Secrets of the Sea

Chapter 2

                To the back, up the ancient staircase, through the cobweb lined hall, passing door after door of quiet rooms, I slammed against the far wall, opening a hidden door that led to the attic. I forced the door shut and leaned against it. My eyes squeezed shut. Don't cry. Don't cry. He isn’t worth it, don't cry.

            But I couldn't stop the hot tears from sliding down my face.

            With shaky legs I stumbled to my vanity. My shadow was like an intruder, splitting the silvery glow of the moon that the window had let spill across the floor.

            I toppled onto my stool and stared at myself in the mirror. My pale blue eyes were rimmed red from crying and glistening tears plopped onto the artificial gold vein wood that made up my vanity. They were perfectly rounded and magnified the gold strips that ran through my desk. I heard in real gold vein wood, the gold sparkles and gleams. But not mine.

            My eyes wandered around the top of my table, sliding over my rose petal perfume, creams and various lotions. Then they stopped. On the last thing I wanted to see. A leather pouch. But it wasn't the pouch that bothered me. No. It was my mother's comb that she gave to me which laid in it.

            My mother loved me. Her mother loved her, and so on, so forth. The comb, carved out of a huge clam shell, had been passed on from mother to daughter in my family for ages. And because of me it would be passed on no more. No – wait. Not me. Peter. It was his fault. He had done it. Thrown it against the wall in anger. Thrown the only thing I had left of my mother and destroyed it, just like he destroyed my heart.

            I opened the pouch with languid movements and let the contents clatter onto the table. Bone white pieces scattered in front of me. I stroked the biggest piece with a finger. So smooth, so beautiful. Once so strong. There was a single word engraved to the piece. Love.

            Mamma said that as long as I had it she would always be with me. That when I looked at it I would remember that she would always love me.          

            But now that it's broken, does that mean she doesn't love me?

            Then another thought: I hate Peter.

            It had taken me hours of kneeling and pulling on my hair in frustration to find all the pieces. Hours to think about him, and my confusion over his actions. Now as I remembered those hours, of me going over the words I yelled at him afterwards, and of me screaming at anybody who dare come and comfort me at that time, I felt ashamed. Dreadfully, horribly ashamed.

            The floor creaked and I turned to see Terri come in. She was one of the ones I yelled at on That Horrible Day. Her, Molly, and Kate, before she moved. I tried to make up for it, but they just said "I understand," when I apologized.

            Obviously remembering That Horrible Day, Terri approached me cautiously.

            "You poor dear," she clucked at my current state after sizing me up.

            "Where were you?” I wanted to cry. “You could've helped them, and I could've made my escape, and nothing that just happened would have happened! Instead...instead..."

            Instead I bit my lip and said nothing.

            Dear, dear Terri didn't take the hint and rambled on.

            "That evil boy shouldn't 'ave come back. Don't know what 'get gone' means. Doesn't know when 'e isn't wanted," Terri sniffed. “Look at ya now, luv, your face is getting all blotchy!"