Page 4 of Hearts Etched in Glass (The Afton Adders #2)

Like A Villian, Bad Omens

Present time .

I should have stayed dead.

The cynical thoughts float within the confines of my mind, as I sit across from my stuck-up mother and pompous father.

Some time ago I was declared deceased, but luckily I had been brought back to life by Bobby’s dear wiccan of a grandmother, named Baba.

I was instructed to stay dead in order to bring out the diabolical portion of Bobby, that Baba foresaw hidden within his soul.

It was bloody awful. Calling him on the telephone, as my ghost, to manipulate him into the creature he was ‘always to become,’ as Baba stated.

The poor man was hallucinating from drugs for Christ’s sake and they had me messing with his mind like a marionette, ordering him to murder the Italian mafioso family to extract revenge.

She told me it would help him grow stronger, though I flinch at the thought of causing him so much anguish.

I wish she could have foreseen that my death would drive him to drugs, to sooth the hollow ache in his soul.

I pleaded with Baba numerous times to cease this torturous experiment; in fear we’d lose him to overdose or suicide.

Once he realized I was alive things weren’t quite the same. Obviously, he still utilized drugs but something in his spirit cracked. I was terrified he may become angered by my part in this, but I had come to realize the man had no qualms.

The only thing he cared for was me.

In the past, I jokingly declined his engagement and sought more grandiose gestures before my death. Now I live to realize how stubborn and cruel I had been .

Every time he gazes at me, it is as if, it is the first time he has ever laid eyes upon me.

It invokes an emotion I have never felt before.

And I swear if it takes my whole, undeserving breath, I will make it up to him somehow.

Though, I must make him cease his addiction.

Unfortunately, the only way I know he shall stop is if I withhold myself from intercourse.

I’ve planned other ways in the hope he understands that it is all out of love.

I can’t fathom the effects the substances shall cause on his body in the long term and I refuse to lose him to something I could have prevented. I must take better care of him and be as protective of him as he is of me.

My thoughts are interrupted by the two miserable beings in front of me.

My mother and father.

“Tilly for goodness’ sake are you even listening?” My mother, Patricia, croons. Rapping her fingers on the table. I slowly raise my hand to my face, pinching the bridge of my nose.

“Are you giving me attitude?” She snaps; both of her arms now outstretched on the cafe table. She has a blonde bob haircut like mine and a full face of perfect make-up. White elbow length gloves covering her arms. Her pink dress sparkles with the sunlight from the tall windows within the cafe.

Father sits cross armed in his tan, tailor-made suit. A blue ascot sticking out from the corner pocket. His mustache curled atop his lip, as he furrows his blond brows.

“You know we had to come out here,” he says with a gruff, irritated tone. “After we heard you died, for heaven’s sake, do you know the damage it has done to me, to your mother especially?” As he finishes his statement, mother gives a dramatic sob into her handkerchief.

“We had to purchase a damn town home here, just so we could try and find some answers. Then we come to find out you have been alive for several months and not just working as a nurse at this small, desolate hospital, but fraternizing with lewd gangsters!” My mother gives another exaggerated sob into a pink handkerchief.

I want to roll my eyes and storm out of the cafe, for these individuals sitting before me claim entitlement to my life.

But when the thought grows inside my soul, it quickly is snuffed out by the insecure little girl sitting deep within my body.

Anytime I am in the same room as them, I transform into the tiny child they raised.

The child that doesn’t talk back.

The child that listens and obeys their parents in fear of their wrath.

The child that carries an abundance of guilt, for they never did anything correctly.

I was supposed to be a doctor like my brother, but I overheard my mother tell anyone with bloody ear drums that I “unfortunately became a nurse.”

If I showed any emotions I’d be berated, called a burden, a pathetic case.

I wasn’t allowed to play with my brothers because they were boys, and I was the only girl. I was permitted to do common things only girls would do.

It was so lonely.

I was to be the perfect doll for my mother.

The perfect doll she could paint in the image she wanted, and if her doll didn’t comply, she would break it and put the pieces back to where she wanted them to be.

The child with no voice .

A smack reverberates across the table as my father’s palm slams the top it, causing the tea to rattle within the cup. I jump in response, clutching my skirt.

“Are you even listening to us? Do you even care about what we have been through? You were shot and declared dead; do you have any idea what torment that put us through?” he says through gritted teeth, his irritation palpable.

In the corner of my eye, I see others sitting at their table giving judgmental glances as they whisper among themselves.

My mother’s voice is as cold as an icepick: “Of course she doesn’t care.

Just look at how she presents herself to us.

Wearing this horrible, pale pink, drag of a dress.

I always tell you bright colors. Did I not raise you right?

Bright pink, bright red, bright or crisp white.

Goodness’ sake.” She sits back in her chair, staring down at me over her nose.

“You’re such a disgrace. You need to come home.

You should patch things up with Ronald. He would have given you a great life, but you had to go throw it away for this stupid dream of being a nurse.

Couldn’t even challenge yourself to become a physician.

” Quicker than a spunk bubble, my mother has gone from a sobbing sap to a fierce troll.

I notice the tremble that begins to develop in my hands, as I grasp my palms tighter. I can feel the pressure of my nails digging into my skin through the skirt fabric.

A bead of sweat drips down the back of my neck, as my breathing picks up.

My body begins to recoil in the chair.

Their words constrict my airway, forcing me to comply, the nature of their actions forming me into the clay mold they demand me to be.

Tears well in my eyes.

“Are you seriously going to…” But my father’s words are cut off as someone steps behind my chair, and a calm palm lands on my shoulder.

“Hello darling.” Bobby’s smooth voice dances across my body, warming my soul like a blanket. “I brought Baba here to get some lunch. As you know she gets angrily peckish around noon. I didn’t know you’d be here as well.”

He leans forward, delivering a sweet kiss to my cheek .

Then he outstretches his arm towards my father and introduces himself.

“Hello, my name is Bobby Afton. I’m engaged to your dear daughter.

” He flashes that adorable boyish grin, though I expect my father to reciprocate the gesture, instead he slaps Bobby’s hand away and sneers through clenched teeth, “ You are no fiancé to my daughter. You have not asked me for her hand. In addition to placing her in harm’s way, I will never approve of a thug like you. ”

I gasp at my father’s words as a pang echoes in my chest at his dismissive behavior.

Then a blur of motion occurs, and a carved image of Loki is staring back at me.

Baba’s staff is slammed a top my father’s hand, pinning it to the table.

My mother jumps, her hands gesturing in surprise towards her gaping mouth.

“Good afternoon. I’m the one and only Baba.” She stares at my father’s face with a sinister glint in her two-toned eyes.

Father audibly swallows as I watch his gaze travel up the wooden staff to face Baba, his skin beginning to redden. “That. Hurts,” he says sternly, trying to maintain his composure .

“Oh? Really ? Well, I figured you didn’t care about hurting my Tilly or my Bobby with your words, so why not suffer the consequences of your verbiage. Dumb ass.” She gives him a smile as Bobby pulls up a chair next to the table.

“Oh, you don’t need to sit with us. This is a private matter,” my mother retorts in a sickly, fake tone.

Bobby waits for Baba to sit and then stands beside me, his movement brisk as he hoists me up and exchanges places with me, holding me close to his body, as I sit atop his lap.

My face blushes with embarrassment and the fact I swear, I can hear my parents screaming from the inside of their minds at his bold gesture.

Bobby settles into the chair and remarks, “Well, you’re in a public place.

So, your conversation isn’t really private now, is it sweetheart? ”

Kill me, again.

Bloody, kill me again!

The brush of Bobby’s thumb on my thigh pulls me back from my internal panic. “You look really beautiful today, darling,” he whispers into my ear, the faint touch of his breath caressing the nape of my neck .

I hear Baba call over the wait staff, as they approach with a friendly grin.

“May I have my usual, please?” Then she hands the young lady a crisp hundred-pound bank note and I purse my lips together.

Baba turns dramatically back towards my parents, resting her head on her cane.

Loki’s carved judgmental glare, and gem eyes influence the scene to look more intimidating.

“You know. Being thugs isn’t always a terrible thing.

For as long as you have class and you protect others, then as I see it, thugs are much better than any run of the mill businessmen.

For all businessmen I’ve met are crooks. ”

Silence stands between us, the tension thickening in the café, until I look down at my watch and struggle out of Bobby’s hold.

“I need to get to work love, I’m so sorry.

” I briskly kiss his tender lips, and time stops for a moment, as we feel one another’s embrace.

Almost photographing each second, as if it was our last.

For a moment, I nearly forgot my parents exist.