On the Verge ~ (Seth Clearwater Imprinting Story)

Chapter 4: (Violet's POV)

I woke up to the sound of my alarm clock, screaming at me that it was five o’clock on a Monday morning and reminding me that Max was home. The pain twinging in my hand was another reminder of what happened at the liquor store.

I got ready quickly, tucked the photograph in my pocket, and hurried downstairs to make breakfast.

I made bacon and eggs with toast and croissants. I put on a fresh pot of black coffee and set up the table.

When I was done, I sat at the table, examining the photograph.

I felt pain and simplicity. The pain of knowing my mother was gone forever and the simplicity of knowing the memory of her was still alive.

Heavy footsteps sounded down the steps as I quickly stuffed the photograph into my pocket.

Max emerged from the foyer and slumped at the table. He looked at me with judgmental, hazel eyes.

He had a sort of permanent sadness to them. “Violet,” he nodded towards me.

“Hi Dad” I replied. He looked at the spread in front of him. “I made you breakfast” I said weakly.

“You do everyday” he replied as he dug in.

Whenever Max had one of his drunken nights, we never mentioned it the next day. This was the ‘sober Max’ I preferred.

He was more calm and collected than the violent one I hate.

I treasured the time I had with the ‘sober Max’ knowing that by the afternoon he would change.

It was strange how Max acted these days. On weekends he would be as drunk as a sailor. Weekdays were different. It was like he turned his life around. He worked at an office, taking care of the bills of the diner and such; things a businessman would do. He worked like the weekend never happened, coming home and retreating immediately to his den.  

On weekdays I could go anywhere I wanted, if I came home late, Max wouldn’t mind.

He doesn’t see me anymore; I don’t think I’m a part of his world.

But on the weekends, I went home as early as I could and waited for Max to come home.

He ate in silence, as we sat at the table. Finally, he cleared his throat. “How’s your hand?” he asked.

I flexed my fingers. “Its fine” I replied.

We both looked at each other, neither of us wanting to remember yesterday. He cleared his throat again. “I have to get to work, there’s a lot of paper work to do” he said as he excused himself from the table.

“Okay” I said as I watched him disappear upstairs to get ready.

I sat by myself, trying to collect my thoughts; before getting on my way to the diner.

The sun was just breaking across the sky as I unlocked the door and turned the sign for the diner to ‘open.’

When Jimmy came through the door and barked orders at me, for once I didn’t feel like hitting him across the face. His greasy glares and remarks didn’t touch me, I felt blank all day; like I always do after the weekend. Every Monday was my time to recover from whatever Max had done on the weekend.

People came and went in the diner, I felt like I was standing still in time, while everyone else was going at full speed in their own lives.

Jimmy put me on cash register, so I leaned on the counter and stared blankly into space. My head was hurting from all the noise. I didn’t feel like being around people on Mondays.