Chase Me

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Open

Amo, 12 Years Old

I would always sleep quite nicely, but tonight something was off. I could feel it, which was why I couldn't sleep. Mama and father hadn't come home yet and I was waiting. Waiting for her to come to me and help me sleep and give me answers to why I couldn't sleep.

I did the thing my mother always told me to do when I felt uneasy and worried, and I prayed. I prayed, hands clasped in front of me and eyes closed with my face pointing to the ceiling as I lay in bed. Prayed for my worry to stop and for me to sleep. Prayed for Mama to come home safe. Prayed for answers.

I got it twenty minutes later.

My eyes flew open when the front door slammed—any bit of sleep leaving me, fast. I knew the door slam. It was father. And he was angry because I could hear the quick footsteps of maids and guards as they tried to run away from the conflict about to unfold. His voice sounded soon after, yelling with enough force that I could hear it through the floor below me and reach my bed. The next voice was terrified and it made my insides squeeze so hard I had to place a hand on my chest.

I jumped out of bed and tip-toed as quietly as I could, bumping over something in the process I flicked on my lamp and thanked God that it wasn't something too loud. Only my birthday card Mama had gotten me a few days ago.

Happy Twelfth Birthday, Solé!

It had a painted picture of the sun behind it. I nearly dropped it when I heard my father's voice again.

"CHIARA!" My father shouted.

I set the card down and opened the door a little bit, careful to not make a sound.

"I didn't do anything! What are you saying, Marco?" Mama asked and I hated the sound of her voice.

A crash sounded and I paused before flicking off my lamp and going outside. The voices were much louder now that I was no longer behind a closed door. I stood at the top, keeping away from the banister, as father and Mama were fighting downstairs in the main lobby. I kept in the shadows.

"I saw!" Father yelled again. "I'm not a fucking idiot, so don't think I am—I saw how you looked at him!"

Mama was backing away. Her dress sleeve was torn. "No, Marco, I was beside you the entire night. I didn't talk to anyone."

Father yanked at his tie and ripped off his blazer. "You think I'm a fool?"

"No!" Mama begged. "No, I didn't say that."

Father stuck a finger at her. "He was staring at you."

"I didn't tell him to!" Mama shot back, gathering courage in her voice. She swallowed and I saw her chin rise. "If he was staring at me then it should be him you're yelling at, not me."

Father struck her across the face.

My hand shot to my mouth and I gasped. I knew this happened, but never in front of me. Father was too careful not to ruin his image in front of people.

Which meant he was drunk.

"I didn't do anything." Mama was trying to not cry but I knew she wanted to. I had heard her voice sound like this enough times to know.

Father stomped closer to her and I felt myself lean towards the stairs. I stopped myself before I could move too close.

Father's face was scrunched up in anger and I could see the slow blinking of his eyes as he tried to blink away the drinks he'd had. "Bullshit," he snarled and hit her again, this time so hard that she stumbled back and hit the console table.