Chasing Shadows | ✓

Chapter Two

DINNER WAS SILENT.

The only sound that could be heard was the scraping of our knives and forks against the plates. We all sat as though a knife was pressed to our necks, not even daring to breathe too loudly. Across from me sat Victoria,  Father's new wife. To my surprise, she wasn't the evil step-mom from hell. She was a quiet lady, which was why I never understood how she met my father. She and I usually kept our distance from one another, only speaking when it involved father.

Her porcelain skin was ashen, almost anaemic; and a cold sweat glistened on her forehead and her reddened cheeks. She had hair so black against skin so white, it made a contrast that only served to make her look all the more haunting. Her lips that were once rose pink, were now chapped and bleeding. She looked more tired and sick than I had ever seen her.

Father didn't shy away from letting people know how rich he was; the walls were covered with a shimmering gold paper and in the middle of the ceiling, above the carved oak table, was a candelabra. Down the center of the table was a runner with celtic design woven in gold and green into the fabric itself. The polished silver cutlery was heavy to the hand and shone brightly in the under the bright light. At each place stood a tall empty wine glass, and there were folded napkins to match the runner.

I stared down at my plate of food intensely, scared to even lift my head. In hopes of getting to leave sooner if I ate faster, I shovelled down the plate of food until a loud bang echoed around the room. My fork fell from my hand and clattered on the plate when my father's loud voice boomed around me, causing every hair on my neck to stand up once more. 

"Sit up and eat properly! I know you're stupid, but surely I taught you enough to know not to eat like a pig?"

It was hard to hold back my instinctive flinch whenever he spoke. It had taken years of mastering to even keep my face straight and to not crumble under his stare. For any sign of weakness was preyed upon here.

My chapped lips parted to reply, but I didn't lift my head from the table, "Sorry, father."

A lump formed in my throat, but I forced myself to swallow it down and straightened up in my seat. My hands clasped tightly under the table as I constantly fiddled with my knuckles, weaving my fingers in and out of each other. He didn't even try and hide his look of disgust when he released a snort and shook his head in disappointment.

"Pathetic."

Pathetic. How many times had I heard that word being called to me? How many times had I called myself pathetic, even for the smallest thing? Even just breathing wasn't enough for him and I had given up long ago trying to be enough. I scoffed under my breath, but it didn't go amiss from him and his head whipped towards me, flaming.

"What? Think that's fucking funny?"

Without warning, he snatched his glass and threw it in my direction. Immediately, I ducked, raising my hands over my head protectively. Before my brain could even register the sound of breaking glass, my eyes were shut tight and a million new knives fell softly over my exposed skin. 

I was frozen in my seat, my heart hammering inside my chest. When I finally opened my eyes, all that surrounded me was crimson red liquid, oozing out of the small wounds on my arms. Yet, despite the countless slashes on my arms, I didn't feel any of it. A never-ending dark void settled in my chest that consumed everything, so I was left feeling nothing. Nothing seemed to be able to subside the hollowness in my soul that crept along quietly in the shadows.

A day never went by in this household, without the sound of a glass being smashed into a thousand glittering fragments. Even Victoria flinched back in her seat, but managed to keep a composed expression, despite the fear that radiated out from her. She dabbed her napkin at her lips and tried to shrink back in her chair.