by Darci Darson
Imperfect
By
Darci Darson
The Legend of The Seven Flowers Book#2
A Yasmeen Devita Novella
Copyright © 2015 by Darci Darson
Edited by Lena M.
Cover Design by James, GoOnWrite.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
“When love is not madness it is not love.”- Pedro Calderόn de la Barca
Chapter 1
There was one word perfectly describing her childhood... creepy.
Yasmeen sat at the kitchen table, observing her parents. Anyone would have said that they looked normal but in fact, this was not true. Her mum was wiping the kitchen worktop, her eyes circled with dark horseshoes. Her petite figure floated through the space between the cupboards as if she was an ageless and beautiful ghost. She looked like a teenager, even though she had just turned forty-four.
“Will you pick her up, Imre?” Yasmeen’s mum asked and sent her husband a tired yet happy smile.
“Don’t worry, Birdie. I have everything under control. Just go to bed. You look knackered,” Imre said. His voice was gentle but his eyes seemed concerned. He was emptying the dishwasher. He looked much older than Yasmeen’s mum, a man in his forties. His love for good food slightly shaped his body, but his mischievous and boyish glance could still attract women of all ages. “I will clean up the kitchen. Go have a rest.”
Yasmeen had heard her mum waking up at midnight, screaming, for the third time in the last month. She had also heard her dad calming his wife, and rushing to the kitchen downstairs to collect the herbal tincture with some relaxing properties. Yasmeen had always admired how gentle her dad had been with her mum. His ‘Cherry, Honey, it’s gone,’ had been like an anchor to a safe haven for her mum. He ran the B&B from April till October and looked after the garden. He looked after his daughter, wife and Madison, his mother-in-law, whereas Cherry’s occupation was to struggle with her insomnia and nightmares.
“I’m fine,” Cherry said. Her face was pale but her smile seemed to radiate with warmth, full of love.
Yasmeen moved on her chair, her fancy dress ruffling with a quiet noise. She had chosen to be a vampiress for Halloween this year. Her gown descended to the floor and it covered her slim arms with black, net sleeves. The burgundy bodice exposed her slender waist whilst the vampire collar enhanced the charm of her hyacinth eyes. She looked in the small, bobble stand mirror and added more foundation to conceal the scar crossing the side of her face, about seven centimetres long. The very thin thread-like mark stretched across her skin from her forehead, through her eye and down to her cheek, forming an angle, slightly darker than the porcelain of her face. She had always had it, a nasty flaw distorting the perfection of her unusual glance. Whenever she asked her mum about it, Cherry’s eyes became imperceptive and she swam away somewhere in her head, falling silent.
Yasmeen lowered her head to take another closer look at her face and, at the same time, from the corner of her eye caught a glimpse of Imre leaning over Cherry and kissing her neck just below the ear. There was something else, like a flash of pearly light. Yasmeen blinked a few times, wondering whether her sight had not been strained too much from staring at the mirror. Just like every child’s nightmare, her parents were horrible and sweet, taking every opportunity to kiss and hug.
“You look beautiful,” Cherry said to Yasmeen. “Nice hairdo.”
“Thanks, Mum,” Yasmeen responded and primped her curly, chocolate brown hair styled into an artistic, messy bun, whilst at the same time moving away a plate with dry, wild rose blossoms dispersing a distinctive and slightly spicy odour. Her mum was exhausted, but Cherry had always tried her best to be nice and loving for her family. Yasmeen touched her scar again.
“Kate asked me about the scar yesterday and I didn’t know what to answer.”
“You were born with it,” Cherry replied and her voice faltered. She looked as if she wanted to escape, like a small girl with shaking hands.
“So what happened? Kate said it did not look like a congenital lesion,” Yasmeen insisted. The irritation inside her awoke and started to bubble.
“Nothing, Honey. You were just born with it,” Cherry said. Her face clouded and her jaw muscles twitched.
“Mum, why are you like this? I can see you are hiding something, again! Like everybody in our weird family...” Yasmeen raised her hands in a gesture of frustration.
“Have a nice time, Yasmeen. I’m going to bed,” Cherry whispered and started biting her nails.
“Whatever,” Yasmeen murmured as she watched her mum disappearing up the wide, white staircase. She hated these confrontations. Cherry had perfected the art of evading her uncomfortable questions so well that it always drove her mad with frustration.
Picking up on the rift growing between the two of them, her dad attempted to intervene.
“Your mum is not well,” Imre said and sighed.
“She has never been well. Why is she not taking any medication for her insomnia, like a normal person? She is just drinking this witchy stuff that the blonde woman left. What was she called again? Felicia?”
“Felicia Reese. I told you she had been the previous owner of Westfad Manor.”
“This still doesn’t explain why you and Mum put flowers in front of her picture every month. You don’t talk about her at all. You don’t want to talk about anything,” complained Yasmeen.
“She was our friend,” Imre said. His voice was toneless.
Yasmeen’s phone vibrated and she saw the message on the screen. Kate was waiting in the car in front of their house. Yasmeen started from her chair and moved towards the hallway.
“Be a good girl!” Imre said.
“Dad, I’m eighteen! I’m responsible.”
“Call me when you want me to pick you up.”
“Ok, thanks. See you later!” Yasmeen walked through the hallway, her high heels clicking on the parquet, black and red floor. She reached the wide, navy door and pulled the door handle. The door creaked as if it was tortured. Yasmeen sneaked through a narrow space. As soon as she slammed the door shut behind her, she heard the loud music coming from the car parked nearby. The music disturbed the peace of the cold, autumn night and the stars twinkled as though they were unhappy about their eternal calm being interrupted. Yasmeen rushed towards the vehicle and settled herself in the back seat, the smell of untidy interior hitting her nostrils with a hint of old food and dirty upholstery.
“Hi!” Yasmeen murmured to two people occupying the front seats as the music ceased.
“Another argument with your parents?” a red haired girl wearing a witch costume asked as the girls met glances. “You look like a storm cloud. By the way, this is my brother, Tom.”
Yasmeen extended her arm, reachi
ng for the red-haired boy’s hand and pumped it once, her lips curling into a polite smile.
“Nice to meet you, Tom,” she whispered. “I’m Yasmeen.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” the boy said, his voice was hoarse and shy. He started the engine and they shot into the darkness with the repeated rasp of gears.
“Kate, do you think my parents are weird?” Yasmeen asked, her voice slightly faltering. The feeling of being defeated had overwhelmed her.
“Yeah...a little,” Kate answered. “My mum wants your mum to advise her on a good moisturiser. Your mum is such a good looking woman. She could have been your younger sister, you know. Is she even your real mum?”
“Of course, she is. I have her eyes,” Yasmeen said, far too loud. Her hands elevated dramatically in a gesture of frustration. Everybody asked about Cherry’s beauty secrets as well as doubting Yasmeen and her mum’s kinship.
“Sorry, Yasmeen, I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just people talk about your mum and that woman who owned the B&B before you,” Kate murmured as if ashamed. “That woman was weird and tragic like the rest of her ancestors who lived at Wesftad Manor for generations.”
Yasmeen’s heart pounded. Kate had meant Felicia Reese. Westfad Manor was like a mausoleum full of the memories of Felicia, her daughter and husband. Cherry had not allowed anyone to get rid of the woman’s photos and herbal tinctures and Yasmeen had had to glance at the photos every day since they had moved in three years ago. Felicia’s face was on every wall in the house.
Yasmeen wanted to question Kate more, but she physically could not. Grandpa Drasa had forbidden this, as well as mentioning to other people that four years ago she had lived in Westfad Manor and she had only been five years old then. They had moved out after three months to the 1980s after her mum had come back home one night with Imre wounded and barely breathing. Yasmeen could not share with others a lot more things, like when she contracted meningitis at the age of twelve, she had seen an angel speaking with the voice of her mum. Or like those creepy yet funny nights when her grandpa Drasa had taken her to the playground where they had played and laughed and the swings had creaked like those in horror movies. She wanted to tell Kate about her creepy childhood, but she was blocked as if a strange force in her head kept her free will on a leash. She constantly found that she kept forgetting things as well. She had the impression that she had been asking the same questions to her parents over and over again, for years.
She regarded herself as a creepy freak. And people did not want to have anything in common with freaks. Thankfully, she had befriended Kate, the red-haired girl who pulled her life towards normalcy.
Chapter 2
The house was filled with a hot and smelly mass of people talking, stumbling and kissing. Cigarette smoke, the odour of spilled alcohol and sweat merged with loud and sharp music, filling every centimetre of the space. As Yasmeen walked in, she was engulfed by the sizzling blend of pheromones that oscillated rhythmically and almost tingled like an electric current. She could see beer bottles strewn all around on the carpeted floor, the light swinging to and fro, as somebody nudged the light green, paper lampshade.
She hesitated for a second, then sank into the loud and scary crowd of all sorts of monsters that vibrated and waved like the strap-like, long fronds of seaweed at the bottom of the ocean. She advanced towards the lounge, promising herself to have fun, find a boyfriend, or do something else regarded as normal.
Yasmeen felt the cool shape of a plastic cup in her palm which had been handed to her by Kate. She nodded to the red haired girl and watched her hugging another blonde haired girl wearing an angel costume. It was Gwen Merrick, the organiser of the party as her parents had gone to Crete for a holiday a few days earlier.
Yasmeen had never liked Gwen. In fact, the aversion was mutual yet silent and concealed. Gwen somehow believed that she was losing her best friend, Kate, to Yasmeen, which was ridiculous as Cherry’s daughter had no intention of possessing other people.
Yasmeen had met Kate two years ago on the school bus, but they only become friends when they started at the same University in Extbrook, having travelled by train daily as Greydalk was only twenty miles from the city.
“Hi, Gwen!” Yasmeen shouted. “Thanks for inviting me!”
A cold grimace crossed Gwen’s face, making her look as if she was about to be sick.
“You are welcome. Kate’s friends are my friends, too,” Gwen shouted back with a cool politeness.
Yasmeen felt a stab in her heart. It had been Kate’s idea to persuade Gwen to invite her to the party. Yasmeen wondered how Kate had managed to convince Gwen to invite them both.
Yasmeen brought her cup to her mouth and took a small sip. It burned her throat and tasted like soap; it must have been some whiskey and probably not too expensive. She had not wanted to come but Kate had nagged her for a month.
Suddenly, Yasmeen realised that she was on her own. She felt a rush of uncertainty in her chest. She emptied her cup, the disgusting taste making her feel sick. She moved towards the kitchen and then elbowed through a load of six sticky and soft bodies into the back garden. The air was cool but also refreshing there and the music did not hurt her ears anymore.
“Not enjoying the party?” That was Gwen’s voice coming from behind Yasmeen’s back.
Yasmeen shivered and turned back to face the blonde, her heart pounding as if she were taking an important exam.
“I needed some fresh air,” she said, trying to remain calm. “The party is great. Thank you once more. Where’s Kate?”
“She saw her boyfriend and they went upstairs. Nice costume by the way.”
“Thank you, Gwen,” Yasmeen said and felt confused. Gwen had never talked to her apart from saying a cold ‘Hi’ or ‘How are you’. Something was wrong.
“You should not have concealed your scar,” Gwen added. Her voice was cold and jabbed with perfect precision.”It would have been a great addition to your costume,” she added with murderous sarcasm.
Yasmeen balled up her fists as her eyes welled up with tears. She could not bring herself to react. Her speech was non-existent.
“Have a nice time, Yasmeen,” Gwen said as she disappeared inside the house. Her eyes were filled with a mad triumph as her lips curved with cold arrogance.
Yasmeen dag into her small bag with sweaty and shaking hands whilst her inner soul flamed in the fire of humiliation. She took out her phone and texted ‘going home’ to Kate, then dialled Imre’s number.
“Dad, can you pick me up now. Yes, from Gwen Merrick’s house. 66 Amber Close, Extbrook,” she said. Her voice was quaked in time with her trembling body.
“Everything ok?” her dad’s voice asked. He sounded concerned.
“I’m fine, it’s just a headache. You know... too many people. I just want to go to bed,” Yasmeen lied.
“Ok, half an hour.”
“I will be waiting in front of the house. See you!” Yasmeen put her phone back into her bag. She felt a wave of panic surging through her body. What would she do for half an hour? She did not want to go back inside. She wanted to leave as soon as possible. Kate would be occupied with her boyfriend till midnight, at least and Gwen clearly disapproved Yasmeen’s presence at the party. This was a disaster, a real, terrible disaster. Yasmeen rushed towards the wide space between Gwen’s house and a high boxwood fence and, as her heels sunk into the gravel bordered by a cobblestone curb, her mouth exhaled small clouds of vapour. She was cold and her hands trembled.
She reached a small, stone wall in front of the house and sat down, checking the time on her phone. There were twenty- five minutes of waiting time left. She thought that she should have worn her coat. The party had been a catastrophe, like everything else in her life. There had been no normalcy, no stability and no honesty from other people. There was a constant feeling of unspoken secrets in her own family and she wanted to be normal... and without her nasty scar.
When her dad arrived, she was shaking, her teeth chat
tering together. The cold penetrated to the very marrow of her bones as her chin trembled. She jumped into the passenger seat and fastened her seatbelt. She rubbed her hands together briskly.
“Gwen laughed at my scar,” she said and wept. “She is awful!”
“Did you knock her teeth out?” Imre asked slightly agitated and with true worry in his voice.
“Dad, you can’t knock people’s teeth out when they are rude to you,” Yasmeen said and smiled timidly. She felt a little bit better. It was as if her soul was lighter and warmer even though her muscles contracted and expanded in uncontrollable waves. She had survived the humiliation and the cold; life could have been much worse.
The car started slowly and they headed towards the main road.
“Ask Drasa to compel her then,” Imre murmured to himself and paused. “Never mind.”
Yasmeen sensed his hesitation. It was as though he had said too much and wanted to rewind the sentence.
“Dad, what do you mean to compel?” she asked curiously, determined to get the answer.
“Nothing, don’t bother. I’m old and my head is rusty. Granny Madison is coming tomorrow. Looking forward to seeing her?”
“Dad! I hate when you and mum do this!” Yasmeen shouted. “All the time lies, lies and lies. You, Mum, Grandpa, you all lie all the time. I’m fed up of all of you and my weird life! And I think Granny Madison is fed up with your secrets as well!”
Imre turned his head towards her. The car moved on the deserted and dark road, with vast areas of fields spreading on both sides. They were covered by darkness, sleeping and still in the blooming, cloudy night. Yasmeen glanced at the black shapes of trees emerging from the navy murkiness as if they were alive, threatening from the far distance. The road lamps created a spooky atmosphere inside the car.
“We want you to be safe,” Imre muttered, irritated and clearly not happy with the direction of the conversation.
“Bullshit,” she yelled. She felt her anger bubbling inside her. It grew and sought fulfilment as it had grown for years, restrained and concealed, waiting to be released. Yasmeen grabbed her bag and threw it towards the front windshield, then faced her father with a burning rage tightening her throat and tried to open the door from her side. Imre’s eyes locked onto hers. The girl realised that his gaze had never been so cold and angry. She cringed, sinking lower and lower into her seat as she saw a disturbing and eerie flicker in his glance. It was as if Imre had turned into a different person, somebody who was much more than her funny and supportive father. He looked like a dangerous stranger.