A Bitter Pill To Swallow

4| Family Portrait

Song: Family Portrait - P!nk

***UNEDITED***

~ L e v i ' s   P O V ~

I pulled up to the daunting house of memories, a shiver running down my back as I pushed the flashbacks away. I nearly couldn't get off my motorbike but I unwillingly managed to force myself. Before I even had the chance to properly get off my bike, though, the door swung open and an aged man who looked a lot like my father stood at the doorway. But much older.

"Son!" The devil greeted with a warm smile which brought bile to the back of my throat. He stuck out his hand for a handshake, I just stared at it in response.

"Richard," ice heavily stood out in my tone, which fitted nicely with my piercing glare. It had been almost three years since I had last seen him - fifty years too soon by the way - and considering the circumstances of why we parted I wasn't going to be all "buddy-buddy". Richard withdrew his arm but seemed to ignore my passive jab as his warm smile was still on his lips.

"How have you been?" My sperm donor asked, but I ignored his question by taking in the familiar surroundings of my old house.

"The house is just as arrogant as I remember it, Dick," I smirked. "You live up to your name, Dick. You really do."

"Well, where is all your stuff?" He asked, his tone the same as before as if I hadn't just compared him the male genital. I narrowed my eyes as I rather harshly spun around to collect two small bags off my motorcycle and dropped them roughly at his feet.

"Here," I said, my tone not faltering from the coldness before. I almost smiled in satisfaction as he winced at my gesture, meaning I had successfully started to push his buttons. And I knew just why that affected him so.

"You pack light," Richard observed uneasily while muttering under his breath; "You could certainly teach your step-sister a few things."

"Step-sister?" I almost choked on my own spit at that. Richard's eyes widen in alarm as he realized what he had not very subtly said. His mouth formed a sheepish grin, confirming my thoughts. Yet another thing I didn't prepare for.

"Surprise?"

I didn't react any further, afraid I'd accidentally punch him in the nose. I picked up my bags that were lying against the concrete and ran inside to retreat to my old room. As I walked in, I saw the epidemy of my childhood staring back at me. The same wooden stairs spiralling to the next floor, the same open plan downstairs with light bluish grey walls creating the interior. The roof that loomed over top was higher than most houses, but still the same height it had been previously. I peered through the open space to my left which revealed the lounge, but I instantly looked away as I saw the crème couch staring back at me.

Looking at the familiar surroundings got me thinking, why hadn't he changed a thing? How could he live in a house full of haunted memories? When I looked around, all I could see was my mother's tear-stained face which he had caused. If it were me, I'd be ashamed to ever set foot back into this house. But he was nothing like me, maybe he didn't even care.

But then again, he may also be living here on purpose. Reliving everything he put my mum through every day would be torture, so maybe he was torturing himself? There's even the possibility that he doesn't want to let go of the happy family we had, but I shook that thought away after I realised he never cared about our family. I could only answer these questions if I saw a broken face underneath his professional mask. One thing about me I had in my favour was the fact that I'm extremely observant. So, it shouldn't be too hard to decode the reason everything stayed eerily the same.