Selene Agreste

Childhood Memories

I wish I too could say all my problems and anguish began when Emilie departed, for that would make them relatively new and manageable with some good therapy, but, unfortunately, unlike my brother's, my story cannot be told that way. By the way, the name's Selene, in case anyone ever reads this in about 300 years and studies how miserable life was for the Agrestes in the 2020's.
So, when did everything start? Yeah, cliché, when I was born. Or, better said, when we were born. So, poor old Mrs. Agreste gave birth to two lovely and incredibly witty and cunning babies. A boy and a girl. Healthy, with cute rosy cheeks and chubby faces her acquaintances loved to squeeze. I doubt we liked it that much, tho; we'd always cry. But what can I say? Babies cry about everything, so who can truly tell?
Anyhow, dear Mrs. Agreste passed away in the flower of her youth two years later along with an unborn sibling of us, who, apparently, if I got the story right from that gossipy lady of the neighbourhood, would have been both the mastermind and the executor of said assassination and collateral suicide. 
So there were we, two lovely twins with squishy cheeks, left alone to a broken father to raise us. Relatable, huh? So, well. A few things about old Mr. Agreste: the cockiest, most chauvinistic, and most arrogant son of a businessman you'd ever meet. What? Scared you, huh? So, the man followed his family business, in order to pay for our living and extraordinary education to see if we could ever achieve what he couldn't neither in his first nor second wedlock (so much pressure): leave the middle class and escalate. 
Both my brother and I were nerds, little Mr. and Miss Perfect… or, in fact, a pair of bullied guys who were not respected until we underwent the puberty glow-up… more or less, when we were 17 and finishing High School. Amazing, woo-hoo. In the meantime, we both lived under a strict father who, unless we were tops in our classes, would punish us. I had claimed for mercy from him and even from his wife Adelaide, who, compassionate as she was, could never penetrate our father's frozen heart. 
The old man had always insisted we should marry. I mean, he went all like “Gabriel, you must find a woman as pure and as kind as an angel, who can give you a family and provide you status, while you, young man, must provide for the house maintenance, for I will pay you the best university in Paris.” My brother would complain with me, but he would never stand up to dad, in that sense. He found it logical, of course. His issues roamed around the university matter; he was – and still is – one of the best designers in Paris. But how on Earth would my father see that? Of course, were it not for me, Gabriel would definitely not be who he is today, and he would most probably not have that insanely cute assistant of his by his side. 
So, one summer afternoon I got Gabriel to sew some of his dresses designs for me and made up my mind to put one on. My father entered the room. 
“Sweetie, are you going out like that? Please wear something more… ladylike.”
“Dad! What's wrong with this dress? It looks lovely.”
“And it is! For a nightclub!”
“Or for just chilling at home.”
“Why are you being so stubborn over a dress? We have a meeting with the board! And they are all taking their sons… you might find someone fitting out there. Remember, your duty as a wife is to be pure and nice as a lamb, to obey and respect your husband… and give him children. Besides, the fastest, the better. Your mother and I got engaged when she was 17…”
“And you?”
“23, I went to University.”
“And I'm going too.”
“How?”
“With mom's heritage… I can afford it, father.”
Imagine telling my 16 years old me, a closeted lesbian, that she should marry a man because her father wanted.
“Is there any way I can change your mind? A proper lady doesn't go to University.”
“I don't think so, it's settled.”
“I'll do whatever you want, f-for you to marry well.”
“Hmm…” I thought. “Nah.”
“Look, I'm going to unplug those earphones of yours followed by each and every single piercing of yours and scrub that horrid tattoo out of your skin if you don't accept.”
“Do it all you want… but remember that men won't fall for an ugly woman… Remember that's why you pay for my gym, my acne treatments, my waxing… if you scrub my skin, you'll leave a scar right under my breast and ew! What respectable man would like that? What if they go for the annulment? And if you rip my two piercings from my face? Gosh! No guy will focus on me! Ever!”
“So…” He thought, defeatedly. “What can I do for you to change your mind? Please…”
“Let Gaby study what he wants… he is truly talented.”
“Alright… Promise me you'll make good use of your money other than spending it on unholy places.”
“I promise, dad.”
“Are you coming then?”
“Sure! In ten!”