Our Unlucky Stars

13

Chapter Thirteen | Warm Milk

"I can't believe you're in a play." Braxton repeated for like the third time since we sat down at the dinner table.

I could only stare at at him with an emotionless expression. He responded with a tight-lip smile, before shaking his head at me and laughing to himself. I broke my stare at him and looked ahead to see my dad and Marissa both smirking to one another in front of me, a playful look playing on their faces.

"I think it's nice that you're participating in a play Asher." Marissa spoke with that soft voice of hers, a even softer smile stretching across her lips as her manicured hand reaches for the wine glass in front of her. I watched as she pressed the glass against her red, matted colored lips.

"Braxton there's nothing wrong with being interested in theater. You should try finding a hobby instead of lounging around the house all day in your underwear eating Doritos." My father said, his deep laugh sounding off throughout the room.

I lowered my head. "It's not a hobby. I'm only participating because Headmistress Reeves is forcing me as punishment." I admitted.

My dad raised a bushy brow at me. "Punishment?" He repeated.

"I kinda got into this little argument in the cafeteria with someone. It's no big deal."

"That was you?" Braxton began, his head shaking in a disappointing manner. "God Ash, you haven't even been home a full month and you're already causing chaos." He laughed.

I looked at my brother with a furrowed brow glare, and he mirrored with a sly smirk of his own. "It wasn't my fault. The dude drenched me with grape soda."

"And he's still alive?" My dad eyed me from across the table, before taking a sip from his wine glass and clearing his throat, sending a knowing stare my way.

I stared down at the pasta down on my plate, twirling it around with the fork in my hand. "He was a nobody. Definitely not worth it." 

Liam Claremont definitely wasn't a nobody, but I knew if I even mentioned his name my father wouldn't let me hear the end of it. Stay away from that bratty Claremont boy, I don't need him getting you in any trouble this year blah blah blah. I've heard it way too many times in the past, and truthfully I can live without hearing again.

If there was anyone that had a hatred worse than me for the Claremont family it was definitely my dad. Him and the Claremont have been at each other throats for the past three decades, ever since they got my grandfather sent to life in prison over that false accusation. The Claremont's lied through their teeth and even paid off the police and judge, resulting in my dad having to take over our family's company at such a young age. It was tough task but he managed and saved our family's entire legacy from going bankrupt.

I guess that's why Pierre Claremont and his family has such a resentment towards my own. They wouldn't know authentic success if it slapped them across the face.

••••

After diner, everyone had washed up and went to bed, I was still up in my room. It was midnight and I was in my bed staring up at the ceiling. It was one of those nights. The kind of nights where I tossed and turned but just couldn't find the right position. A lingering haze of sleep sat somewhere at the back of my mind but was too far away to reach, floating in the pool of my memories. Icy discomfort blossomed in my chest and made it difficult for me to breathe. Trying to make myself fall into a deep slumber, I took as many deep breaths as I could, but many just caught in my throat, like an icy wind had blown down there and managed to freeze the air solid. At that moment, I knew this was going to be a long night.

I pulled my sheets off me and decided to head downstairs. Hopefully some warm milk will help me fight the insomnia. Making my way downstairs, I could hear someone downstairs in the kitchen talking. I peered around the corner to see my dad leaning against the granite island on the phone.

"What time are they planning on bringing the stuff to the company?" He tucked the phone in the crease of his neck as he walked around the island. That's when I noticed the loads of money that laid sprawled across it along with brick shaped sacks filled with a white substance. I didn't have to get a closer look to figure out what it was. I knew it all too well.

"Around nine? That's good. I'll have the basement to the company open by then and you can just put the stuff in there." I watched as my dad picked up a stack of hundreds, gently flicking through the bills with his index finger.

It's like I could smell the drug seeping through the plastic it was wrapped in, and once the awful scent found its way into my nostrils I'm hit with unpleasant memories of my childhood. I thought my dad had cut his ties with those people a long time ago, but I guess some things just don't change. They never will.

Exhaling a sigh, I turned around and make my way upstairs. I didn't want the milk anymore.

I fell onto my bed like I was lifeless. My face landed on my pillows, and after a moment I started to feel a warmth wetness to them. The tears flowed unchecked down my cheeks and dripped from my chin. I'm crying, and yet I don't know why. Maybe it's because my dad is still doing the same bullshit he promised me a long time ago that he knows I hate. Maybe it's because seeing that dirty money just really makes miss my mom. I honestly don't know why the tears are coming from my eyes, but I'm too sad to wipe them. I'm too sad to cry out or wail, I just laid there as still as a statue while the magnitude of my sadness swept over me.

I turn over to see the framed photo on my nightstand staring back at me. It's a depressing photo taken over a decade ago at one of my mother's parties. I was really young then. Braxton and Clover weren't even thought of. However, oddly enough I remember the parties better than anything else. Maybe because they're the only fond memories I have of my past.

Those parties, they were really something. There were skits and magic acts, and chocolate fountains, and the big finale was always a dance my mother did. She had this beautiful dress that she only brought out for these parties, and she'd put on this amazing show. It was so beautiful and sad.

Dad hated the parties. He'd lock himself in the study, and bang on the walls for us to keep it down, but he always came out to see Mom sing. He'd linger in the doorway, scotch in hand, and watch in awe, as this beautiful woman he married took became the brightest star in the room. And as a child, I was always aware that this moment of grace, it meant something. We understood each other in a way. Me and my mom and my dad, as screwed up as we all were, we did understand each other.

My mother, she knew what it's like to feel your entire life like you're drowning, with the exception of these moments, these very rare, brief instances, in which you suddenly remember you can swim.

But then again, mostly not. Mostly you're drowning. She understood that, too. And she recognized that I understood it, and dad as well. All three of us were drowning, and we didn't know how to save each other, but there was still an understanding that we were all drowning together.

••••
Excuse any mistakes or errors

Such a short and sad chapter. I really feel for Asher, like he's really been through it.