Emperor of Annihilation

THIRTY NINE

The drive to the restaurant was suffocatingly silent. Sandwiched between my parents, I felt like a captive flanked by guards. The tension between them was palpable; their silent glares spoke volumes of an unresolved conflict.

I could almost smell the acrid scent of their discontent lingering in the air, surrounding me like an oppressive cloud.

I played with my fingers as a way to entertain myself. My phone was blowing up with text messages from the group chat. I ignored them and sighed to myself.

I sensed the eyes of my father on the side of my cheek. His glare was burning into my skin.

"When we arrive at the restaurant, I expect you to be on your best behavior, Clementine."

I smile more to myself than anyone else in the car. "Aren't I always on my best behavior?"

That ignites a spark of somewhat of a smile from him, crossing his lips. He nodded with half-lidded eyes. "I suppose so." He paused.

"You've always been an obedient daughter, and for that I am grateful."

The way he says it is condescending.

Continuing, a flicker of irritation flashed across his eyes, but he maintained the condescending tone. "Perhaps, you'll understand in due time," he added, his words leaving a subtle sting in the air.

His condescending tone acted as a trigger, unlocking a vault of memories that painted a vivid picture of all the times he fell short as a father. The broken promises, the emotional neglect, and the moments when he chose his ego over my well-being flooded my thoughts. Each word he spoke echoed the past, resurrecting the pain of a relationship marred by disappointment and unfulfilled expectations.

It was a sobering realization of the deep-seated issues that had long been swept under the rug.
He never regarded me as his true daughter but rather as a doll to be dressed up and played with at his convenience.

The realization struck with a heavy weight, echoing the countless times my emotions were dismissed and ignored. The acknowledgment that he never made an effort to understand or acknowledge my feelings left a profound ache in my chest.

It hurt more than anything, knowing my father thought of me as a burden rather than one of his own.

He's only ever acknowledged my achievements and never my battles.

I attempted at suicide when I was twelve. My teacher took notice of the scars I had on my arms while my parents never did. They just assumed it was from horse practice. Even when my teacher confronted them about it, they denied any hope I had, using the excuse she knew nothing about me, and that their daughter wasn't depressed when in reality I was everything but happy at the time.

Ignoring obvious signs eased their minds. The phrase "What you can't see can't hurt you" echoed in my mind, but I couldn't shake the feeling that it was a deceptive mantra. Sometimes, the unseen wounds cut the deepest, their impact silently gnawing at the core, leaving scars that lingered long after the initial damage was done.

I space out for the remaining period in the car until we made it to the restaurant. I glanced out the window and followed my mother out of the car. The place resembled every other five-star restaurant: expensive but with a mundane outdoor interior, a facade attempting to project sophistication onto the notion that the wealthy possess taste.

Five minutes later, we were being escorted to a private room on the second floor. Eyes followed us as we walked past tables, people gawking at us as though we were pieces of artwork on display. My father had built an empire for the Monroe name, and with my mother right beside him, it had evolved into a dynastic empire. The weight of the family legacy felt palpable in the scrutinizing gazes that followed our every move.