Who the hell is Cinderella?

#ReedsyHolidays

He runs after me. “Hey! You forgot your shoe!”

I turn around. There’s a glass shoe in his hands. It’s not mine, a friend gave it to me. It was awful, twisting my foot into that shoe just to prove I could walk in it. And the damn thing made it difficult to move in the hideous dress I was wearing. It was not my usual style, but hey, why not try something new once in a while? I got stuck with the shoe in my dress, and the damn thing fell off. Since I was in a hurry, I kind of just left it on the floor. But that prince, he actually brought it? He must be crazy. Didn’t he see me wobble around in the ballroom just now? Why would he bring it?

“Yeah, sure, thanks,” I reply. I probably looked mad. Or irritated. I usually look mad when I am actually just irritated. Or when I get sad. Or really whenever I don’t think about anything particular at all.

“You really didn’t have to, I actually don’t even like it,” I continue. His steps falters for a second, but then he smiles, and it is radiant.

“Oh, well, that’s good.” He sees the look on my face, and he must’ve sensed something, because he hurries on and says “‘Cause I kind of like it, and I mean, I didn’t mean to, but I kind of sneaked a peak inside, and I realized we have the same shoe size, so...” He glances at me, a little shy it seems, and continues “I kind of wondered if you would like to sell it to me.”

“Sell it to you?” Yes, I was dumbstruck and no, I was not proud of it.

“Yeah.”

“Why would you want my shoe?” I didn’t get it. The shoes were worthless. Awful.

“Well, I kind of like it. I like high heels, it makes me feel confident, it makes me...it makes me feel.”

Oh, I thought. He actually liked the damn things.

“Yeah, sure, if you want to. But they aren’t really mine, you can have them. I mean, I got them for free, and I was going to throw them away anyway, so it’s okay.” I look at him, and then I make up my mind. I reach down and tear the other shoe off. Finally.

“Take them, they were a pain in the ass anyways,” I shrug as I shove them into his arms. He looks as foolish with the high heels in his arms as I did when I tried to wear them, but then he looks down, and I can literally see the moment it dawns on him. The shoes are his. He is glowing, shining, radiantly so, and I can feel the pull. He is really handsome, and seems to have a personality. Fucked. I am fucked.

“Thank you.” His voice is as soft as the breeze, almost inaudible. I shrug, but can’t help but blush a bit. He is almost as tall as I, but with a more slender frame. He is cute. So damn cute. I rub my cheek, feeling the reddened heat before I muster up the courage to say:

“You’re welcome.”

The silence between us feels good. Comfy, cozy. And I don’t seem to be able to stop looking at him. Every second makes him even more attractive, and the brilliant joy he radiates makes me all giddy inside. Butterflies and jitters, you name it, I got it. It’s like I’ve got a whole zoo dancing away in my stomach. 

I realize I want to get to know him better. The real him, not the prince-in-a-ballroom-him. He had spent the whole evening being kind to everyone, taking turns dancing with those who wanted to dance, talking to those who wanted to talk. He had seemed to be fond of old ladies, as he gently steered them around the dance floor, being careful as to not make them get hurt by the other dancers. Well, that shouldn’t have been too hard on him. I mean, it wasn’t a rave, it was a ballroom for Christs’ sake. Fancy dresses and costumes. High heels, ugh. Nope, not my usual style. A lot of chains, colourful hair and baggy, black clothes, yes. Fancy pants, no.

But I had watched him, doing my best to blend in and stand out at the same time. I had watched him because he was a cutie pie, and I was a sucker for cutie pies. 

I don’t want him to disappear inside that ballroom ever again. I want him to stay right here with me. I make a small motion towards him when I suddenly hear the sound of my carriage behind me.

Shit! The carriage! The magic! The clock is ticking, it’s getting late, I have to leave right now, as in right now, or he will find out about me. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, I would have had the time to tell him, to let him know, to not misunderstand. To make him see that my curse is actually a good thing. That it’s the best of both worlds. Girl by day, boy by night, but I have no time. The carriage is right there, and the horses are neighing as they stop behind me. I will be in a lot of trouble when I get home. I wasn’t supposed to sneak out again but, really, what else could I do? It was too boring at home. Might as well go to the party, right? But all the excuses in the world can not make up for what is happening. 

And I know so very well what is happening.

I can feel it.

I stress out as the panic sets in, and as I rub my face I can feel the stubble of my beard again. It is spreading over my cheeks and chin, subtle at first, but I know that it will be the real deal soon enough. Just a few seconds left before he discovers who, and what, I am.

Too late.

I am too late. I can’t help myself, I wouldn’t be able to breathe if I didn’t see him one last time. I turn, and our eyes collide. Mine filled with fear of resentment and fear of the horror I will see on his face, his with awe. His face is filled with awe, and I want to look at him forever.