelty. Yeah, right. Love. I thought I loved her. Mi amor. I thought she loved me. I thought showing up there, cleaned up, lord knows all the sacrifices I'd made for her, becoming a slave again, un enclave de la casa. Cleaning. Vacuuming and mopping daily and cooking three meals a day, plus snacks for my pudgy, disgusting stepbrothers. Lord knows they could lose a few pounds as well.

I'd seen the paparazzi there before, in the main room, and supposed they were just doing a cover story on the occasion, but to attract fame for money…well thats no different than prostitution. I spat on the grass, the very grass I'd trimmed only a month before. Puta madre. 

"Pah. Real men don't cry, Xavi"  I tell myself, but my voice comes out wobbly and thick and I wipe a couple more tears away.  "Puta madre!" I swear, voice growling, willing myself not to let those damn tears fall. I will not cry for her sake, not even my sake. I rub my jaw, the muscles twitching, and compose myself enough to hail a passing taxi out in the ink. I check my reflection in the glass of the passenger seat, but nothing shows my tears except for faint puffiness and I exhale slowly.

What is there to run away from anymore? I cut my hair, my beard, and suddenly I'm naked and exposed as a newborn.

"Take me back to La Casa…it's about ten miles away," I tell the driver.

Nothing left to do but to go back to what I know. I'm worthless at anything but cleaning. Might as well clean then. At least my punishment for leaving tonight won't be as bad as starving on the streets. Vanessa, my butterfly, had broken wings. She can live, trapped in her cage but I won't be there to fix her back up.

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