Shattered Pieces

Chapter Five

Mysteries & Miseries

"Alessa, dear. It's great to see you again," the woman who sat on the settee by the window called.
"Aunt Celine, good afternoon. Were we supposed to be expecting you? I wasn't aware you were visiting today." I kept my voice polite as I dared to risk a glance at my father.
He sat slumped into the armchair, fingers massaging his temples and glaring at the woman.
  "We weren't," the growl was enough to get me to lower my head and shift on my feet. "Why are you here?"
  Brushing off his hostility like dust off her shoulder, she gave me a toothy grin. She bent at the waist to retrieve a shimmering gold gift bag at her feet I hadn't noticed before. "I really wasn't planning on this visit until later, on your birthday. But as it turns out, I'll be away overseas at the time," she shoots me another grin. "So I decided to drop in with an early birthday present. I do hope you enjoy it." She holds out the bag for me to take.
  "She doesn't need a goddamned birthday present. She's got whatever she needs right bloody here, under this bleeding roof. So leave, your not wanted." The chair fell back, the sound of wood breaking echoed in the silence. My father's breathing matched my heartbeat, fast and unsteady. My aunt had closed her eyes and laid her head back to face the ceiling. I took a step back away from both parties.
  Aunt Celine was the first to speak.
  "Well, now that you've your little temper tantrum," Her voice rang with undiluted annoyance. "I'd like to talk to you. Upstairs." Her movements were jerky and stiff as she strutted past him to the stairs, her footsteps loud and purposeful.
Glass shattered against the wall above where Aunt Celine had been sitting. I shuffled back as the debris landed everywhere over the plush rug. The shade of the lamp sat neatly on the vase of slightly wilted flowers, like a crown of cloth and beading. The leather of the coach was a tad scarred from where the glass had fallen on it and so was the part of the wall where the lamp had hit.
I pursed my lips together, my breaths were shallow but even.
"You are to clean up every bit of this mess, if I find even a piece of this left, I'll double your clients. Do you understand?"
I didn't talk, my throat felt like it had a plug shoved into it. I denied him the answer he requested, demanded. And he did not take well to being denied anything.
His grip was steel on my elbow before I'd registered the quick, tempered steps. His warm, minty breath warmed my face and chilled my spine. "I said: Do. You. Fucking. Understand!" He shook me as he whisper-yelled the words. His spit was cold where it was sprayed in my ear. I could feel his cold glare, his thumb nail digging into my skin. "Well?" he rasped, deathly quiet in my ear.
I could only manage a meek nod.
Before he could say more, a sarcasm-soaked voice came calling down from the top of the stairs. "Well, dearest brother-in-law? Are you coming or what?"
Giving me one last snarl, he shoved me away from him and stomped his way up the stairs. I sat with my legs extended and silent tears dripping onto my face.
  I stayed put weeping until a roar of anger shook the house broke through my reverie. I snatched the golden gift bag and snuck up the stairs, praying my footsteps were silent enough that they went undetected under the sound of yells and more shattering glass. As I rushed to my room, I looked towards the master bedroom at the end of the ominous hallway and heard the soft feminine sobs muffled by the thick wooden door just a mere few rooms away from the ruckus. I longed and dreaded to open that door. Clenching the bag in my fist, I ran up the steps.
  My room was situated on the third and highest level of the house, where the attic should have been instead. The slanted walls closed in at the ceiling before meeting at a point. The room was much more spacious than even the dining hall where my father held meetings for business and other more private things. My bed stared at one of the only windows in the attic, under which was a desk of a thick, door sized piece of wood secured to the wall and several other planks of wood which made the shelves. Strands of fairy lights hung from the walls.
  My vanity stood by the towering wardrobe, two soldiers in light grey uniforms. The chair was pushed away, angled to face the door. Makeup cases of all sizes sat piled on the surface, a glass held various brushes. A thick packet of wet wipes lay by the mirror.
  I tossed the gift bag and my school bag to the ground by the bed.
I walked over and righted the chair to take a seat. Pulling open the hidden built in drawer, I rummaged past the neat lines of lipsticks and nail polishes, the bag of eyeliners, mascara, foundation and brow pencils, the box of cotton pads and grabbed the first aid kit. Popping the magnetic button holding the lid shut, I addressed my forearm. The red lined, crescent shaped cut stood out against the pale white of my skin where he had dug his nail into. I clean the cut with a wet tissue and dabbed the antiseptic on. I pasted a small bandage onto the cut.
I avoided the mirror as I kept the kit. Only when the kit was placed back where it belonged did I look. Tear stains streaked my face, my makeup was smeared slightly. I wipe off every on my face with more wet tissues and threw them into the bin. Dark bags hung beneath my eyes, my cheeks looked hollow and dull without the glow of foundation and blush, my lips were cracked and pale. A healing bruise has blossomed on my temple, spreading down to brush the arch of my cheekbone. I sat there looking at my reflection until an alert sounded from my phone.
  A notification was still on the screen.
Harry J. Marshal sent you a friend request on Facebook.
  A smile tugged on the corners of my lips but I smoothed it away. As I put down my phone, another alert rang.
  I typed in the passcode and went on Facebook. A message notification blinked in the corner and I went to Messenger.
Harry J. Marshall sent you a message. Do you wish to Accept or Decline?
  I was hesitant as I clicked the Accept button. His message of one lone word was alone in the chat room.
Sorry
  The first apology I've ever seen him give. I switched off my phone and tossed it onto the bed.
  I picked up the two bags and walked over to the desk. I piled the papers and assignments from school and spent the next hour and a half completing them.

•••••

The pile of completed papers sat at the corner of the desk, ink stained and crumpled. My cheek felt numb from laying the side of my face on the surface for too long. I stared at the wall. Papers marked with words stared back, rhymes laced their white skins.
Poems and stories were stapled and pinned onto five cork boards lined up on the wall from the ceiling to the floor. Fairy lights and other means of decorations danced at the edges. A wall of paper and thoughts in rhymes and lines.
The digital clock on the bedside drawer sounded. I looked back to check the time.
6:00 PM
I stood from the chair and walked to the bathroom.
My discarded clothes were all over the floor. 'Outsiders' by Against The Current was playing softly on my phone.
I pressed my forehead to the warm wet tiles as my hair matted against my skin the spray of water. I looked down at my body, naked and dripping in water. I looked at the concaved expanse of my torso, the delicate slivers of bone protruding from my chest and the triangular hipbones poking out of my too-tight skin. Pulling all my hair over my shoulder, I combed through the tangled, stringy waves. Small clumps of it were left on my fingers, the brittle strands leaving a trail as it tried to flow away with the water. Looking away, I wiped my fingers on the wall and let them stick to it like a fraying ribbon.
I thought back to the golden bag left under the desk, then to my aunt. I wondered what she risked my father to give me.