Page 1 of The Heavier The Chains…
Prologue
I’ve never known a poor day in my life.
I’ve never known what it felt like to come home to no electricity or an empty fridge. I’ve never known what it felt like to have to choose between a pair of new shoes or school pictures. I’ve never known the stress of my car not starting, or if my grades were good enough to get a scholarship to college.
What I did know?
I knew that Lela, our housekeeper, had actually two jobs because, while my parents paid her well, her son, Daniel, had a good shot at a baseball career, and so, she does all she can to pay for his sports’ costs. I also knew the trick to cleaning baseboards.
I knew Glen, our landscaper, started his business from scratch, and he was hoping to be able to pass it down to his own sons before he gets too old to enjoy retirement. I also knew to respect the fact that the lands I called my yard are actual living entities that can die if not cared for; much like the human heart.
I knew Fritz, our cook, had a dream to open his own restaurant once, but depression had set in and ruined those plans when he lost the love of his life because he was a coward. Fritz was gay, but too scared to come out, and Dale just couldn’t live the rest of his life with a coward. I also knew that timing is the key to the perfect meal, and the difference between praising a meal, or ending up in the hospital from an E. coli scare.
I knew Henry, our maintenance man, hated people and the only person on the planet he could stand was his wife, Rhonda. But, on a good day, I would do. I also knew that I need to shut off the power supply before dealing with anything electricity based.
I knew English, Spanish, French, Japanese, and German.
I knew how to play the piano and the violin, although I’m way better at the keys than the bow.
I’ve known the taste of caviar, which is disgusting, by the way. I’ve known the tea and crumpets experience, which is stupid, and always has been, because it’s just a gossip-fest. I’ve known mostly cloth napkins, and that should say it all, really.
I was only 18-years-old, but I’ve known summers in Paris, Japan, Australia, Ireland, Rome, and a bunch of other places people only read about. I’ve been to places that people save their entire lives to visit for one week, and I’ve stayed summers there.
I’ve been to country clubs, fund raisers, debutant balls (not mine), yacht clubs, and goddamn croquet matches. I’ve been on private planes, took part in polo matches, and have even attended the freakin’ Met Gala, courtesy of tagging along with my parents.
And my friends? Well, they were all the same person.
They were me. I was them.
They went to the same vacation destinations, the same country clubs, the same private schools, the same games. They wore the same band name clothing, drove the same expensive cars, ate the same disgusting exotic foods. They also all had a Lela, a Glen, a Fritz, and a Henry.
The only difference between me and them?
They didn’t know their Lela had a son who was great at baseball. They didn’t know their Glen started his business from scratch. They didn’t know their Fritz was experiencing a crippling sexuality crisis. And they didn’t know their Henry hated people.
And they didn’tcareto know.
And me? I was that cliché poor-little-rich-girl.
I was raised by the servants and only put on display when my parents needed to make a good impression. Donovan and Gladys Mitchell only paid me attention when it served their purposes. The same way they only brought up their dead son during specific events.
Their dead son, butmydead twin brother.
Tragedy and death touched the rich, as well. So did drug abuse, sexual abuse, physical abuse, mental abuse, emotional abuse, and any other abuse you can think of. The rich just have enough money, or good enough insurance, to get help for it.
But I’m not complaining. Honest, I’m not.
Except for my brother’s death, I’ve led a life most people dream about. I’ve led a life people cry at night for. I’ve led a life people sell their souls to Satan for.
Like I said, I’ve never known a poor day in my life.
Until now.
Chapter 1
The choices that aren’t ours.
Kenzlee~
