His Golden Rule
Color Me Golden
The color really started to sicken me. I realized this as I lay on the hardwood floor of his dining room, staring at all his pretty things. He was obsessed with pretty things, especially if they were gold. Just because he had more money than one could spend, he made sure every square inch of the house looked like a million bucks. Especially me.
Maybe that's why he chose me. Why else would he marry someone half a step above dirt poor? Golden hair and matching eyes made my best choice for make-up and clothes his favorite color. I was just what he was looking for; the perfect trophy wife. When he came promising a better life, bearing gifts and wearing a beautiful grin on his face, he won over both of my parents instantly. He fooled me, too.
Oh the amount of make-up his maids put on me every day to hide his not-so-golden side.
Some would call this paradise. Who wouldn't want to live as one of the world's richest men, surrounded by all things golden? Other than me, anyway. Every object in the house had something golden, and was colored to match. Well in my idea of heaven, there isn't an ounce of gold in existance.
The new nursery was just as bad. Golden wallpaper, a gold crib. A golden rocking chair. Golden toys. Gold dresser. Gold changing table. It was blinding. I hated that my baby had to grow up in that. I wished I could just take her and run, but he'd never sign divorce papers. It wasn't golden enough an idea to him.
Her. I hadn't told him the baby is female yet. I knew what would happen. I was supposed to bear him a son. More gold I'd have to wear to cover up his imperfections. Sure enough, when I finally did tell him, I got what I expected, and was surprised to find out a few days later that his outburst hadn't killed our child.
But the one a couple days later did.
So here I lie on the floor in his dining room, golden rope in hand, staring at the golden chandelier. Wearing my best golden dress and a pair of sparkly gold stilettos, I stare at it, contemplating my next move.
I'm not so golden inside either.
Maybe that's why he chose me. Why else would he marry someone half a step above dirt poor? Golden hair and matching eyes made my best choice for make-up and clothes his favorite color. I was just what he was looking for; the perfect trophy wife. When he came promising a better life, bearing gifts and wearing a beautiful grin on his face, he won over both of my parents instantly. He fooled me, too.
Oh the amount of make-up his maids put on me every day to hide his not-so-golden side.
Some would call this paradise. Who wouldn't want to live as one of the world's richest men, surrounded by all things golden? Other than me, anyway. Every object in the house had something golden, and was colored to match. Well in my idea of heaven, there isn't an ounce of gold in existance.
The new nursery was just as bad. Golden wallpaper, a gold crib. A golden rocking chair. Golden toys. Gold dresser. Gold changing table. It was blinding. I hated that my baby had to grow up in that. I wished I could just take her and run, but he'd never sign divorce papers. It wasn't golden enough an idea to him.
Her. I hadn't told him the baby is female yet. I knew what would happen. I was supposed to bear him a son. More gold I'd have to wear to cover up his imperfections. Sure enough, when I finally did tell him, I got what I expected, and was surprised to find out a few days later that his outburst hadn't killed our child.
But the one a couple days later did.
So here I lie on the floor in his dining room, golden rope in hand, staring at the golden chandelier. Wearing my best golden dress and a pair of sparkly gold stilettos, I stare at it, contemplating my next move.
I'm not so golden inside either.