A Room Full Of Vultures

chapter three

Chapter three

When I was younger, father would call me his little troublemaker. I was always interfering with other people's business, invading their privacy. "It runs in the family." Mother would say dismissively.

My childhood love was a girl called Eloise. Our mothers were close friends and we spent every waking hour together. I always believed her and I were two sides of the same coin. As we grew older, we began to spend the non-waking hours together as well. She held my fragile, bleeding heart in her hand, I gave it to her when she had to move away. I had to settle for words from letters instead of touches.

My mother was right about the lack of respect surrounding privacy. One Sunday morning during the first summer after mother died, I came down for breakfast and found my family waiting for me. And I knew they knew. I could feel it. I had stood behind my chair instead of sitting in it, as if the more distance I created between father and I, the safer I was. His hand held a creamy yellow envelope. My letter. I was forced to watch as he ripped it open and proceeded to read it out loud. Uncle William was normally the one for these sorts of theatrics. The words I'd spent hours crafting and weaving together with love and care were reduced to something disgusting within a matter of minutes. Shame had burned my cheeks bright red. Father handed the letter to uncle William who threw it into the fire.

I could barely see through my tears but I remember catching the satisfied smirk on aunt Lucy's face. She'd found out my secret and hadn't waited to share it. At that moment, all I could think about was, if I cracked open her skull, how many secrets would have spilled out? I poisoned everything. I poisoned my love with Eloise. I poisoned my happiness. I poisoned my family.

Looking over at Jamila's small, shaking frame, it's impossible to ignore the fact that I'll poison her too.

I raise my hand and let it drop awkwardly back to my side. I have no idea what it is I'm supposed to be doing. Jamila must sense my inability to comfort and begins to slow her crying. "So ...why did ...um ...I'm butchering this."

"It's okay. I just needed to cry." Her words are difficult to distinguish, her voice has become thick with tears.

"I'm assuming that dickhead is the reason you needed some space last night?"

"He can be quite trying, yes."

"Trying is someone who eats all of your expensive chocolate and then lies about it when you confront them, that was top tier dickhead!"

A small grin grows on Jamila's face, "has someone stole your chocolate and lied about it before?"

"That's not important. I'm trying to get you to stop crying."

She sniffles, "you have. Mostly. You didn't answer my question."

"Yes, my uncle stole my chocolate bar. We laughed about it ...eventually."

"How long is eventually?" she asks with a eyebrow raise.

"Two or three years." I say, my face the picture of someone still very pissed off.

Her laugh is intoxicating. I could get drunk on it. She has no idea; she stands next to me giggling while I melt into a pool of longing. "Will you accompany me home?"

"I'm not actually bleeding." Please God, shot me. A beautiful girl pays me some attention and on top of acting like an Imbecile, I forget that my goal is to rob her family blind.

"I know, Mary was just trying to get father to leave me alone. She's a good woman." Her voice grows watery before she visibly composes herself. "My brothers are out hunting for food so the house will be free and ...well I enjoy spending time with you."