Can You Keep A Secret?

3. Ava: 30th Of August

Dinner, the dreaded ritual of pretending and faking, always left a bitter taste in my mouth. The perfect facade of a happy family, while behind closed doors, everything was a twisted, fucked up mess. My father, with his manipulative ways, always managed to get what he wanted, even if it meant ruining someone's life. My Mom, closed up in a psychiatric hospital guarded 24/7, and my step-mom trying hard to play the  role of a mother with me

As we sat at the dinner table, I could feel his eyes on me, waiting for a reaction that would never be coming. "Are you excited to get back to BrookSville High tomorrow?" he asked, a sinister glint in his eyes. I stopped picking at my food, suddenly losing my appetite as I met his gaze.

"Not really," I replied, unable to hide the bitterness in my tone. My step-mom's apologetic smile only added to my frustration. She knew what was coming, what my father had in store for everyone. What he planned on doing best: controlling people.

"You know how we've been talking about me taking on the role as principal of BrookSville High?" She says, her voice shaking with excitement. I knew where this was going. Mr. Deaton, a good man with a family, had been forced to resign and now my step-mom was taking his place, courtesy of my father's dirty money and power. “Apparently Mr.Deaton resigned and assigned the school to me. Isn't it great?” She asks excitedly. My father places his hand on top of hers and smiles proudly at her, eyes he never reserved for my dying mother.

My heart sank as I thought of Mr. Deaton, his life and career ruined by my father's greed. My hand gripped the knife on the table, imagining plunging it into my father's neck and watching him bleed. But instead, I stood up, my face contorted in hatred. "If you'll excuse me, I need some fresh air," I said, my voice dripping with venom. "Oh, and congratulations, Anna, on your new job. Enjoy the taste of my father's power and control: welcome to the family!" I grabbed a glass of wine and stormed out of the room, my loyal cat Milo following close behind.

As I climb the stairs and head towards my room, I turn the lock on the door and let out a deep sigh. Dinner, the perfect time for my father to assert his dominance and for me to put on a fake smile. But not today. Today, I couldn't hide the hate and resentment that boiled inside of me, not even if I wanted to and tried hard. And as I kicked off my painful stilettos and collapsed onto my bed, I knew that this was only the beginning of his reign of terror.

“Another stressful night?” My boyfriend, Neal, is standing next to the window. Drenched from what I can only assume as the rain pouring outside and staining my black tinted windows with droplets of water. “I don't know how much of this I can take anymore,” I admit in defeat. My life was a literal shit show: A mom at a psychiatric hospital, a dad that was busy creating more and more chaos. I guess being Mayor of a town has its own perks.

“Hey, don't say that,” Neal pushes himself off the wall and comes up to me. I feel his breathing on my back, and it helps to warm the cold engulfing my skin. His hands snake up to the back of my neck and sliding down to the lace holding my brown dress. He gently gets it loose and spins me around to face him. “Don't hide away from me,” He tilts my chin up, ready to plant a kiss, until I hear the familiar ringtone of my phone ring. “Ignore it.” He whispers gently, his eyes never leaving mine.

“It's probably important,” I mutter, leaving his embrace as I  walk to my desk, dropping the bottle of wine. My eyes scan the caller's ID and to my surprise it was Iris. She only called for emergencies.
Without thinking twice I swipe the green accept button.

“Thank God you answered your phone. I feel like I'm going crazy here,” I can feel her pacing back and forth in her room. Panic settling in her voice. “What's going on?” I ask, my voice laced with concern.
“It's about Sylvie, Ava.” Iris says, her tone shaky.
“Listen, if you called to try and get me to talk to her after everything that's happened, I am going to cut this call and end it here.” I slip on my autorhitarian voice, a thing I learned from my father's many life lessons. “What? No. I'm not here to talk about that!” She raises her voice over the phone, loosing her composure. “Check the Daily School Page, now.” She demands… no, she begs.