Married To The Devil

Chapter Sixteen

[Note: not edited. Sorry for any mistakes. I will sure come back for them later. However, I apologize for the late update, but college life! Didn't imagine it would be this demanding :P

Oh, by the way, please stop the "please update" comments. I mean, some of you like really demand it. And as much as your enthusiasm motivates me, as much as the demand delays me. But anyway, I still appreciate your excitement for coming chapters and your awesome support.

Have a good day/night wherever you are :)

Enjoy!]

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D e v i l' s D e c e i v e d

My Mom had never been the kind of person to carry her heart on her sleeve. I could rarely, if ever, denote what was wrong with her, or if she was happy or sad at any given moment or circumstance. Even when my father died, I could tell she was kind of devastated as her movement got sluggish and almost the number of events she used to attend became nil. But mostly, that was it. I couldn't tell if she was about to break down or if she was in a tranquil state. All she'd show was that; nothing.

This time, however, I could say that this was the most emotion I could get out of my Mom. She looked literally pale, sick and thoroughly distressed. As her grey eyes shifted between Mariebelle and I, I could see the emotions flood into them, crashing like waves, only to disappear with the tide a moment later. I was really taken aback by the feelings my Mom could display.

"Hey, M-"

"What in the name of God is this?" Kate, my Mom, seethed, narrowing her eyes at me. In some way, my mother managed to distinguish between Mariebelle and I.

Talk about motherly instincts.

"Can we, like, come in first please?" I asked, raising an eyebrow at her slowly getting-grumpy face.

My mother seemed to contemplate that in her mind for a second before sighing and stepping aside to let us in. When I walked inside, I looked around the house, scrutinizing every corner and wondering how the home I grew up in seemed less like . . . home. It felt cold, abandoned and miserable. Maybe because there was a touch, a scent of Dad everywhere. Or maybe this house felt too big for Mom to be residing in on her own.

I was staring at a picture of Mom, Dad and I in one of the Masquerade balls I attended with my parents once when I was six, when Mom's voice calling my name cut through my train of thoughts. I was, for a split second, feeling at peace as I reminisced over old memories long gone. Turning away from the huge, framed photo hung on the wall, I faced my mother who looked torn between crying and rebuking me for bringing Mariebelle here.

"What is this?" She asked with a sharp edge to her voice. I didn't know why exactly, but my Mom looked thoroughly annoyed. I wondered if it was because bringing her second daughter here reminded her of the crime she committed by giving Mariebelle to an orphanage or something else.

"Mom," I started, taking a step towards Mariebelle and standing next to her, "this is Mariebelle." As I almost put a hand on Mariebelle's shoulder, I could feel her shoulders get tenser than they were, if that was possible. She was clutching her purse's handle like it was her life-line, her anchor, and for a split second, her breathing seemed to get shallower than normal. Mariebelle almost jumped as my fingers lightly touched her shoulder.