𝔛𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔯𝔞

Chapter 11

It's an unusual feeling...anxiety...you know its coming, but it still catches you by surprise. Sometimes you don't even know it's coming, those ones are the worst ones. But in this situation. I knew it was coming but it still managed to grip me by the throat. 

As usual everyone gathered under the canopy for breakfast, something light, coffee, tea. Something to wake us up but not necessarily make us full, we usually saved our meals for lunch when everyone was either about to start some light work, or just finished light work. Dragos was next to me, as was Dafne, Zeke, Sorin and their parents. Like I said, the usual guests. 

What was very unusual about that morning was the sound of an incoming engine. No one was expecting guests and this is Italy, no one really drove round here, especially not it cars with such heavy engines. 

The dots connected almost instantly in my mind and the anxiety formed instantly. Like a snap. It was like the urge to pee and shit at the same time, but your brain couldn't process which one to do first. A vulgar description but effective nonetheless. Quakes of overwhelming pressure imploded right at the core of my chest. Like my heart had sunk into itself.

When I stood up my legs rattled, as did my fingers. The tension in the air seemed to only thicken around me. 

Black shoes, black t-shirt, black jeans, a silver watch, ring and a thin chain round his neck. The distinctive combination of my father. It contrasted everything that was natural about him. His pale almost ghostly complexion, his piercing blue eyes and curly blonde hair that was held out of his face by a thin black band, but a bit of loose curly strands  still hung from side to side. His build was bulky as he stood at 6'6, no blemish on his skin except a tattooed chain that formed around the finger where his wedding ring would have gone. The same one my mother has.

My mum was a stark contrast. She had rows of tiny bangles and pearls round her waist, neck, ankles and wrists. They were never an overwhelming amount, just enough. Her jet black coily hair was braided all the way to her lower back with beads and strings attacked to the ends making her shingle every time she walked. She had a long sheer maxi skirt that nearly swept the floor and matching corset top with a spaghetti strap. A light peach that matched her glowing, brown skin. She always dressed for summer even when we were in Russia. "The cold is strong but my fire is stronger," she'd always say. Everything about her contrasted with my father, she was a bubbly, energetic beam contained inside a 5.5 slim-thick frame. Endowed in places I could only dream of.

Ivan--my brother--held on to her. While I took most of my mother's features, he took all of my dads. Besides his slightly darker skin tone, he had the same pale blue eyes, defined facial muscles, curly blonde hair and a straight upturned nose while my mum and I had tiny buttoned ones. The only other contrast between him and my dad was that his tall frame was lean rather than bulky mainly because he was a swimmer. Also because he was just 17 and still trying to fit into his own body.

As their eyes locked unto me, my body instinctively moved away from Dragos, trying to salvage as much credibility as possible which was useless seeing as I had already incriminated myself in the text I sent my mother. With every step my father took towards me, every word I had practiced in the mirror twinged out of my head leaving fuzzy clouds and brimming tears. He hated when I cried, he told me they were a "cheap expression of emotions" and somehow I agree. 

Before he could reach me I walked up to him and gave him a curt nod. "privet...papa." hello...father. There was no reply to my greeting just a glare of disappointment and irritation. 

"YA ne khochu smotret' na tebya seychas. pogovorim pozzhe" (I don't want to look at you now, we'll talk later). Tears stung from the corner of my eye at his dismissal, my father was all bite and no bark, but sometimes when he barked it hurt worse than his bite. Thankfully his words were low, he only wanted me to hear his words. My father doesn't publicise things, if he wants you to know, you will know. A curt nod was all I could muster. "vam luchshe nayti bol'she slov v sleduyushchiy raz, kogda my govorim" (you better find more words the next time we speak).