The Decaying Sugar Princess

I was fighting against the wave of tears pushing for release, straining to hold them back while maintaining the elegant composure of hostess at a table of strangers. My mind was erratic and unable to focus, the sounds of the street below were distracting, enveloping me, shrouding me from the madness of this “business luncheon” or rather the facade to day drink.

I pursed my lips together absently wondering if I had applied my favorite Chanel lipstick in “Pirate Red” that morning. My war paint, the strategically placed Stepford wife smile, that would instantly erase all signs and memory of loss from my face.

The thoughts intruded into my brain again.

I am nothing more than a decaying corpse of a woman turned puppet.

I am nothing more than a decaying corpse.

I am nothing.

That noise, that sound rising from the street. Soft and smoky, penetrating my thoughts, burning my throat. I could feel the madness in my eyes melt in the lust of the voice. The uptick of the tune as the voice floated on the air was fire scorching my insides. My eyelashes fluttered shut as my body floated on the remnants of that voice. Take me away please, I begged it. Take me back to the shadows, to the alleys, to the danger to the life I had before.

“MAKE IT STOP!” The words clawed at my throat.

The rum in my glass and the heat, were clouding my head making it feel too heavy. It’s so loud up here, the people, so many people here today. I was drowning in the people.

Hernan had just returned from a business trip with a crowd of his “business associates” meaning the leeches, his followers that believed he could do something for them, give them something, bestow something on them. He stood before them as a king to his subjects, his impeccable linen suit not even wrinkled in the humid mugginess that clung to us.

They all looked bored with his theatrics, forcing smiles, and pouring drinks down their throats. If only he knew how ridiculous he looked. “The Sugar Prince” as he named himself. No mind that his father had built this monarchy from the ground up. Hernan was a leech, a succubus on his father’s money tit suckling it dry.

The large, opulent Villa dripping in wealth was a stark contrast to the dirty stink of poverty that I grew up in. Rooms upon rooms of furniture wrapped in polished dark woods, brightly colored silks, and teak floors. Porcelains, silver, and gold adorned the walls, the furniture and there was jungle of plants throughout and the colors of the windows that cast the lights for the daily theatrics. This castle, this villa was a show of power of position, not a home.

As a girl I had dreamed of fairytales and being whisked away by my Prince. My fairytale had come true, or so I forced myself to believe. My fairytale was twisted and dark by the Sugar Prince himself. It was rotted from the inside, the same as sugar does to kids’ teeth.

I used to love him, blindly, I needed him madly, like a drug. He had saved me from a life of selling my voice nightly at clubs full of cheap rum and even cheaper scabs pulling me into the darkness. A life I feared returning to, but I feared staying with him more.

"…. our gracious host, my wife. I hope you enjoy the food and the drink, cheers" he raised his flute of champagne and smiled his eyes locking on me, holding me prisoner for a moment and then releasing me. It was just enough for me to wonder if he could read my thoughts, had he overheard the monologue in my head?

My breath was shallow, I could feel the panic clawing its way up my throat again. Breath. Damnit Lili breath.

The guests raised their glasses in turn. Shakily, I too raised my glass and nodded, adoringly smiling at my husband as if he was the sun to my moon. “Please enjoy the local delights, Chef has prepared for you today.” Ever the perfect housewife and host, just as was expected of me. I could feel the bile rise in the back of my throat thick and acidic.

The blur and clinking of silver on China were drowning me, blurring events of the afternoon like rain on a chalk scene. I was drowning in this sea of madness, drowning while everyone watched and smiled ugly manic smiles.

I stood my post, shaking hands offering goodbyes and sincerities as I watched them go with a sense of longing at the freedom they have. Hernan was my captor. Could they not see I was a prisoner! I was nothing more than a trophy wife to him, an accessory to his success. A requirement from his Papa that allowed him to greedily suckle at that tit even longer. I was trapped in this rotting fairytale life. A life I had never seen coming, I life I so desperately wanted to escape from.

I had to find a way out.