Two Words

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There were only two words which I could say about my stepsisters. One per sister. Ditsy and large.

That really just described them to a point.

Clara was the ditsy one. The stick of the two of them, the only thing she could do was count calories and look like a barbie doll even on a bad hair day. She always over exaggerated her makeup, making her look more fake than natural, and whatever she used to bleach her hair had somehow destroyed whatever remaining brain cells she had left.  

Dorella was, excuse my french, fatter than a fat cat's pancake. Not that I have anything wrong with large women, but she was the worst nightmare anybody could ever think of. She wasn't at the point where she would use one of the electric wheelchairs at Walmart, but I didn't envy her ankles. She stressed ate, a lot. About everything. And had a strange addiction to whatever I cooked, meaning that on top of everything I had to do, I also had to cook at the same time. It seemed like every five minutes she was screeching my name, and she didn't want to wait for the food to be cooked, she wanted it now. Brat.

Out of the two of them, Dorella was the smart one. She was cunning and sly, and more often than not she would use her large body to her advantage. People looked at her with pity when she'd start crying, and then she'd emotionally manipulate others to her cause.

The best part about this? The sisters were identical twins.

During my eleven years as their slave, I found it hysterical if somebody met one sister, and then a few days later met the other. They certainly take second looks, that's for sure. And it was easy to recognize which sister was which. However, heaven forbid if you accidentally mixed their names up. One time, during the winter, I had stumbled over their names and they had left me outside all night as a punishment.

Thankfully, there was a doghouse that wasn't being used at the moment, as it was inside, so I huddled under the thin blankets until morning.

That had gotten me the name of 'Dog breath' for about two months before reverting back to Cinders.

Another thing that I could possibly say about my sisters is that they are extremely picky. About everything. Including their other sister.

Which leads me to this current situation.

"You should move it to the left." Said Clara, gesturing towards the right. I didn't comment on her lack of direction, and then shifted the curtain where she demanded.

"No, it was perfect before!" Dorella spat small chunks of her Kung Pow Chicken in the air, and I mentally sighed as I moved it back to where it was. That's right. I was putting up their curtains, and it had to be perfect, and of course, they just sat around and watched me instead of putting their own clothes in the closet or maybe even, heaven forbid, send me on my way to my math class which I was a half an hour late to.

"But you're not seeing it from my point of view." Clara stomped on her petite foot, giving Dorella an over exaggerated pout. "I say to the left!"

I moved the curtain back to the right.

"Yes, but from where I am sitting, " Dorella said slowly to Clara to make her understand better, "moving it to the right puts the sun right on my bed."

It was seriously an inch. Make up your minds, you little Honey Boo Boos.

"Well it's a good thing it's going to the left then." Clara folded her arms, and Dorella looked so done with her life.

I was about there too. In fact, stick a fork in me. I'm done.

"Girls," I said, climbing down from the ladder which I had been perched on for the last hour and a half. "I have to go."

"No you don't." They chimed together, making them look even creepier.

"Mother said you have to help us or you'll get kicked out of school." Clara said, sticking her thin chin up in the air.

"And if I'm not able to go to my classes, I'll get kicked out anyways. And that means I get to leave you two to be by yourselves, while I go off into the world by my own. If I'm getting kicked out, that means you don't get to have me as a slave anymore." I said, the words spilling out of my mouth with as much concealed spite as I could muster. "I don't have time to wait on you day and night, I have my own problems to do, my own jobs to work at. I can certainly help you, but you can't barge in my life and expect me to put down everything for you two. And if you want to continue using my help, allow me the time to do my own work for my classes."

Dorella's mouth hung open, giving me the perfect view of partially chewed food. Clara stared at me. I was pretty sure that was the most amount of words I said in front of them.

I silently turned around and picked up my backpack. My key-chains jingled as I exited the room, which was mostly unpacked. The only things left were pants, underwear, and their giant jewelry boxes.

I silently steamed in my anger, my fists twisting until I felt my nails press up against my palms and almost pierce my skin. Tonight. Tonight I will do something, maybe rob a bank or throw a few cars around. That would be fun. Getting in a fight seemed like the best thing at the moment.

I felt the shadows shift in my anger, and I sighed, releasing my hands from fists. It was a bad sign when my powers started to activate when I'm pissed, it meant I was losing control. I hated losing control, but that is what is happening already. I lost control of my life at university already, simply because my Stepmother showed her face around here. She had me in her clutches again, my future in her hands. I wanted to be a dancer, the kind that taught others, that lead and smiled and laughed with other dancers. I wanted to perform on a stage with the whole kingdom watching me. I wanted to have my own studio one day, and teach my future children how to pop a hip, or how to dance to Michael Jackson's Thriller.

With a single glance, Krystal will take that from me.

And she wouldn't even care.

Even if she took my scholarship away from me, and I was chucked out of school, I could always walk away. Her threats only went so far, and I would go to the King.

The thought made me chuckle to myself darkly. I would go to the King, the one who hates the very thought of Villains. I would tell him about how she would marry these poor fools, and then-

My mind stuttered at the thought. It brought back a painful memory, and emotions balled up in my chest.

And then she'd kill them.

She'd kill them, their families, their relatives. Everybody, so that she had the fortune to herself.

I was lucky. I was so lucky that I was her slave. I admit it, I was lucky that I had once met the prince. He saved me from being buried six feet under.

Which is another story altogether.

I don't really talk about him anymore. What with his little 'I'm a Hero with powers, fear me' thing going on. Well, not the whole 'fear me' part, but 'fear me, villains' was correct.

I didn't even bother going to math class. I took the stairwell down five floors, and knocked on a door that had flowers clumsily painted on it. I had helped paint them, way back when me and-

"Hello?" Courtney opened the door, and took one look at me. "Cas, aren't you suppose to be at math now?"

"They're back." My voice sounded raw. I couldn't look at my friend in the eye anymore, and dropped them to the ground. "They're back and they have me again." 'And I couldn't stop them.' Was unsaid.

Courtney knew exactly what I was talking about. She pulled me into the room, her voice soft and low.

I spent the rest of the day huddled on her couch, watching Gilmore Girls and trying to forget life. Forget everything.

I was so, so tired.


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