AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I retreat to the other seat, pulling away from his touch, and rest my forehead against the cool car door.
We don't talk during the entire drive, only exchanging occasional awkward glances. His coat is warm, and as much as I want to hate him, I can't deny that I don't mind his scent. At one point, it seems like he wants to say something, but he changes his mind and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. Marlboro. He places the filter between his lips and settles comfortably on the leather seat.
That's his typical move, and I don't know why, but I recognize it every time. Manasseh does it without fail whenever he sits down, but this time, I feel it deep in my bones. With one hand between his legs and the other propped on the half-open car door, he leans back, moving his pelvis ever so slightly, his gaze shifting from the slit to me. A tingling sensation spreads across my skin, and I pretend to not care, pushing away thoughts of what could have happened earlier. I watch the smoke from his cigarette trail out through the cracked window, and raindrops trickle intermittently, yet Manasseh seems unfazed. Rain stains his shirt, but he only rolls up the window once he finishes his smoke.
Since his crew arrived, our communication has been reduced to awkward glances, leaving me puzzled, cause I can't figure out what's on his mind.
As we enter Matlock, memories flood my mind, particularly about the street where I grew up. The emptiness in my stomach deepens, and I can't help but look towards my father's car, where he's probably asleep at this hour. So many memories of this street, this house, but also their house, which hadn't changed a bit since the last time I visited them.
The car comes to a halt in front of the house. Manasseh steps out first, and when I follow, he pulls my hood further down, shielding my face as if hiding me from the world. He guides me inside, his hands around my shoulders, covering me as much as possible, as if I'm a criminal.
“I want you to take a bath while the housekeeper gets something clean for you to change into,” he instructs, climbing the terrace stairs.
However, I remain silent, my gaze roaming around, memories stirring deep within me.
The urge to cry builds within me, and I stare at my hands, stained with the remnants of everything that transpired on the workbench, yet, tears refuse to fall.
He doesn't deserve my tears.
Come to think of it, I can't recall the last time I truly cried, before this period when my tears flowed freely, an outlet for all the days that didn’t wet my cheeks.
“Becca, are you even listening, or do I need to come with you?”
I ignore him and turn my back, looking at the aquarium at the top of the stairs, an addition that I don't recall ever seeing before.
Inside, a cluster of fish huddles together, crowded in one corner. However, one stands out from the rest, an outsider dwelling on the left side, and seems to be avoided by all the others, or they are afraid of it. Squinting, I study its vibrant colors: a black hue, the white spots on its tail and fins giving it a dusty appearance.
“Good evening, sir,” a young girl lowers her head as she enters the room.
“Sir?” What's with this exaggeratedly respectful manner? Is this some kind of joke? I don't know her. The girl is as small and slim as me. She has blond hair, held back by a black diadem, and a simple black blouse with a black skirt that reminds me of an old school uniform. Her eyes are black, and she has sweet, feminine features. She seems to be around my age.
“What's this? Do you have fantasies about schoolgirls?” I sarcastically snap, and Manasseh wrinkles his nose.
“Take care of her, Rosé. I've had enough for today, or whatever is left of the night,” he grumbles and climbs the stairs without looking back.
“Of course,” the girl follows his orders obediently and extends her hand to me.
I look at her silently and then stare at her outstretched hand.
“Please follow me, Becca.”
“How do you know who I am?”
“The gentleman informed me of your arrival today, and I have already prepared everything. Follow me,” she gestures towards the stairs, leaving me with little choice.
The girl notices my struggle to move and encourages me to lean on her for support. As we pass through the hallway, I steal a glance towards Samael's room, its door ajar. Amidst the dimly lit space, the furniture shrouded in a mist-like haze, my eyes land on a pair of glassy eyes on the bed. They fixate on me, and for a fleeting moment, I'm entranced, as if drawn into a vacuum. When the window's light reflects upon the figure, two pointed ears and a round head become distinct.
It’s a little Crasnic!
Shivers runs down my spine, but the girl pulls me into the bathroom and begins undressing me.
“What are you doing?” I grab onto my clothes, interrupting her.
“I'm helping you bathe,” she replies, her face devoid of surprise or discomfort. However, I feel uneasy. „If you prefer, I can leave.”
“That's exactly what I want. I can do it,” I say, opening the door. “I don't need anything else.”
“Are you sure?” she asks with the same stoic expression.
