Ones We Regret

Chapter 11

March 2015, California
Alira

"Where the fuck is the money, Alira?"

I ignore mom's scream and focus on the wall in front of me. The wall is a lush pale marble with the prettiest darkwood fireplace. The wall adjacent is a huge bookshelf with more than hundred books, their spines assembled in a way that it looked hierarchical and easy to spot. The wall on the other side is a floor to ceiling window which gives the view of the huge garden and the swimming pool along with the seating area and my mom's personal garden. The creme - coloured drapes along with the translucent net ones are set neatly aside to show the pool and the lawn illuminated by spotlights and tiny numerous lights which looks exceptional at night time.

I can easily trace the usual sandalwood and lemongrass scent of our house but somehow tonight it is suffocating. I focus on my senses and close my eyes briefly, listening to the low purr of the dishwasher from the kitchen and the sound of the air conditioners. I gulp, the sound of my own heartbeat the loudest among other faint sounds and listen to my own breathing. I glance at the bookshelf and the very comfortable looking rocking chair, my own comfortable space in the living room and spare another glance at the chairs and a dark maroon coloured chaise lounge in front of the fire place.

The huge tv behind me plays the video of my confrontation with Kingsley, our voices muted but I could easily sense the video playing behind me, the colours of the video displaying on the pale marble on top of the fireplace. The living room doesn't contain any personal touches. It's just like my mom, cold, calculating and impersonal. One cannot find a trace of home, no family pictures or certificates or a trinket or some memorable artifact brought from a remarkable trip. The living room instead shows all riches and luxuries my family can afford. Everything consists of branded and luxurious items no one pays second glance to. Except I pay my special attention to my books. After all, more than half of them were bought by me even after thousands of fights and slammed doors. The lavish rug, coffee table that alone costs a fortune, the accented chairs, the italian style overhead lighting are all for a show, a show of the love in this family, a show of the happiness and joy. I hate it. I hate it all.

I crave for my own home, my own space, a space free of this show and fakeness and long for freedom. Sometimes the craving is so intense I find my breath stolen away, my limbs aching with need to just leave, to go, to just leave this all behind and never return to this hellhole.

"Answer your mother." Dad's calm but agitated voice reaches across like a radio wave and I flinch at the sound. I cast a wary glance at him sitting across from me on the dining table and look over my shoulder at my mother, her hand clutching the remote so tightly I wonder how it's not broken yet.

"You can stop playing the video again and again, mom. We're working. It's not like it's a sex tape." I grind my teeth at my own words and can feel my skin tearing away due to my tight fists. I let the air conditioned air cool my otherwise burning body and let my emotions go down and down until I feel absolutely nothing. I look briefly at her and focus on the Calla Lilies kept in the crystal jar in the middle of the dining table. I can feel Scar's pleading and worried stare on the side of my head but I ignore her and instead meet dad's cool and observant gaze. After a second, I feel the television switch off and feel the burning gaze of mom on the nape of my neck. Pricking. Taunting. I squelch the need to squirm and meet mom's gaze head on and attest, "Kingsley left and that's not on me. We worked together and you found a video on his computer. A video which shows us working together. That doesn't mean I had anything to do with him leaving the country without a pip. We worked together. It's not like we were best buddies having a night stay at my house and braided each other's hair at midnight and while ogling Ian Somerholder's body and giggling about it."