Cracks In Glass

Chapter Three

Waking up was harder than it should have been. Opening my eyes, and forcing myself out of bed was near impossible. My feet were so sore that it hurt to apply the slightest amount of pressure to them, so when I stepped out of bed I nearly cried. I was spoiled, I would admit to that, I wasn't used to manual labor, I wasn't used to using my body in the way I had last night. I had chauffeurs to drive me around, and when I did any form of exercise I was wearing the best of tennis shoes, not three inch stilettos. But I had to get up, I had to force myself out of bed and get ready for my first day at the new school. Dragging myself to my bathroom, I turned the bathwater on. As the room filled up with steam I undressed myself and lowered myself into the tub. With the warm water hitting my body, a moan left my lips at the feeling of the hot water loosening up my muscles and soothing my sore feet. I ran my hands over my legs, washing myself, knowing that I didn't have time that I wanted to relax.

I forced myself out of the tub, the cold air hitting my skin and causing goosebumps to raise on my skin. I wrapped myself in a towel and then headed to my vanity, ready to begin my morning routine of making myself appear perfect. One thing I could do well was make-up. I was practically a professional when it came to apply make-up. Taught by my mother and sister, there was really no reason to expect any less.

"Miss Melanie?" A voice asked, as someone knocked on my door

. "Come in, Kristine." I said, not looking away from the mirror. I was applying the finishing touches on face, applying the mascara. Kristine was the one who put together my outfits when my sister couldn't. My mother would never allow me to pick out my own clothes, not after the incident in seventh grade. I will admit, I enjoyed not having to concern myself with figuring out if colors clashed or what was in season. That was Kristine's job.

I turned to see Kristine, dressed professionally, although it was only six in the morning. She looked pristine, ironed black pants, a stiff grey collared shirt and her long brown hair pulled back in a slick ponytail. Despite her hard appearance she was quite the entertaining woman. She made her way directly to my closet, emerging moments after she walked in there with a pair of white pants, a flowing dark blue shirt and black ankle boots. I knew for a fact that all of those complimented every curve on my body.

"Thank you, Kristine." I smiled. She returned the gesture and then hurried her way out of my room. I knew not to take offense to it, she was a busy woman who worked for my mother, she had no time to sit down and relax.

I dressed, tugging on the tight white pants. Once I was sure that I fit my mother's approval, I grabbed my go-to black purse and then headed downstairs. I knew that my mother was already gone, heading to wherever her office was, and my father was in his office, wherever that was. My sister was probably sleeping off her hangover. She never stayed at the party houses, she always returned home to sleep in her bed. My brother was probably off with my father, since he hadn't really partied much last night.

Once I made my way to the kitchen, I grabbed an apple and the cup of coffee that I knew Kristine had made for me. I then made my way to the key rack, grabbing a random pair of keys, not really caring about which set I grabbed, it wasn't as if I was going to accidently end up with a piece of shit car and no one here was territorial about their car, and if they were they knew not to leave their keys on the rack. Next to the key rack had a binder, full of paper and writing utensils for school, again most likely put there by Kristine. My mother worked that poor woman to the bone.

My heels clacking against the tile floor as I walked to the garage was the only noise that made its way through the house. Sometimes I wished that my family was the conventional one, everyone getting up at the same time, mother cooking breakfast while father drank his cup of coffee and read the newspaper. But, I knew that it would never be like that. The heat from cooking would ruin mother's make-up and my father would never take the time to sit down and read the newspaper when he could get current information straight from his phone.