Dreams Apart

02

Years into the past

Ink. Its metallic smell with a hint of earthy aroma and the reminiscent of wet paper. My mother’s workroom arosed with that very smell. She was an author who carved tales in children’s books. Her honor now haunts me and poisons my way of scribbling. Expectation lingers and trails before I act.

I remember the week before her disappearance with my father; the hissing flash of lightning split the darkened sky, an omen of what was to come. I stumbled on the wooden floor; I recall the fear of the storm blaze that tore the sky. I took slow and careful footsteps in hopes of sleeping in between my mother and father. However, an odd sound escaped from my mother’s workroom.

“Mama?” I whispered sharply, promptly changing my destination and walking towards her study. There she was. I didn’t move an inch as I watched her with uneasy eyes. She sat on her study stool with a restless form, carrying endless thoughts beneath her tired eyes.

“Angela.” She jolted up from her seat, trying to brush her tangled and unruly hair that appeared to have caught a storm of its own.

“You should be sleeping.” She whispered with a tired smile as she sat back down. I took steps forward, eager to see her project. Her desk drowned with sheets of all sorts; however, my eyes were lured to a drawing.

The drawing was a dark, bloodcurdling metal flower that was surrounded by webs and strings. The art was carved darkly into the blank paper, marking itself as tragic. I remember wondering what child could be possibly be fascinated by that? 

“…It’s scary,” I had studied it with curious eyes as I held it in my palm.

Her dry chuckle tore my gaze away from the drawing. “You seem fascinated, though; maybe kids your age will too.” It was odd for my mother to have drawn such a morbid design; however, she didn’t look like her usual self either.

“What’s the story?” I asked, being entirely curious and wanting to hear her voice sing like a lullaby, easing me to sleep.

“Stories are often tales; I do not intend to write of a tale this time.” She spoke, her voice sounding like gravel stirred in the throat.

“I intend to write of a nightmare that has crawled into my life.” Each word felt like it had been weathered by time, as though her voice had been carved by silent struggles.

“One that stalks through dreams and the unknown.” Her gaze did not feel kind and hopeful. It felt hollow and empty. I stood, studying her and consuming each word with fear.

Days after that, they had gone. I recall their belongings being left behind as though they meant nothing, as though… we meant nothing. I was ten then, or maybe I was just oblivious.

I should’ve known that they’d leave us; I should’ve done something. I tried to picture their faces, but the image of them became blurry, like the fading colors of a dream. What had happened? Where had they gone?

The questions twisted and knotted inside me, but the answers never came. All I was left with then were the haunting memories of their absence, stretching on into the silence that surrounded me. The house was entirely hollow and quiet. Then, just like that, the silence was replaced by the men in suits who sipped on cold coffee and tsked.

They wandered the house, trying to gather little to no answers. Then, two of them pulled up chairs, one gesturing for me to sit. I did. They asked questions; I answered none. One handed me a mug of coffee; he wasn’t sure if he should and searched the eyes of his partner for a go, but his partner only shrugged. I had drank it only because Mom and Dad never let me drink it. It didn’t matter what they wanted for me then; they left.

My heart ripped out of my chest with every breath I took that day. “It's just the coffee, kid,” one of them reassured me when I mentioned it.

My sister didn’t speak; she only released shrills, kicked, and sank her baby teeth into my skin. The bite was not one of malice, but of pure, unrefined frustration—an instinctive outburst of a world without a mother and father. She was six then.

Then it happened; I remember it as though it were yesterday: “You go with them.” The men in suits assured, gesturing to my sister and me, and I to Diana and Ronald, who stood at our doorstep with heavy eyes. My sister, Kimberly, and I were guaranteed a home with the couple until the agents gathered our parents’ whereabouts.

My mother had been acquainted with several people who had glamorous titles with a great deal of funds. Two of those were Diana and Ronald. They were known throughout the country for their disgustingly heightened success. My parents were well acquainted with them; they often had dinners and gatherings. One time during dinner, they came with their son, Austin, who was then introduced to myself and Kimberly.

The moment my eyes fell upon him. I knew it’d be impossible to keep my gaze away, something I didn't understand until much later.

He was awfully quiet, didn’t present his attention to anything or anyone. My greeting went unnoticed; I tried to convince myself that he may not have heard me; however, by the end of dinner, after throwing glances and smiles at him, it was clear that he was simply not interested in being acquainted.

I couldn’t help but take glimpses of him here and there, though. I even familiarized myself with his constant hair picking and pressing; it never really worked because his golden brown hair always fell right back to his face.

Then there were his eyes, his eyes that almost resembled the color pumpkin at times. I watched the questionable moment when the brown in his eyes seemingly amended to pure gold, a gold that resembles the unknown that crawls into my dreams.

I didn’t see Austin often despite our families being closely involved; however, our families relationship changed severely after my mother began avoiding Diana’s calls. My father even went as far as telling Ronald to stay away from us. It was questionable as to what the reason was; however, my parents never said a word to me or Kimberly about the sudden indifference, so I did not dismiss their kindness.

The memory of the car ride to Diana’s home felt like a dream in itself. The movement was mechanical, and the faces around me faded in and out, like I was watching them from behind a glass wall. I couldn’t focus on anything but the storm of thoughts swirling in my head, the guilt, the unanswered questions, the desperate need for something—anything—to make sense of it all.

My thoughts were abruptly put to an end when we reached the couple's beautifully designed mansion.We were let in and told to make ourselves feel at home. I nodded, meeting the eyes of Austin, who seemingly noticed our arrival.

“Greetings.” He spoke; I almost didn’t hear it, his voice very low. Then he stared, boring his eyes into mine.

My breath hitched, not being able to turn my gaze away from his eyes that appeared to be kind compared to last time.

“I believe Kimberly needs her sleep. You go with Austin.” Diana carefully whispered, forcing me to pull my gaze away from her son to stare at her and convince Kimberly to go with her.

Austin and I strolled around the house in silence that afternoon.

I came to an abrupt stop when we came across the family portraits in the hallway. He noticed this and stood beside me as we observed the photographs. I couldn’t help but think of my very own parents; a wide lump grew in my throat, and the sudden urge to cry tormented me. At that very moment, I consciously prayed for an escape, even if it meant disappearing forever. 

Then he spoke,“let's get out of here” his eyes seemingly with mystery and flair. It was then that he let me fall for him; the wall he had somewhat drawn between us the very first time had been entirely destroyed. The very beginning of an estranged tale.

Merry Christmas, if they're any grammer errors; blame the bliss😩
I hope you enjoy this chapter!