Beautiful Ruins

XXIV 》A Familiar Dread.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::¤¤:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

I've learned to live half alive.

–Christina Perri.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::¤¤¤:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

~TOVIELLA~

Sekani had left before me, as I was staying extra hours at school for the training. She offered to stay till I was done so that we could leave together but I couldn't allow that. She had to get enough rest and I was certain there were assignments she had to do as well.

I got off the car after thanking uncle Ramsey, excited to see my little sister. We never spent long hours apart from each other so I missed her a lot.

I was worn out from the day's activities and her infectious, bubbly energy was sure to make me feel a lot better.

All the enthusiasm that was propelling me forward dissipated once my eyes set on the red Ford that was parked in the garage, an intense feeling of dread taking it's place.

Despite the glaring fact, my eyes found Uncle Ramsey's and the sympathy in them was all the confirmation I needed. My gaze slid back to the vehicle again and I stared at it for a few more minutes and with my fidgeting fingers clasped around the strap of my bag, I exhaled a shaky breathe before making my way in.

The temperature in the sitting room was unbearably cold, it would rival that of Antarctica's. Impulsively, I wrapped my arms around myself, a futile attempt to shield my prickling skin.

The drawn curtains made it difficult to make out anything in the large, dimly lit space but the lighting coming from the silent, flat panel TV allowed access to some things in its orbit and that's when I see him; seated on the cushion that faced the TV, spine straight against it's back rest.

The flickering lights illuminating off the screen danced across his stoic, dark face and the unwavering fixature of his eyes of the screen had me wondering if the TV was actually mute or if it was the sound of my heart beating in my ear that was blocking out the noise.

My feet remained rooted to the spot infront of the doorway, fear paralyzing my being as my lips struggled to form a coherent sentence. “G-Good evening, sir.”

I suddenly became acutely aware of how pin-drop silent the room was when my small voice reverberated much louder than it was supposed to. I couldn't make out the sound of my beating heart nor my breathes anymore. The only dominant sound was the swish of the whiskey in the glass cup as he twirled it with his left hand.

If he heard me talking or was even aware of my presence, he didn't react. A chill ran down my back and I doubted it had anything to do with the cold.

But what if? What if he really wasn't aware of his surrounding, of my presence? I mean, it wasn't far-fetched, considering that anyone could be absentminded at times. And his stance being rigid, eyes staring into a noiseless TV went further to prove that theory.

But to fulfill all righteousness, I greeted again, this time keeping my voice leveled so he wouldn't be reawakened if he was actually absent from reality.

The plan was to get out of the room unoticed but how quickly had I forgotten that it was in that moment a predator would rise up to strike its prey; when they had their guard down, even the slightest hint at vulnerability.