by Nicole Thorn
The two of them got to talking, and Mum mentioned a carpet stain that we found in the house. Juniper happened to know some kind of magical cure for it, and then the two of them vanished into the kitchen together. The seer stole my mother . . .
Left with the rest of these people, I just sat down and waited for her to come back. No one seemed especially happy with me after the licking thing, so I didn’t get anyone looking in my direction. Well . . . I might as well just go home. Jasper needed rest, Juniper stole my mum, and Aunt Kizzy ate the rest of the sweets.
Without a word, I got up and headed out the door. No one followed me, and I much preferred it that way.
CHAPTER NINE:
Suffocating
Juniper
Jasper and Kizzy stepped into the kitchen. He had his car keys in his hand. They smiled at each other and talked quietly. The two of them left the house without saying anything, but I knew they headed to the store. It was still Jasper’s chore, after all. I turned back to the sink, dunking the pan into the soapy water again.
From upstairs, Jasmine and Zander started laughing. I heard the sound of their feet on the stairs, and then the front door closing. A glance at the clock told me it was after eleven. They probably went off to have lunch, since the two of them always seemed to be hungry, and we had no food the house.
I finished with the pan, and put it in the cabinet after drying it off and unplugging the sink. Then I washed the soap suds down the drain, until all that only flawless stainless steel remained. I liked that word. Stainless. A lie, sure, but I still enjoyed the word more than a twenty-one-year-old should have. When I felt satisfied with the state of my kitchen, I stepped back, and peered out the window.
A dozen or so big pots sat out in the backyard. I had placed them carefully so that they looked nice, but Kizzy filled them with flowers. All sorts, most of which didn’t occur naturally. They looked pretty and unique, and I hated them a little bit. The house had been filled with smaller pots too. I could handle it because I had decided where to put everything, but it still made the space between my shoulder blades itch. It shouldn’t have bothered me.
It bothered me.
Sighing, I folded my rag neatly, and dropped it onto the drying handle on the cabinet underneath the sink. Then I changed my mind, and moved it to the laundry basket just inside the door, and grabbed a dry one. I folded that one just as neatly, and draped it across the handle. I debated whether or not I needed to clean the handle, and get a third towel when the doorbell rang.
Saving me from myself, really.
I rushed off to answer it, breathing a sigh of relief . . . Right up until the door opened. Then I wanted to throw a tantrum and kick something until it stopped moving. I glared at Verin, who looked so casual standing there in his wrinkled clothes that he probably wore yesterday, and his messed-up hair. “What are you doing here?” I asked.
He returned my glare without a moment’s pause, and lifted up a dish. “Mum made you all a casserole.”
My eyes narrowed. “Why are you bringing it over then? She could have dropped it off. I like her.” I didn’t bother hiding the snide tone in my voice. I still didn’t know why I acted so hostile with Verin, but I saw no point in trying something else.
“She took a nap,” Verin said. He pushed the casserole at me, and I caught it on pure instinct. Then I stood there, holding a warm dish with a demigod in my doorway, glaring at me while I glared at him. Sighing heavily, I stepped back. “Would you like to come in?” I sounded sour, even to myself.
“With that warm welcome, how could I refuse?” he asked, but barged right into my house anyway. I closed the door behind him. I couldn’t boot him out after asking him to come in, now could I?
Could I? No, no. That would be rude, and my sister would try to skin me alive if she hears about it.
Verin had started petting Nemo when I brushed past him, to put the casserole in the fridge. It smelled odd, and I didn’t know what kind of casserole it could’ve possibly been. We also didn’t really eat such things, but I didn’t worry about. If Zander got hungry enough, he would take a chunk out of my couch. The image made my stomach cramp while also making me smile.
“What’s so funny?” Verin asked from behind me.
I jumped, almost dropping the dish in my hands. I clung to it desperately, and snapped at him. “Nothing.”
He scowled, and flopped into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. “Why are you angry with me now?” he asked.
“Well, you’re in a fine mood,” I said, closing the fridge. I stood there, fidgeting, and trying not to look like it. “What crawled up your ass and died?” My scowl matched his.
He lifted a lip in irritation. “Little hypocritical of you to say that, isn’t it?”
“Don’t even start with me,” I said. I needed to do something, or I’d probably slam his head into the table until he lost that petulant look on his face. His eyes followed me as I filled the teakettle and set it on the stove. “Would you like some?” I asked, opening up the cabinet, and looking at all the cups. My stomach settled, and I felt a little saner than I had a moment before.
“Sure,” he said sourly.
Two cups came down. He continued watching me move as I grabbed the tea bags from their little box in the cabinet above the stove. Making sure he couldn’t see what I did, I fixed all the bags so that they sat in neat, even rows after I took two of them out for our purposes.
The kettle whistled, and I removed it, pouring steaming water into the cups. I plopped the bags in, and handed him one. If he wanted sugar or cream, then he’d have to ask for it.
He didn’t. He dunked the bag twice, and then removed it. My heart almost stopped when it looked like he would set it on the table. Moving faster than I should have, I snatched his wrist, and grabbed the bag. I smiled when he looked at me. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of that.”
Way to act normal, Juniper. I should crawl into a hole, and just stay there for a little while. Like until Verin forgot about me, and my siblings assumed I died. They would let the house go to waste, rearranging everything and moving things. I stopped the train of thought before true panic could set in about this fictional world, with fictional scenarios. Breathe, I told myself, breathe.
“Where is everybody?” Verin asked as I sat back down.
“Out,” I said. “Store and lunch, respectively. If you want to leave, then I fully understand.” I sipped my tea, and waited for him to stand up and leave. When he didn’t, it took all the meager self-control I had not to snap at him to get the fuck out of my house. It wouldn’t have been fair to him, and I really needed to stop doing that.
Pissing off a demigod sounded stupid. Even if I didn’t know what Hades’ children could do, other than annoy me into homicide.
The doorbell rang again. I set my cup down, and rose. “That better not be Celeste,” I said for the sake of saying something. “Although, you would probably love to see her again, wouldn’t you?” The words popped out of my mouth before I could stop them, and I hated myself a little.
Verin stared at me with an odd expression on his face. “I’d rather stick a pen in my eye,” he said.
I scurried away before I could embarrass myself even more. Then I thought about his reply. While on one hand, it didn’t surprise me that he had gotten tired of Celeste already. She was exhausting to be around, even before you figured out she did and said everything to elicit certain responses. By the time she and Jasper broke up, Jasmine and I would run upstairs and duck into my room whenever she came around. So that we could talk bad about her, of course.
But hadn’t Verin slept with her? She had been coming out of his house pretty early in the morning, and he had said all those disgusting things. Maybe I read too much into it. Maybe I should’ve stopped wondering if the guy I hardly cared about slept with some random woman. Especially that woman. Someone who knew how to get what they wanted, through any means necessary.
I shook my head, setting all of that aside. It didn’
t fucking matter. Jasper’s opinion on Celeste being back in town had been a scowl and an exhausted sigh, while Kizzy just smiled and said that she would take care of it. So, if they didn’t care, why should I have cared?
I pulled the door open, and blinked at the man standing on the other side. Since Jasper had been eating better lately, his resemblance to this man had been getting stronger. They stood at exactly the same height, for one thing. Which meant that he stood several inches taller than me. He also looked bulky with muscle, and it had always made me feel small. Though their bodies looked similar, nothing else did. He had sharp features that didn’t match ours, and dark eyes. His hair, though, was the same dark brown shade as mine. I shuffled my feet, and smiled at my father, because it felt like the right thing to do, while also being the wrong thing.
He stared down at me and did not return the smile. His eyes looked hard.
“Hi, Dad,” I said, closing the door almost all the way, hoping to block him from entering my house.
“Juniper,” he said, and now he smiled. It looked wrong. Not like his usual humorless smile. This one had a sharp edge to it. Almost like he wanted to wound with it.
Our father was . . . not a good man. It had taken us a long time to figure that out, and even longer to do something about it. Several weeks ago, when we had been dealing with Arachne, he had hit Jasmine. It had been an awful moment for both of us. The sheer shock of seeing him hit her had stopped me in my tracks. Even now, I could recall the exact sound of his fist slamming into her jaw, like a soundbite that wouldn’t leave my head.
The second he did that, it had been hard to keep up the denial. He had been a terrible father. Still was, I supposed. You didn’t stop being a terrible father just because your kids grew up. We had always known, deep down. The second we became old enough, we ran away from him. The three us had rather lived in motels until the house became available than spend another second with the man who put us in a dog kennel when we didn’t behave. We had slept on rocks. This man, who would take pictures when we did something bad hadn’t earned our love.
And yet . . . I didn’t close the door. I wanted to. I should have slammed it in his face, but I couldn’t make my hand move that last couple of inches to shut him out. Maybe I had been trained too well. Jasper could have done it. Jasmine could have.
So why couldn’t I? Shouldn’t all three of us have had the same kind of strength? I wanted the will to walk away from the things that hurt me. Instead, Jasper got better, Jasmine got better, and I stayed like this. Weak, and easily broken, and unable to slam the door on someone who absolutely deserved to have it slammed on him.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, and my voice sounded steady.
“I wanted to talk to you kids,” he said.
My heartbeat picked up as I saw an opportunity to get rid of him. “Oh. Well, Jasper and Jasmine aren’t here right now. You could come back later.” When Zander and Kizzy and my siblings would keep me safe from him. I felt like a coward for thinking such a thing, but I also knew that I didn’t have the strength for this.
Dad smiled that sharp smile again. He slammed his hand against the door. It made a terrible sound as it pushed back into me. The wood hit my chest hard enough to make me stumble backward. My heart launched into my throat, and I tried to remember how to breathe. He wouldn’t hurt me. He just wanted to make a point.
“That works out, actually,” Dad said. He closed the door behind him, and it clicked shut harder than I thought it would. I noticed that he walked with a limp. One of his legs moved stiffer than the other. Shortly after I last saw him, he had a severe break in that leg. It surprised me to see him up and about at all.
“Juniper?” Verin called, obviously having heard the commotion.
Dad looked in that direction. “Who’s that?” he asked me. “Find yourselves another little stray?”
“He’s not a stray,” I said, immediately. “He lives down the street with his mother.” The words barely left my mouth before Dad strode toward the kitchen. I hurried to keep up, worried about what they would say to each other.
Verin stood up when I stumbled in, clearly having been about to check on me. He looked from my father to me. Dad was twenty-five years older than me, but didn’t look his age. I hurried to make introductions, so that Verin wouldn’t be confused. “Verin, this is my father, Brock Nelson.”
Dad’s eyes scanned Verin slowly. I squirmed, hoping he would ignore the demigod like he did the others.
“It’s nice to meet you, sir,” Verin said. His voice sounded neutral. Like he could sense that something wrong, but couldn’t figure out what. Suddenly, I could breathe again. He and Dad wouldn’t attack each other.
“You too,” Dad said, still eying Verin. He wandered away from the boy, and leaned against the counter. Dad crossed his arms over his chest. “How long have you been in this neighborhood?”
“’Bout a week,” Verin said.
“Hmm,” Dad said. “Not as long as the other two, I see. What were their names again, Juniper? Something with a K, right? And Zander. I remember him quite clearly. Not a friendly person.”
“Kizzy,” I said, cheerful as could be. “Her name is Kizzy. Verin, why don’t you go home. I’ll call you when the others are back.” I felt the wattage of my smile. It had to have looked bright and happy, and filled with cheer. If I acted on something other than instinct, I would have snapped at him and scowled.
His eyes narrowed, sensing something abnormal. “That’s all right,” he said. “I think I’ll stay here until they get back.”
“Juniper tells me that you live down the street with your mother?” Dad asked. He pulled open one of the drawers, and started messing with the utensils inside. The measuring cups. I had them organized by size and color, since we had so many. My eyes followed the movement of his hand, and I tried not to rush forward and stop him.
“He does,” I said, smiling. “She’s very nice. Sweet.”
“That’s lovely,” Dad said, pulling open another drawer. This one held all the potholders. “I trust that you treat your mother much better than my children treat me,” he continued. A potholder came out, and landed on the counter. Another one followed. My heart beat heavily.
“I love my mother,” Verin said, neutrally. “I make sure that everyone treats her the way she deserves.” He started to figure it out. I could see it in his eyes. Hostility leaked into the blue stare. I needed to stop my father before this got out of hand.
“That’s good to hear. I’m glad that some of my children’s friends know how to respect their parents.” Now he moved to the silverware drawer. He started pushing the contents around, and I couldn’t breathe. Like a vise had come around my chest. I watched as he moved the forks to the spoons, and the spoons over to the knives. I couldn’t peel my eyes away.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Verin said.
Dad smiled. “Of course not. You’re probably here just to ruin my daughter, right? Don’t worry. I’m sure you won’t be the last. She’s a mess of a girl.” He looked at me, and his smile looked sharper than the last one had been.
Verin’s chest rose, and with it his anger.
I smiled and laughed, like my father had just made a joke. “He’s just a friend, Dad. We don’t even really get along that well.”
“Since when does that matter?” he asked, raising his eyebrow. “Your mother and I never got along. Didn’t stop her from saddling me with three ungrateful children that would throw me to the wolves the first chance they got.” He peeled himself off the counter and walked toward me. I felt too stressed to move out of his way, and with each step I felt a little less safe.
When he leaned passed me and picked some up off the counter, relief flooded. Until I saw the coffee grounds that he had grabbed. He peeled the lid off the container, and I looked at the potential mess within. He said something else about me sleeping around which I didn’t hear, too focused on the coffee grounds.
I didn’t care wh
at he said about me anyway. I had never dated or been with anyone. I just assumed he wanted to drive Verin away. Verin already didn’t like me. I had taken care of that myself.
While he spoke, Dad tipped the container over, and coffee grounds spilled onto the floor. I felt like I watched it in slow motion. I shouldn’t have cared. He only spilled coffee. It would’ve been easy to clean up, but as it started spreading and spreading, I couldn’t breathe. It got harder and harder as the container emptied out onto my floor. I could only stare as the mess spread across my kitchen.
My father moved his foot through the pile, spreading it all across the tile. I still could only watch. He stepped in it, getting it into all those cracks and crevices in his shoes. Walked around in it. He did it on purpose, of course.
Dad stopped moving and stopped talking for a bare moment. The smallest reprieve, where I could have shoved him out of the kitchen, or made him leave me alone. The scantest second where I could have shown my strength.
I didn’t do a single damn thing but stare at him, and try desperately to keep my control. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t keep my control because nothing felt right in here. Everything had been moved out of place, and the coffee grounds had gotten stuck in the cracks between the tile, and they stuck to the underside of his shoes, and he would be walking around, and he would get them everywhere, and I couldn’t stop that, he wouldn’t let me, there would be a giant mess, and I wouldn’t be able to stop it, the one thing that I controlled, and I couldn’t do that right. I was a failure, and weak, and stupid. I prided myself on running this house, and keeping my siblings’ lives easy, and I couldn’t do that, because of this weakness. Something went wrong, and I couldn’t fix it, and I couldn’t stop it.
There is nothing to me, nothing special, nothing worth sticking around for, and if I can’t make them see that I’m worth it, they’ll leave, and I’ll be all alone, and nothing would be where it was supposed to be, and—