A Thousand Levels to You

Chapter 4 (Diamonaire)

Diamonaire stood a few clothes racks away from her father. A warm excitement coursed through her as she reminisced about the previous night. He still does not know. I was out. Gone all night and he is none the wiser. That means... That means I can... Leave.

She turned away from her father and took a deep breath to steady her racing heart. From the corner of her eye, she noticed an elegant pink gown draped over a mannequin. Its pink tulle skirt and single shoulder strap reminded her of a similar gown her mother once wore. Hand running down along the fabric, she rubbed the smooth material between her fingers.

"I do not want to hear that our numbers are down, Frederick!" Her father's booming voice filled the boutique. "I know that already. I want to know that you have a plan in mind to remedy our current situation!"

Even with the business failing, here we are again. Shopping. He seems to think that spending money on me will drown all the guilt he feels every time he looks at me. No wonder the business is failing. Guilt cannot drown.

"Baby girl, come here. Look at this one. It radiates beauty just as you do." Her father's voice was softer but still had a harsh undertone.

Scanning the red dress her father had indicated to, Diamonaire nodded. "Yes. It is quite the exceptional gown. Though, I believe that this gown," she spun and indicated to the pink dress she had earlier been transfixed by, "Is much more agreeable in cost and it reminds me...Well, it reminds me so much of mother. I would very much like to -"

"No." The word shot quick and sharp out of her father's mouth. "Not that one." His stern face and glossy eyes said more than his words ever could.

A light tune played from within his pocket. He pulled a small phone out and held it to his ear. "Speak, Yelena." He said as he turned away from Diamonaire and strolled further into the store.

The sound of her aunt's name sent a shiver down Diamonaire's spine. She took a breath to recompose herself and then strolled slowly around the gown her father had selected. Fragments of rubies were intricately woven throughout the fabric. Light reflected off the gems granting the gown a long, flowing lava like appearance.

It is quite beautiful. Diamonaire thought. And if father's sources are correct for once about an impending gemstone shortage, it would likely surge in value. Perhaps it could serve as a relatively wise investment piece. Hm.

She turned the price tag over and nearly gasped. There is no way father can afford this.

"Diamond, Yelena called. Dinner is being prepared. Grab the red gown and let us pay. "

"Thank you, father. But I really do not believe I need it."

"Nonsense! We never leave here empty handed. Besides, I am sure it will look stunning on you. A proper gown for a proper lady. Grab it and let us be on our way. Now."

His tone of finality was like a knife being lodged into her side. She knew there would be consequences. Even so, she decided only to bite her bottom lip and then rushed to do as she had been told.

________

Wrinkles formed in Diamonaire's dress as she slid beside her father into the electric transportation vehicle. She patted at them, smoothing the wrinkles out, then folded her hands in her lap. Caught in her peripheral vision, she scrunched her lips while her father pulled out a flask from an inner pocket of his jacket. He took a few long swigs.

It is still early. That is not a good sign.

She scooted closer to the window, moving as far from her father as the tight space would permit. Beyond the window small street vendors with colorful carts and ostentatious wares passed by. Men and women strolled leisurely alongside the water, dripping in their own ideas of meticulous elegant fashion and luxury. Children raced across the bridges, pausing occasionally to toss bits of bread to the schools of bopping fish. Everyone wore bright smiles plastered across their faces. Happiness, feigned or otherwise. Just on the other side of the window was a world bursting with a blatant sense of superiority - but also freedom.

Trapped on this side of the glass, Diamoniare's own reflection told a much different story. She lived in a separate world. A lightless world. For a moment, her reflection took the shape of her mother's face. This momentary lapse in image must have been her mind's attempt to justify the tightening squeeze she felt high on her thigh.

Her father's hot, heavy breath filled the tight space. The foul stench of liquor permeated the air. Breathing became near suffocating.

Reflected in the window, her father's fixated eyes crawled across the soft, bare skin of her collarbone. Fixated on her, his body shifted. He leaned in towards Diamonaire. Slow, yet still creeping closer.

Diamonaire sensed the hunger growing within the depth of his gaze. A storm - as her mother had once put it. It swelled as it absorbed the raging winds of his paternal guilt. His shame. He was a balloon on trajectory to rupture. To burst.

Desire.

Her own heart raced. Her cheeks flushed. She turned her body towards the window as much as she could. Eyes clamped shut, Diamonaire could still feel the sting of her father's lust filled, guilt laden eyes. They seared into her - just like the clawed tips of his fingers.

"It is truly remarkable how much you look like her." Each word her father spoke fell like melted candle wax dripping across her skin. "I see so much of her in you."

Diamonaire froze and her mind started to drift. Darkness washed across her vision. Its tendrils warm, embracing. She could not stand to be where she was. So she crawled. Down amongst the cracked crevices of her mind. Further, deeper. She would not stop until she slipped past the void. Beyond... The moment...

Pastel purple bounced, leaving small traces of its color all over the darkness. Above Diamonaire's head a purple sky formed and stretched out like paint dripping down a canvas. Bubbles filled with a plethora of tiny iridescent globs, in a variety of rainbow colors, floated up from beneath her feet. Each glob burst from their bubbles, scattering life like shards of blown glass, slicing through the dark fabric of this fabricated reality. The torn, fraying slits fell away to reveal a world woven of the stories told to her in childhood. Memories of her mother that Diamonaire clung to. The one place buried within herself that had always felt safe.

"Diamonaire! Welcome back sweet child. It is always a pleasure to see you again," said Penelope who took the shape of a glistening white unicorn with baby blue eyes shaped like hearts. Her face beamed in the bright light of the yellow sun nestled amongst the cotton candy clouds.

"It is good to see you, too." Diamonaire said.

"Come, dearie. Sit." Penelope patted a patch of swaying grass beside her. "Tell me everything."

"It is the same story it always is. I feel deflated. Alone." Diamonaire sat and drooped forward, dropping her head into her hands. "Ever since mother died, father... He just will not stop. I- I do not know what to do."

"There, there, Diamonaire. You know your father loves you-"

"If he loved me he would not touch me." Diamonaire snapped. She looked directly into Penelope's eyes as tears trickled down her face. "I hate him, Penelope. I hate him so much. This, this thing that he is, that he has become... He is not my father. Not the man I know him to be."

Penelope let out a long sigh and nuzzled her muzzle against the side of Diamonaire's face. "That man has absolutely no right to touch you. He should be the one reaping the pain that he has sown- not you. Diamonaire, look at me. It is not you who has done wrong. Remember that, sweet dearie. Remember that."

Diamonaire ran a hand through Penolope's soft mane and stared off into the shimmering purple sky. Puffs of cotton candy clouds drifted in the wind as it sang a soft and familiar tune. In this moment of tranquility, Diamonaire had almost fooled herself into believing that this illusion could have been her reality. Almost.

"I just want my father back."