My Living Nightmare

“This is because of that April Fool’s prank I played last year, right?” I said to my parents, looking up at them from where I sat behind my dad’s mahogany desk in his study. “Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not falling for it. I’ve got to admit though; you almost had me fooled for a minute back there, dad.”

I chuckled, smiling lightly, but stopped immediately when my parents didn’t join in like I thought they would.

They shared a glance before looking back down at me.

“Alex, sweetheart, this isn’t some sort of prank, what I said is true. You will be marrying the Rivera’s youngest son.”

My jaw dropped as I looked from my mom to my dad. My mother was wringing her hands and looked downright nervous while she spoke. And she had right to be; if this was a joke it was a sick one, and if it wasn’t… let’s just say I would start screaming bloody murder.

“Mom… dad, you both better be joking,” I said in a low, hard voice. Of course they were joking; they wouldn’t do something like this to me. Besides, this wasn’t the Middle Ages; people didn’t do arranged marriages anymore. At least, that’s what I thought.

“Alexandria Michelle Saunders, do not take that tone of voice with us, young lady! And for the last time, you will be marrying the Rivera’s son. There will be no arguments; you will do as you’re told.” my dad said, his voice raising.

I stood up; knocking over the chair I was sitting on. I was beyond angry. What the hell were my parents thinking?

“Like hell I will!” I yelled at him. “Since when was it up to you to decide whom I marry? I’m sixteen for heaven’s sake!”

My mom threw an uneasy glance my way.

“You are still a child and living under my roof! You will do as you’re told!” my father said, standing up too. “Sweetheart, your mother and I are doing what’s best for you,” he said in a softer voice.

“What’s best for me? What’s best for me? Telling me whom to marry is not what’s best for me! I will not marry him! I don’t even know the guy!” I screamed at them. I was acting like a rebellious teen. The only difference was I had right to be.

“Honey, please, try to understand,” My mom begged. I knew that she could see that it was going to end badly, and it was obvious that she wanted nothing more than to avoid conflict.

I looked at her with hard eyes. I just couldn’t understand why they were trying to ruin my life.

“Try to understand what, exactly? This isn’t about me; this is about dad and Phillip Steven Rivera! Two rival CEO’s. My conclusion is that to make sure neither of you use foul play you’re marrying off your children. Clever, but so not happening.”

Now it all made sense. The sudden meetings with Rivera Corp’s CEO, the business trips together, the parties. My father’s weakness was my interest in his company. I always knew what was happening, and, since I was most likely to follow him in his work, rightly so.

The Saunders’ and the Rivera’s have always been rivals since the time that my grandfather, my dad’s dad, founded Saunders United cc, but what made the whole thing seem like a joke was the fact that there hardly was any animosity between the two companies, just professional competition. And now they wanted to merge, in more ways than one...

“It’s not like that, Alex. It’s not like that at all. We want what’s best for you,” my mom said.

“Yeah, right,” I snorted. I needed to get out of here before I broke something.

“Enough. Alexandria, you are getting married. End of story.” My dad was seriously going to regret saying that.

“No,” I said.

“You will get married!”

“No!”

I picked up the glass paper weight that was on top of a pile papers on the desk and threw it on the ground. It shattered to pieces, glass flying everywhere. I looked up at my father murderously and said, in a deadly voice, “I’ll be in the gym.”

I turned on my heel and marched out of his office, down the hall, and up a flight of stairs until I got to the home gym. I crossed the padded floor and towards the punching bag. I tied my hair up into a high ponytail and took off the jacket I was wearing. Without bothering to put on gloves I started punching the bag. After a few minutes of that I moved a bit to the back and started kicking. After a while I developed a rhythm. Face punch, chest punch, front kick, roundhouse kick. Over and over again I hit the bag, putting all my concentration into it, not thinking about the news I had just gotten from my parents. When I got bored of the bag I moved on to the middle of the floor and stretched. Then I turned around and faced the floor length mirrors and ran through all the katas I had learnt since I took up karate at age six. Ten years on and I was a third degree black belt. At first, when I started I had hated it. I always wanted to skip class. Gradually though, I grew attached to it. I didn’t love karate, but I didn’t hate it either. It was something I could easily relate to; attack and defense- me. There was no middle ground, just milder forms, and, very rarely, vulnerability. Karate was a kind of freedom to me, but freedom always came at a price. In a way, adrenaline, and sometimes pain, was a release for my anger, my resentment. Karate was a bittersweet drug I was slightly addicted to.
I had just gotten to practicing with the weapons when Camille, our housekeeper, looked in through the gym doors. She was a 25-year-old red head with beautiful crystal blue eyes. She was tall and slim, and had curves at all the right places. She was like the older sister I never had, although she was very protective over me; overly protective. Camille worked for my parents, and in exchange they paid her college tuition. Originally Camille was from the Montreal; she moved with her aunt when she was ten.

She applied for a babysitting job with my mom and dad when she was just fourteen. They were barely ever home apart from the weekends, and soon she was entrusted with running the house when they couldn’t, which became more and more often.

When Camille was seventeen, something went wrong with her aunt’s visa, and she was sent back to Canada. Not wanting to lose Camille, my mom had appealed to her aunt to let her live with us so that she could continue to studies and be around her friends. She had agreed.

“Alex?” she called.

“Yeah, Cam?” I asked her, getting up from the kneeling position I’d been in and picking up the knife I’d just dropped.

“Your parents asked me to let you know that they’re having dinner with a very important business acquaintance and his family tonight, and you’re expected to be there. I tried to get you out, but your parents specifically want you there. It’s five now,” she said, glancing at her wristwatch, “and dinner’s at seven, so we have to get you ready. I’ve already picked out your outfit.”

I sighed, knowing it would be useless to try to get out of this. I picked up my jacket and followed Camille to my room.