THE WIDOWS

PROLOUGE

I was ugly. I knew I was ugly. The media knew I was ugly  and gladly never hesitated to let me know. Magzines, Comedians, hell- the fucking  international news channels couldn't stop saying how the wealthy self-made good looking multimillionaire like Martín Rodrìguez could have four stellar model looking wives and get a fifth one that looks like she just crawled out of an episode of Botched. I'm half Equitorial Guinean half Colombian; quite literally. I have a huge birthmark that cuts right through my body. Adding onto my very noticeable and very undecidable skin, I was still studying to become a Federal Judge, meaning unlike the other wives who sit around all day and spent thousands of dollars getting themselves done, I would've studying for something or writing a 600 page review. That led me to always having my hair permed extremely straight and thin, with a choppy self cut fringe. I was 5'2, had crooked teeth and was ridiculously self conscious because I became unhealthily anorexic once Martin introduced me to those 6 foot beautiful models with long legs, tiny waists, very decidable skin colours and such amazing fashion senses; especially , his third Nigerian 22-year-old-swimsuit-model wife Olotenge, who from what I heard completely became a new person after she married Martín. She brought the idea into the house of being beautiful housewives. Her herself is definitely a sight; a staggering silhouette with dark smooth mahogany skin, squirrel-like cheeks, pink, thin, even lips, blue-green contact lenses, unusually white teeth, but a beautiful smile. Her hair was cut short and gelled into finger patterns. She had a soft, seductive voice with a subtle British accent. God, she was gorgeous and she knew that, which Martín always complained about. He thought that once someone knows that their beautiful, it takes away the value of the beauty. Not just Olotenge but his other wives, his  first 40 year old wife from a rich family in the U.A.E, Maahira, or his fourth wife from a famous French family in Bordeaux, Suzanne who just turned 52. Even his gorgeous 23 year old wife Aleksie from Russia he would complain about. We would sit on the couch, after supper when all the other wives had gone to do their lengthy beauty regiments and talk and talk for hours about things the other wives couldn't relate to. Work. Stress. The Chancleta .
"There's something about you Julissa. You're not fake. You don't have to put on an image that you're not. You're okay being who you are, the beautiful woman I want to be with for the rest of my life. My other half," he would say as he run his thumb down the line that separated my two shades of brown before carrying me upstairs and making sweet love to me.
I hated that Martín said that. I hated what I looked like, I hated that foul mark that went straight through me, as if it were also cutting my pride. Martín happily paid for any Botox or tanning or whatever housewives inject themselves with, but once I begged him to get it bleached he firmly refuse. In a way that scared me I would go upstairs to my bedroom like a thirteen year old being grounded and turn on my DVD player from last century and listen to Billie Eillosh and drink myself stupid. My Sad Bitch Hours
"Botox is one thing, you're identity is another," he would smile.
I hated that he called me beautiful. I clearly was not, and god, people would have backed that up in a heartbeat. But what tore me most of all is when he called me his other half. He had four other fucking wives, he clearly couldn't settle for one half, he had to have five. He said that so many times it had no meaning. It went from those words giving me butterflies and absolutely melting my heart to  me faking a smile and climbing on top of him because I knew what was happening next.
None of us have kids. Martín was sterile, but god he loved sex. It was probably why he had so many wives. Our job now was to be Martín's wives. To look pretty in our Louis Vuitton dresses at cocktail parties. To go with him on his businesses trips and lay in the sun by the beach while he met with some rich man or another . To wear lingerie and moan while he screwed us. That was who we were now. It looked like only four of the five wives were doing a good job.
As you would probably guess , the wives didn't like me that much. I didn't connect with any of them. They just couldn't understand how they were so gorgeous but Martín tied himself to this mutant looking slut. I had been with Martín for 5 years at the time, when he nearly married the previous