One Bite

Even the happiest ending fairytales are rooted in nightmares, twisted into more pleasant versions that entertained children and lured them into false pretense. Fairytales were stories designed only to plant invasive seed of unrealistic expectations in little girls’ imaginations. Notions that handsome princes existed and fought away the monsters, swept princesses off their feet, and lived happily ever after in reality were simply...lies.

I should know, I lived the life of one daily. On the surface my life looked like a fairytale, but every day was a nightmare. And every day got worse, like a time bomb ticking down to explode.

“Mirror, mirror, on my.... dresser”. I sat down with a sigh and looked at the reflection I altered today. “Who the hell am I?”

The face of the stereotypical princes, a beautiful, delicate shell masking, an empty interior, stared back at my underneath layers of today’s experimental makeup. My clear, turquoise eyes clashed with the dark purple cat eye makeup I attempted, poorly by the uneven smudges at the corners of my eyes. Based on my nose crinkling, this attempt belonged in the ‘fail,’ category.

My eyes shifted in colors. Most often they wear a clear aqua marine or turquoise color, but reflection offered no insight into answering my question. If I looked close enough, the only blemishes on my face were a smattering of a few light freckles on my pale, nearly porcelain – like cheeks. Plum – colored lips puckered and I pursed as I looked over the rest of my body. My skin was pale, small waist and boobs, rounded hips. A typical slim petite body with portable curves in the right areas. Arms and legs, straight and not fleshy, and my straight long white blonde hair. Had I been tall enough and my father permitted me to work, then I would have pursued modelling. But, like everything else in my life, he hadn’t permitted such an indulgence.

Every day that I saw this ‘princess reflection, every day I pretended I altered my appearance to be anyone else, I cursed the day I was born. Every day I saw myself was a reminder that I lived and they died.

My mother and brother.

I was told that my mother’s tory was in our family history books as an exceptional, enchanting, strong and powerful warrior of a woman.

So, I’ve heard.

I’d never known for myself. She died after I was born and lost my brother after.

She had one moment of weakness and lost too much blood during labor with us. Yes, twins. Both of us had our umbilical cords wrapped around our necks. I was born fist but due to complications, my brother’s birth was delayed.

By the end of the day, I survived and he didn’t not a day in my life passed that I didn’t wish our circumstances had been reversed. My father shared the same sentiments based on his cold demeanor to me.

Perhaps my face is a daily reminder to him of what our family’s lost.

The single piece of knowledge I had of my brother was his name, Sahid. My father always knew he was doing, his sharp mind always planning ten steps ahead. On the surface, he was the CEO of the most prominent global pharmaceutical company. He technically retired from that business, stepped aside eight months ago after he ram the entire company’s operations for thirty years and focused more on ‘the family business.’

He never told me, no one has, but I suspected his secret.

We lived in two worlds. One pretend world was artificial, surface – level projections for sake of appearances. The other, underlying world my father controlled and thought he had hidden from me.

His world, not mine, was the world I wanted nothing to do with.

Based on our lifestyle and size of his security team, business was good. My father owned three prominent clubs, ten multiple Airbnb’s and we lived in a compounded mansion with heavily guarded security.

I earned my education through private tutors favoring science classes like chemistry, and my father insisted in daily self-defense training. I wasn’t sure what my education level was, past high school but not yet through college.

All personnel here were held to a strict schedule, out of fear of my father. They weren’t permitted to hold eye contact with either of us and all ‘conversations’ with him were ‘yes, Sir’ mumbled or muttered in submission.

Including mine.

Under normal circumstances, I appeared to live the perfect life of a princess. Our expensive mansion sat on perfectly manicure lawns and my closet was the size of a normal teenager’ bedroom filled with designer filled with designer clothing. My canopy bed was lined with the finest linens, private artwork hung on my bedroom walls, and my assigned ‘team’ included a housekeeper, stylist, private tutors, chef, personal trainer, and 247 security guards.

Even my nights were identical. I suffered the same dream about a wolf. A female wolf whose fur was so white, the color was almost iridescent, stepped out of the shadows of my subconscious.

The dream started the same, the most beautiful, long, lithe wolf appeared, slowly at first with ears flattened and eyes flickering around, locked gaze at me, then sprinted at me. She stopped within six inches, she tucked her tail, flattened her ears and slunk back into the shadows. When I thought she was gone, my name flowed out of the darkness.

‘Zara’

I woke up, drenched in sweat, forehead pounding breathless and panting worse than my hardest exercise regimen.

Every time.

My boring-*ss life involved eating, sleeping through a wolf dream, homeschooling, exercising, and shooting lessons... because what seventeen- year- old girl didn’t need to disassemble and reassemble a mag?

The house having a built-in shooting range and active shooter simulator only fed my belief that was a mafia kingpin. All of this was a preparation for me to joins this mysterious, discreet, underground life.

Whether I like it or not.

I assumed most looked forward to turning eighteen, becoming ‘legal aged’, release from their parents’ care and capable of exercising responsibility for their lives.

Not me.