Selena
The house hums with the sound of breakfast preparation; dishes clattering, and the sizzling of eggs. Clara's laughter drifted up to my room from the kitchen. I rolled my eyes, the familiar ache of loneliness settling in again.
After the nightmare that tore me from sleep earlier, I couldn't bring myself to lie back down. So, I grabbed a book, hoping it might distract me.
But as I glanced around the room, a wave of frustration hit me.
My room is the smallest in the house, converted from a storage closet into something that barely qualifies as a bedroom. I decorated it myself: bookshelves line one wall, and the other holds a table overflowing with books of all kinds. It's a mess, but it's mine.
I do have a window, though, one that lets in the soft morning light and overlooks the garden in the back of the house. It's the only thing that feels like a small comfort, yet I know it was no accident. My stepfather gave me the storage room on purpose; a way to make sure I'm out of sight, out of mind. But at least here, I have my books, my escape.
I sat on the bed, staring blankly at the pages, but my mind drifted. I was not even reading anymore, but I was too drained to try something else.
Then a knock at the door broke the silence.
"You have to come down, Selena," the voice familiar voice called out, "Breakfast is served."
"Coming right down," I replied, forcing some enthusiasm I didn't feel.
Sitting in this room is torture enough. But sitting at that dining table with my family? That's another kind of pain. "At least I don't have to cook," I muttered to myself as I stood, my feet dragging.
Just as I reached for the door, my phone buzzed on the nightstand. I walked back to check it and saw a message from Ella. She asked if we were still meeting up at the city library today. I quickly typed back a reply and made my way downstairs.
When I entered the dining room, Clara was already seated, talking animatedly with Victor. My stepfather sat at the head of the table, his usual stern expression softened by Clara's chatter. My mother sat across from him, but Clara, of course, had taken the seat next to her. The seat that's meant for me.
I was not surprised. I know exactly what she's doing—and it pissed me off.
I approached the table, my mother's smile meeting me as I took my seat two places away from Victor. It was a deliberate choice; I know he hated it when I sat too close. Annoying him first thing in the morning would be a bad idea.
"Hope you slept well, sweetheart?" she asked, passing me the bowl of salad.
"I did," I said, forcing a smile. "Good morning, Victor."
Victor barely looked up from his newspaper. "Why were you upstairs?"
Silence hung in the air. His eyes did not leave the paper as he spoke, and I noticed his untouched coffee.
"Studying," I replied, swallowing hard. I wished it were a school day, anything to escape the tension in this house, even if only for a few hours. Victor insisted it was better for me to stay home and go to school rather than live on campus. "Saves costs," he said.
But when it was Clara's turn, she was given an apartment of her own and she only came home on weekends, claiming she missed her father.
The silence was unbearable. Clara, halfway through her meal, blurted out, "Daddy, how's the company going?" she asked.
It took a beat for Victor to register the question. He lowered the paper and met her eyes.
"That's what I'm reading about," he muttered. "The country's in a recession. It's hitting every business."
"I'm sure you'll weather the storm," my mother said, reaching for his hand.
He pulled away, his voice rough. "Of course we will." He folded the paper, cutting the conversation short.
I continued eating, keeping my head down, but my attention drifted back to Victor. He stared into his coffee cup, avoiding my mother's gaze. I could tell he was trying to say something but didn't know how to start. His eyes flickered up, meeting mine for a brief moment before he slurped his coffee as if nothing was wrong.
But I felt it. The tension between us was thick and suffocating. I kept my gaze on him, wondering what he was holding back.
He gloated. "What are you looking at?" "Aren't you supposed to be somewhere studying, huh?"
Just then, my phone rang, I quickly stood up to take it out of my pocket, "I'm sorry," apologizing for the interruption. Looking at the screen, it was Ella calling. I quietly moved the chair back, glad for the excuse to escape the table.
"I have to take this," I said, looking at my mom and ignoring Robert.
My mother nodded, and I rushed to the stairs, heading straight for my room. The call disconnected before I could even reach the door, so I dialed Ella back.
"This better be good," I said, slamming the door shut behind me.
"You better get down here now," Ella whispered urgently. I could hear voices in the background.
"Are you at the library?" I asked, trying to make sense of it.
"I'm outside. Please hurry, I'll explain when you get here," she replied, her tone tense.
I took a deep breath as I hung up and tried to clear my head. I wasn't sure what was going on, but Ella sounded desperate. Something wasn't right.
I quickly changed into straight-leg jeans and a blue cardigan, then grabbed a few things for my backpack and I was out the door in no time.
I paused, glancing back at my room. For the first time in a while, I was glad to be leaving it behind, even if just for today.
I rushed downstairs, catching a glimpse of Robert in the living room, still absorbed in his newspaper. As I moved toward the door, his voice stopped me.
"Where are you off to?" he asked.
I scanned the room, making sure he was talking to me. "To work," I replied.
"Well, work can wait," he said, folding the newspaper and turning to face me. "There's something I need to discuss with you."
I lied, my voice steady, "I'd be late for work."
I could feel the weight of his gaze as I spoke. My shift wasn't until the afternoon, but I had to get out of this conversation. Not only did I live at home, but I also worked part-time at a nearby café to support myself even though my stepfather owned a company.
I knew this was all part of his control, his way of reminding me I wasn't wanted. But I didn't care anymore. Whatever made him feel better.
He relaxed back in his seat, eyes narrowing, still studying me. "Then I suppose when you come back, we can talk."
I nodded, my stomach twisting. I stormed down the hallway, relieved to escape, even if just for a moment.
As I reached the garage, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd just avoided a conversation I wasn't ready for.
I slid into my car and was about to drive off when my phone buzzed. A text from my mom; Remember we need to talk.
My heart skipped. My mother had said the same thing last night at midnight.
I wasn't sure I was ready for this conversation either.