The Ashes Of River

❥ 21| obsession

A WINE GLASS sat on the kitchen island. Lipstick stained the rim of it and I stared down at the burgundy liquid in distaste. It was filled more than the appropriate amount, yet that wasn't the surprising part; it was the fact that it had been sitting there for the past three hours, unattended.

My mother, who always had some sort of alcohol attached to her palm, had left her precious wine all alone and she was nowhere in sight.

Something sick filled my stomach because there was only one reason why. Twelve years, since I'd been aware of what was going on, and not a single thing had changed.

Sighing, I turned and opened the fridge, grabbing a water bottle and chugging more than half of it to rid my mouth of the bitter taste. Even though I knew what would be coming in a few minutes, I leaned against the drawers and waited, reaching into my pocket to grab a hold of one of the many ivory ribbons I'd accumulated over the years. One of the many that was a replica of the one I'd stolen all those years ago.

But I rarely ever touched that very one. That felt as if I was too close to her, too close to the jasmine scent of her that seemed to suffocate me when reality was already toying with me.

But when the earth beneath me seemed unsettled and when everything around me was mayhem, having a ribbon to grasp onto was the only thing that grounded me. As much as her actual presence bothered me, having her memory surrounding me was the single source of comfort I could find. It was as if she was beside me, telling me that when the shared history between us didn't manage to ruin her, salvaging my own sanity wasn't impossible either. Having a ribbon, her namesake, satiated my obsession, quelling it just enough so that I didn't go seeking her. Because seeking her, keeping her, meant hell.

Heavy footsteps neared and I glanced towards the entrance, finding my father walking in.

Callahan Vanderbildt was built with the grace of a panther, the brain of a viper and a heart that even Satan envied. Because it was cold. So cold that the man didn't know what it meant to be human. He was what you wanted to ruin, but his immortality always remained one step ahead.

Because my father was a monster.

All these years I'd done nothing but wait, watching and searching for his weaknesses, any chinks in his armour, so that I could finally knock that throne from under him and send him back right where he came from.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, not bothering to spare me a glance as he opened the fridge and pulled out my mother's favourite red wine, pulling the cork out and pouring the entirety of its contents down the sink.

Punishment.

When physical abuse didn't satisfy him enough, he resorted to taking away things that my mother viewed as her lifeline. There were only two things, really, that fit that category. One was alcohol and drugs, and the other was something that my father couldn't defeat no matter how much he tried.