Haunted Hearts

Chapter 5

"So, you've sold all your paintings," I remarked, a glimmer of pride infusing my tone. Mia's artistic talent always captivated me, a field I never quite mastered myself. Even if she tried her best. "I think my favorite is still the rainy one."

"I think it was okay."

"Okay? It was fantastic, are you kidding me?" I almost yelled. It still made me angry how unaware she was about her creativity. She had the talent to made me feel so much with just colors and shapes. It was pure art. Mia looked at me like I was crazy. "I will always miss that painting." I sighed.

"Yes, well... maybe today I'll start a new one. I hung the portrait I did of father on his room, by the way, I hope you don't mind." she mentioned casually.

"Not in the slightest," I lied with a smile— I did mind.

I despised that portrait, it was nothing but a symbol of his unwavering hold over her.
Mia had always seen him as her savior. He was pretty much her everything. Which is why she would never asked to paint my portrait. I was just her sister. Our father was her person.

I couldn't really blame her. I could only imagine how that portrait would look.
While Mia inherited our mother's delicate beauty, I bore the burden of our father's less-than-desirable traits: big hazel eyes, crooked nose, hairy eyebrows...

"I still think we should try to do something to help father," Mia said, her voice barely above a whisper as she sipped her pink Frappuccino with one hand and with the other, she played with her white rosary. "It's been a month and nothing has happened. I think that evil spirit left." Not entirely true, things would still fall or break when we were near, but no evil spirits had appeared again.
Which was good.

"No," I said, my hands moving methodically as I wiped down the table next to her.
Thankfully, Carly, the owner of the coffee shop, had given me a double shift when I lost my job at Walmart. And for a month this little deal turned out to save us in so many financial ways, but unfortunately next week I was going back to work part time again.

My voice grew thick "We won't touch that stupid board ever again, understand?"

"The TV said—"

"I know what it said. We've discussed this," I interrupted, the frustration simmering beneath the surface threatening to boil over. I should toss that stupid board to the trash— but that's another rule I will not break.

"Morgan, we still don't have enough money. We still owe that mafia guy. We don't know what to do with the house. We don't know if he left a will, we still have questions." She said with unwilling puppy eyes.

I couldn't help but roll my eyes, the weight of responsibility pressing down upon me like a leaden cloak. I knew that I should try to be more approachable, more understanding, but the anger that simmered within me grew strong, and dark. "Do you think normal people just go and communicate with the dead when this happens? Don't you think we would know by now if he left us something—anything? He didn't have anything when he was alive and of course he won't have anything now that he is gone, Mia. Death happens, for fucks sake. We just have to accept it and move on," I snapped, my words tinged with bitterness and regret.

"We are about to lose the house—" she continued, her voice tinged with desperation.

"And what will a dead father do to help us?" I interrupted, my resentment bubbling to the surface in a torrent of harsh words. Her face shocked with pain told me I went too far. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she sighed, her shoulders slumping with defeat.

"No, it's not. You are right. We have nothing." I breathed slowly, "We are about to lose everything, and I just—I need some time to figure out what to do," I stuttered, and I stopped cleaning the tables, the weight of our situation pressing down upon me like a million bricks.