Secrets of the Solomons

18. Fiona:

*24 days before the attempted murder*

I woke up to a mess. My room looked like someone had robbed the place. Clothes were all around, and I still wore the dress from yesterday.

As I remembered the incidents that took place yesterday, I couldn't help but feel nauseous. The memories flooded back, each one more horrifying than the last.

I was sure that I had to avoid my father's sight and leave for school right away. I had a short shower and cleaned up the mess in my room. It was currently 4 a.m., and school started at 6 a.m. After spending thirty minutes getting ready, I packed my bag with books, an iPad, a laptop, and stationery items.

I made sure to take some snacks and my wallet; otherwise, I would starve to death. As I double-checked my bag, I couldn't shake off the lingering fear that clung to me. The events of yesterday had left me on edge, and I knew that going to school was my only escape from the chaos at home.

I couldn't help but feel relieved as I walked out of my house. The calm streets and crisp morning air offered a little break from the chaos waiting for me back home. The driver of the car took off once I got in. I settled into the backseat, grateful for the momentary peace. The rhythmic hum of the engine provided a soothing soundtrack as we made our way toward school.

While in the car, I quickly did my makeup and checked my phone for any missed notifications. As I glanced at my phone, I noticed a message from my best friend, reminding me about our plans after school. Excitement bubbled up inside me, momentarily distracting me from the chaos that awaited me at home. With a renewed sense of purpose, I finished applying my makeup and eagerly anticipated the day ahead.

Other than my friend's messages, I saw multiple messages from my relatives asking to go out on a trip, shopping, etc. After the stunt my grandfather pulled yesterday by making me his sole successor, everyone was trying to get on my good side and to please me. They all seemed like hypocrites, and yesterday's reality dawned on me. I knew there was no changing Grandfather's mind or escaping from this responsibility.

As I scrolled through the messages, a sense of resentment began to build within me. It was clear that my newfound role as the family's successor came with strings attached, and I couldn't help but feel trapped in this web of expectations. The weight of my grandfather's decision settled heavily on my shoulders, and I realized that there was no running away from the chaos that awaited me at home.

When the car eventually stops, I exit. The school is packed, as expected. Up until recently, the school exclusively accepted wealthy and brilliant pupils from particular backgrounds. However, they have started admitting students on scholarships; however, they would need to clear many screening procedures.

As I walk in, I notice the big signboard with our school's name," Elite Academy: Where Excellence Meets Opportunity." It's a stark reminder of the contrasting worlds that exist within these walls: the privileged few and those who have fought tooth and nail for a chance at success. Last year's scholarship students had such an inferiority complex because of their backgrounds; it truly was quite irritating.

As I walked in, I noticed a girl using a navy blue towel to wipe her head. It immediately caused me to have a flashback. I remember when I was 14, my father beat me up for not washing a towel properly. I remember the scene even now. Vividly. I could still feel the sting of his blows and the overwhelming fear that consumed me.

He walked into the bathroom and yelled at me to go to him there. I went there. My dad glanced first at the towel and then at me. Feeling furious, he squinted his eyes and stated, "I thought I told you to clean this." He gestured to the towel. "Yes, I did! I promise, I did. I screamed back at him, my hands wildly flailing. He didn't believe me and continued to scold me. Before I could say anything, he yelled at me against the wall, punched my face multiple times, and hit my head against the toilet. And he kept pushing me towards the wall with his brute force. Using multiple useless excuses, he continued to beat me up for about 10 minutes nonstop. At first, I thought it was my fault. Later that day, I found out he took out his anger because my second-oldest brother had failed one subject. I remember the rage I felt.