The Other Side Of The Tracks

Getting Ready

“It’s not that bad.” I decided while posing in front of the mirror. A turn here, a turn there – I looked hot but I didn’t say this aloud to avoid giving my mother the satisfaction of knowing that she’d actually done something right in all these years of being a crap mother.
I was dressed in a black satin halter-neck dress, the silhouette somewhat resembled the one that Marilyn Monroe made famous, you know; the pictures where she is trying her best not to flash her knickers? The dress was accompanied by my deceased grandmother’s necklace (Yes, I’m wearing a dead person’s jewellery) and a pair of silver Marc Jacob stilettos.

“You look stunning.” My mother said breathlessly as she finished fiddling with my hair. Of course she would say that; she’s the one that picked the outfit!

“Yes you do look amazing, Feli – Miss Benson.” Said Katrina the maid, covering up her near mistake of calling me by my first name. We may have been friends once but things, and people, change. I learnt the hard way that Katrina and I could never be friends. One, she was my maid. Two, she was from the other side of the tracks.

Our city is split in half by the train tracks. On side is filled with the stereotypically rich, like moi, and if you took a snapshot could pass for Beverly Hills minus the good weather. On the other side were generally the poor and the outcasts but there were mobsters too, and occasionally one got lucky and became a business tycoon for one reason or the other, if you know what I mean.

People from the different sides hardly ever mixed, as it was frowned upon, and rarely did anyone cross over; people from the two different sides hate each other, Katrina was an exception as was her mum. Her mum had crossed over about seventeen years ago fleeing from the slum that had once possessed her while cradling a one-year-old Katrina looking for shelter. My mother had taken her in, which is surprising her being the snob that she is, and had quickly become friends with the woman. Just after Katrina’s sixteenth birthday when she had already been pulled out of the expensive prep school my parents had paid for her to attend, Katrina’s mum, Dian, became sick and eventually died. Aside from Katrina who didn’t even talk during her mourning period of six months, my mum had been the most devastated and while she will not admit she secretly mourned at night although the rest of the world could only see the unaffected front she put on.

Katrina is very beautiful and her appearance is heavily influenced by her distant Spanish heritage. Despite this, many people thought that she was my older sister as to them, when Katrina was sixteen and I only fourteen we had looked highly similar. Katrina and I did both have brown hair and hazel eyes, but that is where the resemblance ends. I am tall and slim but am gifted with curvy assets (my boobs and arse). My skin is naturally tanned thanks to my mum being half Italian and my dad being half Jamaican. Katrina is petite though very curvy and her skin is quite pale though she tans very easily.

My mother coughing brought me back to the present day, my dressing room and once again my reflection in my floor length mirror.

“Are you sure?” I asked my mother.

“Of course, darling,” my mother replied. “He’s going to think he dreaming when he sees you tonight.” I groaned. The last thing I wanted was Henry to get even more turned on then usual but I wasn’t going to sabotage my beauty for that idiot. He’d ruined the rest of life as it was.
Henry Dukes is the mayor’s son and I was being forced to marry him but it wasn’t an arranged marriage per se.

Henry and I both attend North Brook Academy and he is in all of my classes. He had been crushing on me since 4th grade and had constantly asked me to be his girlfriend though I constantly refuse and once even went so far as to get violent and broke his nose with a good left hook. You’d have think he’d have gotten the message by now but he obviously didn’t mind playing with fire as the asshole went behind my back (he knew he’d have no chance with me) and asked my mother for my hand in marriage. My mother, being the idiotic socialite she is, happily accepted on behalf and so there I stood, in front of my mirror, getting ready for the.....engagement party.

I followed my mother out into the car and Harry, our chauffeur, started the engine and headed towards the Dukes’ castle (they’re richer than us *gasp*) which sat atop the highest hill, looking out over the city.

I looked over to my mother. She had once been very beautiful but then had tried to fight off ageing and this was evident in her face which looked like wax courtesy of her frequent Botox injections. Her long blonde waves were styled into a sleek chignon at the nape of her neck. I would have still resembled her she hadn’t tried to fight nature.

I have to admit, however conceitedly, that I am quite beautiful myself. I have naturally tan brown skin; tight chocolate curls, accented with gold, cascading down my back ending at my miniscule waist. As I look at myself in my pocket mirror, I eye up my plush lips, coated in red; my slightly freckled, button nose and my big, wide, doe eyes framed by dark, long, curly lashes. I sighed. If I didn’t look like this then I wouldn’t be marrying Henry. He didn’t know anything about me so there was no way that he wanted to marry me for anything other than the fact that I turned him on.

The thing is, he’s not even bad looking – he’s just a creep. He sends me bouquets of half dead flowers, stalks me and his idea of romantic is: “You have nice tits.” Talk about wrong in the head! If it weren’t for him being a complete psycho, his sky blue eyes, windswept blonde locks and chiselled muscles would attract the attention of all the girls in the city and perhaps beyond. Ironic, isn’t it? I mean I’m engaged to a sex GOD – there had to be a catch. Another sigh. This seemed to annoy my mother so I made a mental note to try not to do it again during the course of the evening. My mother is a total bitch and I knew that if I had annoyed her she would embarrass me in front of everyone. I may not have wanted to marry Henry but I did care about my dignity and my pride.

My mother, though she will vehemently deny it, is lonely. She does no believe in getting married for love; that is why my parents sleep in different bedrooms. The sad thing is that I didn’t even realise that most parents are, or at least were, in love with each other until the age of nine when I visited my friend Camilla’s house and saw her parents exchange a kiss. I was so distressed by the time my mother arrived to pick me up and she was furious. She must have thought that she could keep it away from me forever; the fact that it wasn’t normal that my parents don’t like let alone love each other.

My mother believes in prospects and sees marriage as more of a business arrangement rather than a life time with someone you love. She actually laughed in my face over the whole Henry issue. It must have been the day after my mother had accepted his proposal. I had just found out and was fuming. My mother was acting as if it was no big deal and she had done no wrong and I couldn’t seem to get my point across.

“What about love?!” I had shrieked in desperation. My mother laughed an dry laugh.
“Felicity, darling, there is no such thing as love.” She drawled. “It does not exist.”

Sometimes my mother could be a cold-hearted bitch.
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Sorry that there was hardly any dialogue in this chapter. There will be lots more in the next one hopefully. Check out ayanasioux's Midnight Sun. its amazing. Comments please! :)