Chapter 74: Alex (Part 1)
People say I get my looks from my mother, with both of us sharing the same caramel-colored eyes and black hair. While I kept my hair short, hers was much longer and prettier. With a gorgeous glimmer, my mother's hair gracefully drizzles down her back and is always soft to the touch. I've always been very close with my mother, who often comforted me after an outburst or lashing from my father. Her hugs are always the best.
Something else I've always loved about her is how much she cares for Bee. No one obligated her to do so. Bee isn’t her own daughter, yet she treats and loves Bee like any mother. She also calls her by her nickname, which she keeps a secret from my father.
My father only calls Bee by her real name, Hailey. Mom also speaks to and addresses Bumble as if it were any other person, which always puts a smile on my sister's face.
One of my favorite memories of the three of us is when my mother invited me and Bee to help her bake some apple pie. Bee kept getting distracted while rolling the dough, but my mother never got even the slightest bit annoyed with her. To my surprise, Mom actually joined and started playing along. Making all different shapes and sizes out of the dough, the two began racing each other to see who could make a star or a tree first.
I happily took on the role of reffing this intense battle for the ages as the two clashed for the honor and glory of being the quickest dough roller. While my mother got a quick head start, claiming points for her speed and accuracy, Bee made up for it with her creativity and passion. Bee ended up winning in the end, and my mother and I decided to give her the honor of eating the first slice of apple pie after it was finished, which Bee gleefully agreed to.
When I think back about it, the taste of that apple pie is still on the tip of my tongue, as if I had just taken a bite a few seconds ago. That scrumptious bakery scent and how the apple pie melted into my mouth was just… perfection. I knew I wasn't the only one thinking about that as the three of us didn't say a word to each other while we ate, and before we knew it, the pie was gone. Days like those were the best.
On the other hand, I inherited my father's physique. My sharp jawline, natural strength, and muscular build are a few examples.
I don't know the first thing about my father, and whenever I asked about him, all my mother replied was that the time wasn't right. Along with that, I was too scared to ask him myself. My curiosity was doused over time, and one day, I stopped asking my mother altogether. I have a feeling she was, and still is, relieved about that.
Unsurprisingly, my father and I aren't particularly close. From as early as I can remember, he strictly trained and disciplined me in preparation for the trials. I wasn't allowed to have friends come over, nor could I leave to meet up with them. The only time I was around other people my age was when I attended class at the academy, but instead of connecting and trying to make friends, I decided I would be better off alone. That way, I could never feel the hope and joy of being close to somebody enough to call them a friend because surely, once they learn more about me, they'll only leave me.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
I now understand more about why my father went to such lengths. But for the longest time, all I felt toward him was hatred. A cavernous, burning hatred that grew a little more each day. It got to the point where I sometimes considered how I could end his life... or if I should just end mine. Even now, my chest stirs in discontent whenever I'm forced to stare into his shrewd eyes.
But one day, when I was twelve, our kingdom fell under attack. And throughout that entire period, where the cries of war became traumatic background noise, my father put his life on the line to protect my mother and me. I'm alive today because of him, and a part of me deep down… is thankful for that.
Our family wasn't always the four of us. For a long time, it was just my parents and me. But following the short period when our country was under attack, my father took in a young girl, telling us that he had made a promise to somebody. That was all he told us. There was no explanation other than that… and my mother and I knew not to pry further.
On the day we took in Hailey, who was only six, my father had secretly pulled me aside. He told me that if I ever mistreated or harmed her in any way, accidental or not, he was going to make me suffer whatever she did, but ten times worse. He told me if I didn't make her feel comfortable in our home, he would make me wish I could leave. He told me that if I didn't love her like an older brother should, he wouldn't treat me like a father should.
Not long after that day, my father also began drinking more. His once-golden hair turned white, and he was rarely at home during the days. Sometimes, he didn't even come home at night. And just like before, I didn’t dare to ask him why.
As for myself, if I wasn't at the academy or asleep, I was with Bee. It took her a while to adjust to living with us, and it took me time to adjust to having a sister. Sometimes, she cried from bad memories or nightmares, and when she did, my father would give me a good beating. I used to loathe Bee for that, and I wanted to just ignore her and make her leave somehow so I would be better off.
But I couldn't. I wanted to help her, and part of me wanted to be close to somebody more my age. It took a long while until we began to open up to one another. But once we did, we became the best of friends. Going on adventures and playing games with Mom, I began looking forward to waking up the next day, wondering what new excitement awaited. Whether it was because I was happier or my father actually left me alone a little bit more as time went on, life with him also surprisingly became more bearable. He occasionally put his foot down and delivered a few blows to keep me… supposedly, in line, but overall, life became worth living.
Eventually, I found Bumble on the path we had walked home on earlier, and relief flushed over me. Picking the yellow and black striped stuffed animal up, I ran back, wanting to get home before my father did so he wouldn't see how upset Bee was and that I was out after dark.
But as I neared my neighborhood, smoke wafted into my nose. With its scent catching my attention, I noticed a thick cloud of smoke rising into the sky.
In the direction of my house.
Although it was irrational of me to believe it was actually my house that was on fire out of dozens… I just had a gut feeling. Something was wrong.
Breaking out into a sprint, I zigzag down the various streets, cutting through people's backyards by jumping their fences, doing anything necessary to get home as quickly as possible.
Please… please don't be what I think… please no. I was only gone for a little bit; they're fine. They are fine. They are good. They are okay.
But despite my repeated wishes for my family's safety, the smell of smoke only disturbingly increased, and the rising cloud of black and grey grew closer. Wrapping around the final bend and fixing my gaze toward my house, I was horrified to see that the worst possible outcome I had imagined… was actually happening.