The Emptiness She Holds

Mom

Chapter 16: Mom...?

Upon entering the gates of hell, I spotted Vincent and my mom standing at the end of the foyer, staring at me with pure anger.

A sigh escaped my lips as I stepped further into the living room.

Of course, the whole circus was there.

Elias and Daniel sat side by side on one of the couches, while Anthony and Silas stood nearby, trying—and failing—to look intimidating.

Zander lounged on a bean bag in the corner, glued to his phone, utterly indifferent.

I let myself fall onto the couch, sinking softly into the cushions.

"So... what'd you guys eat for dinner?" I asked, a cheeky grin playing on my lips.

Vincent didn't like that.

His fist slammed the table, making it shake—and every head snapped toward him.

"Blair, I've had enough! You come into my house and disrespect my rules! You sneak out, you come home the next day, I get reports you're in the hospital! What the hell are you doing?!" Rage boiled in his eyes.

My smirk vanished, replaced by a cold, stoic mask.

I could feel my eyes darken with every second.

My mom's eyes widened in horror as she pointed at me, trembling back, whispering, "M-monster."

Vincent's eyes grew large too.

But then I noticed it—my mother held a smirk, like she enjoyed the spectacle, the way everyone was ganging up on me.

A smirk I'd seen before.

My head throbbed as a flashback hit me—the night of the accident.

It clicked.

My eyes snapped up to her as she stared at me like I was her enemy.

...Mom...?

"I didn't ask to come here. I didn't ask for my mom to marry you. I didn't ask for you to be my stepfather, or for you fiveto be my stepbrothers!" I spat, gesturing at everyone.

"I didn't ask for these rules. I didn't ask to go to juvie. I didn't ask for my mother TO DIE AND FOR THIS FAKE BITCH TO REPLACE HER!" I screamed, lunging toward her.

My nails scratched at her face, aiming for her eyes—maybe I could scrape off those damn contacts.

"YOU BITCH!" I screamed as she kicked me in the stomach, pain exploding through my body.

The stitches dug deep into my skin, threatening to rip apart.

Vincent and the boys stood, frozen, conflicted.

"BLAIR, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!" Vincent yelled, grabbing my waist—his grip jolting me in pain, forcing a cry.

He loosened his hold as if he could feel the agony coursing through me; his eyes softened—too late.

"SHE'S NOT MY MOTHER! SHE'S A FAKE!" I screamed again, jabbing my elbow into Vincent's face to stop him from blocking me.

Catching him off guard, I yanked her hair hard.

I heard a sharp snap.

Looking down at my hands, I saw blonde extensions tangled there.

I looked up to see her blinking rapidly, hands clutching her head.

When her eyes opened, brown pupils stared back.

The blue contacts had slipped partially free, aided by my nails.

"See? She's not my mother!" I said, voice loud yet sharp, silence falling over the room.

She scrambled to her feet, darting her eyes, looking for an escape.

Only when she stood fully did I realize who she really was—a piece of her hidden brown hair fell over her shoulder.

My heart hammered.

Anger and fear roared inside me.

She was the same woman—the one who kicked me, punched me, dragged a knife down my body.

The woman who ruined me.

The one who left scars like ragged stains.

Stains that never fade.

"You bitch! You ruined everything!" she screeched, lunging for me.

But before she could reach me, a gunshot cracked through the air.

She staggered, the bullet embedding itself in her abdomen.

"N-no... the pl-plan..." she whispered weakly before collapsing.

I whipped my head around.

Silas stood there, gun in hand, eyes frozen on the fallen imposter.

Vincent released me, stepping in front of me, blocking my view of the blood pooling beneath her.

"You shouldn't have to see this," he said grimly, sadness cutting through his usually stone-cold features.

"What are you gonna do to her?" I asked, my voice flat, void of feeling.

Vincent only looked at me, but my eyes stayed on the blood slowly inching closer.

"It's late... we'll talk about this tomorrow," he said, his gaze drifting to one of his sons like speaking silently.

Zander quickly approached, grabbing my arm, helping me to my feet.

He led me upstairs, away from the chaos.

I kept glancing back, watching them carry her limp body out the back.

The maids moved in to clean the blood and mess.

They must get paid a fortune to keep their mouths shut, I thought bitterly.

"Hey, sorella, everything's gonna be okay," Zander murmured, rubbing my arm gently.

I nodded hesitantly as he laid me down on my bed.

A sharp groan escaped me as the stitches holding my wound together threatened to tear.

I wouldn't be surprised if I woke up tomorrow to blood-soaked sheets.

Zander glanced at me before rushing out.

I frowned, confused.

He returned moments later, nearly out of breath, and rushed into my bathroom.

The motion made my headache throb harder, so I closed my eyes briefly.

"Don't close your eyes, Blair!" he yelled, shaking me lightly.

I felt myself slipping into unconsciousness.

"You're losing blood. I'm gonna sew your wound, okay? This'll hurt, so bite down on this rag," Zander said, pressing a rag into my mouth and lifting me into the bathroom.

He sat me on the cold counter, my back pressed to the tiles.

Goosebumps erupted down my spine.

Zander soaked a towel in cold water and placed it on my forehead, easing the heat rushing to my face.

My vision hazed as he removed my broken stitches and cleaned away the blood.

Then came the sewing.

My screams ripped through the silent room.

Tears streamed down my face as my world blurred.

"Doing great, Blair... couple more stitches... almost done," his voice drifted in and out as ringing filled my ears.

He stood, wiping blood from the counter, cleaning me with alcohol that burned.

"Thank... you," I whispered, then everything went black.

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