Goddamn Tragedy

VIII

The house was quiet.

She picked pieces of dried up frosting off of deserted cupcakes and relished in the sweet taste of chocolate and mint.

Her mother had avoided her all night long; giving her glances here and there that spoke volumes across rooms. She knew what those looks meant, she knew what would come from them.

She sighed and continued to bring frosting into her mouth.

Her lips tingled and it wasn't from the sweet chocolate swirling around on her tongue. She thought about how she had attached her lips to his own only hours ago. It made her delirious. It made her feel high. It made her feel.

She walked out of the kitchen and toward the staircase that headed upstairs. Her finger was still stuck in her mouth and her skin felt warm. She felt the plush carpet beneath her toes once she reached the second floor but instead of heading toward her room, her gaze locked on the cracked door at the end of the hall; her father's office.

She crossed her arms as she headed in the direction of the soft light. Once she reached the dark wood door, she traced it softly with her fingers before pushing it open.

She froze at the sight of two people embraced tightly together. She saw her mother's hair and someone else brushing it off her neck as they trailed their lips down it.

She must have made a noise because the figures broke apart like animals being spotted in the middle of the forest. Her mother's eyes were wide, the man with her looked sheepish. She tried to place his name but nothing came across her brain. All she could think about was how the man's lips kissed her mother's neck like they had a million times before.

She glanced at the desk pushed by up toward the large window overlooking the backyard. She thought about how she would often play outside and her father would wave at her from that desk. She thought about the fact that her terrible high school picture was still framed next to the computer that hasn't been turned on in months.

She thought about the fact that her father came up with all of his wonderful ideas in this room and how now it was being treated like he didn't even exist.

She felt sick.

"Clarke."

Her eyes flashed toward her mother's. A look of disbelief and shame was washed over her face. She wondered if hers looked the same.

She stared at her mother once more before she shook her head. The sick feeling making it's way up her throat.

Images of her father kissing her mother and images of her father telling her it would all be alright entered her mind. She could hear his voice clear as day in her ears. The voice that soothed her. The voice that whispered tales into her ears as he painted vivid pictures into her brain.

The voice that she missed most. The voice she dreamed about in late hours of the night.

She brought a hand toward her mouth as she ran away from the room and toward the bathroom. She quickly locked herself in and didn't bother turning the lights on as she emptied her barely full stomach.

When her heaving stopped, she heard soft murmuring and footsteps outside the door. She pushed herself up and against the lining of the tub. She let out a shaky breath and glanced around the completely darkened bathroom. She counted. She wasn't even sure how much time had passed when she reached two hundred and sixty-four.

There was a rattle at the doorknob and then a sigh. "Clarke, come out."

She took another deep breath before she pushed herself up off the floor. Her hands wove themselves into fists as she unlocked the door. Her pulse was racing. Her mother's features moved in surprise at the sight of her.