A Kiss of Bleeding Fire

11

I WAS reading a book. Yeah, I was fucking reading a non-fic book I just saw in a bookstore when I went to buy some papers for my school requirements I needed to pass on Monday. 

Cringing, I continued to read the first sentence in the book. I wasn't fond of reading books—  neither fiction nor non-fiction. I easily got bored when I spent time to ready. Sometimes, I found myself falling asleep with a book in front of me. Other times with my face planted on the pages of a book. Call me a boomer or whatever but reading bored the fuck out of me. I wasn't like my sister who can read two books a day and can still study and make school requirements. She was a dean's lister after all and that was the reason my father was so proud of her. She was an achiever, the perfect daughter, the brilliant woman who can make any man bow their head once she walked past them.

Before, it was a hard pill to swallow. That she was treated like a goddess while I was treated like a commoner. I had the wealth, the materials, the circle of friends that got my back . . . but there was something Cornelia had. Everyone wanted to be her friend. Everyone wanted to get close to her. Every man I knew wanted to take a chance with her but she was a total snub and hard to reach. I was envious of those facts. It took me some time to accept that and be content with what I had.

Closing the book I was reading, I groaned and planted my face on the front page. The strange smell of book lingered in my nostril, making me sniff at the page a little too exaggerated. Books smelled good, huh? I thought as I closed my eyes.

The sun was peeking through the thick gray clouds collected in the middle of the sky. The golden shaft bled through the entire vicinity, bringing a warm sensation to my skin. Ah, it was a good time to read this fucking boring book. God, my internal monologue was making me insane. I just wanted to read some books.

I just noticed that the achievers I knew read a lot of books. I wasn't trying to be one of them but since my future in my father's company was already written in a will and expected, I should start reading books to be more equipped and prepared for my position. I wasn't reading because I learned that Garrett Singson liked girls who were achievers. Why would I read just because of a man as callous as him? Why would I read books just to fit in on his standard? And why was I explaining things like I was defensive?

Groaning, I pulled my head up and closed the book I was reading. I grabbed the glass of juice placed on my table a little too aggressively making some content spill over my fingers. I winced as some droplets of juice sprinkled all over the paperback cover of the book I was reading minutes ago.

Fuck this. I won't read that book. I gave up. Why would I burn my time on something that didn't interest me? I shook my head and stood up. I should probably go back to my room and spend my weekend basking in the comfort of my soft pillowy bed, watching some series or movies on Netflix. Gah, that was heaven.

While walking upstairs, I placed my hand over my belly and rubbed it gently. Just you and me, baby, I thought as I walked to my room with a little pep on my steps.

Regarding my pregnancy, I hadn't had the chance or courage to tell my parents about it. They were home most of the time. My father was becoming more stressed than ever. The salt and paper steaks on his hair were visible and the wrinkles at the side of his eyes were more prominent than before.

Fear clawed over my throat thinking about his reaction. I didn't like the fact that I was again adding to his stress. I expected him to be disappointed and freaked out once I let the cat out of the bag. I felt like this wasn't the right time.

But then, when was the right time? When they finally found Cornelia? When was that? My pregnancy was imminent. The baby bump will eventually be visible soon. I didn't have enough time and I was going crazy. The father of my baby hated me. He was holding grudges against me and no matter how I tried to apologize, to tell him I regretted what I'd done every fucking day, it wasn't enough. He still hated me.