Fractured Fifteen
Marcella
There are two things I look forward to whenever I launch a new collection. Seeing people applaud my creations during the runway show and the incriminating articles about me before the launch. Reading one of them has been a part of my routine. I treat them as my morning papers. Whatever happens, I know it will arrive at my doorstep.
Like always, they wonder if I'll be at the event. My lips stretched to a satisfied smirk. I don't chase big people. They chase me. Celebrities. Moguls. Publications. Always begging me to grace them with my presence.
An on-going competition among public figures is who among them can get me to design their clothes. It's like watching ants fight for a crumb only for me to crush them.
I crossed my legs and scrolled more to see their speculations. Some suspect that I have speech defect. Some say I am physically handicapped.
But one sentence made my eyes narrow.
"The public questions whether she is merely a capitalist profiting off of her employees' talents," I read out loud. "The internet thinks Marcella Lazaro does not actually know how to make clothes and is putting her under fire for naming a brand that is not made by her own hands after herself."
I tapped the back of my phone with my finger.
Alam ko kung sino ang nasa likod ng article na ito. It's the same person who has been paying entertainment columns to write about me for years. The man who hates me the most. Who I also despise to the core.
I turned off my phone and saw myself looking back at me through the black screen. Not a single smudge on my lipstick. My eyeliner is equally pointed on both sides. Blush isn't too much. My curls stayed despite the long hours in the office. I don't have any bags under my eye. And don't see a single crease on my clothes.
Perfection, I thought.
Too bad some people don't actually use what they were given. Specifically, their eyes.
I twirled so that the skirt of my dress can fly. Like a princess, which is what I'm dressed as.
"We're leaving," dinig kong anunsyo ni papa.
Tumakbo ako palabas ng kwarto. I hurried down our stairs so I could catch up with my parents who were already on their way out.
Naghihintay ang sasakyan sa amin. Katulad ng carriage ni Cinderella!
"Papa, wait for me!" I giggled and held up my dress so I won't slip.
Papa turned around with an angry scowl.
"Marcella, go back to your room!"
"But papa, you said we're going to a party last night!" He didn't tell me but I heard him say it to mama.
"Your mama and I are going. Didn't I say na masama ang makinig sa usapan ng matatanda?"
My heart is running so fast. Tumataas na ang boses ni papa. He's growling. Magiging lion na naman siya. Bakit palagi akong hindi kasama sa parties? My classmates always has pictures. They also talk about it the next day at school. Wala akong maikwento sa kanila.
"Maybe your mommy and daddy doesn't love you kaya hindi ka nila sinasama," my classmate stuck her tongue out and put her thumbs downward, booing me.
