Page 8 of Ricochet
He refused to call them by their names. For him, they were just that, boys. I guess I should’ve felt happy because he called me by my name, even if it wasn’t the one I wanted him to use.
But happiness wasn’t what I felt every time he called for me.
It only meant that he owned me, body and soul. After the tenth person he brought to me, I stopped counting the number of people I killed in his name. I stopped counting the number of people on which I imagined my father’s face instead of theirs.
“I’m coming, Papa.”
I dreaded seeing anybody tonight, but I needed answers. I pulled a small dagger Father gave me and put it inside the small black bag I decided to take with me tonight. I tried to cover the dark circles around my eyes, but it was futile trying to cover the despair I was feeling. You could see it in my eyes. You could hear it in my voice.
My chestnut brown hair cascaded below my shoulders in waves, and with the tight black dress enveloping my body and boots of the same color, I would fit in better at a funeral, than at a family dinner.
Though, knowing what I knew now, our family dinners might just turn into one.
I walked down the staircase leading to the foyer and saw my mother sitting with her legs crossed on one of the sofa chairs, a faraway look on her face. I didn’t know how I never noticed it, or maybe I just wasn’t paying attention, but my beloved mother was an addict. All those times when I thought she was in a bad mood, she was just coming down from her latest high. Even now I could see she was on something.
It didn’t matter if it was drugs or alcohol, or maybe even both, she was too far gone for me to help her. Besides, how could I help somebody who didn’t want my help. How could I stop her from destroying herself when my father was the one supplying her with everything? I guess it made her more compliant, quiet and invisible.
I honestly couldn’t even blame her.
We all had our ways of coping with reality, and if this was hers, who was I to stop her. After all, this whole circus we called life, was enough to drive me to the brink of insanity. How did she feel being in all of this for most of her life?
I just couldn’t understand one thing. My father loved her. My God, that was the only thing that man was truly honest about. I could see the way he looked at her, the way he listened to her even when what she was spewing was complete and utter nonsense.
Then why did he keep feeding her that shit?
“You look lovely.” The Devil in disguise walked in just as I reached the ground. His eyes scanned over me, and with a satisfied nod, he finally smiled at me. “Just likechernaya vdova.”
A fucking black widow.
I shuddered from the attention directed to me and turned around just as he bent down to kiss my mother. She giggled at something he said, and for a moment, I could imagine us as a perfectly normal family.
Parents with their daughter, going to dinner at their friend’s house. I would talk about school and my plans for college with my mom. My dad would be interested in my extracurricular activities, and I would have a close relationship with my siblings.
But none of that would ever be true.
“Thank you, Papa.”
Thank you for the shadows in my eyes.
My mother kept gazing at my father as if he put the stars in the sky, as if I wasn’t standing in front of her. Why did I still hold hope that one day she would wake up from the world she drugged herself into and see what was happening around her? Maybe because she was my mom. She was supposed to protect me from this, because if she wouldn’t, who would?
I should’ve been feeling warm, it was summer after all, but the mere thought of tonight’s dinner kept sending shivers along my skin. I talked the talk, but I wasn’t so sure I would be able to walk the walk and ask Kieran everything I needed to know.
Fuck it.
I just tortured a grown-ass man yesterday, and now I was afraid of a conversation between me and somebody I’ve known for most of my life.Grow a backbone, Ophelia.
“Papa, Mama,” I started, stopping them from mauling each other in front of me. “It’s already eight o’clock. Shall we?”
Did I deliberately stop their little ménage a deux? Of course, I did. I didn’t want to see my parents going at it right in front of my eyes. When my father looked at me, that fear I felt lately whenever he was around started crawling up my spine, seeping into my bones, and I expected him to reprimand me.
Another hit meant nothing to him. Another degradation was but a ‘good morning’ for him.
I straightened my shoulders, but when his hand connected with my cheek, pain never followed. In its place was a feathery touch to my face and a look in his eyes I couldn’t decipher.
He almost looked proud.
With a smile I rarely saw, he walked toward the door, opening it for both of us. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe I would be able to forget who we were and just enjoy dinner.
