~DAVEN'S POV
I stood outside for a good thirty minutes contemplating if walking in was the best idea. Then I sighed.
There was no point running away from my home. A home which has never felt like home to me.
I stepped in through the kitchen door, the smell of waffles hit my nose instantly and my eyes searched for it on the counter. There was a plate full of them.
I walked over to it, picked a piece of it and bit into it. As the crispy edge of the waffle met the tender surface of my tongue, a symphony of flavors erupted within my mouth. A satisfied groan left my lips. The initial crunch gave way to a rich, velvety smoothness, coating my taste buds with a deep, satisfying savory flavor.
I looked at it with a satisfied smile, just nodding my head. This can only be the work of cook Helen, the cook my mother has hired as soon as we moved to Darnville.
I took another bite and that was when she stepped into the kitchen. A small round woman with a very cute face like that of a panda. Her eyes shone with excitement as soon as she saw me and then they darted to the half eaten waffle in my hand.
Her eyes dimmed slightly and she shook her head at me. My lips stretched into an awkward smile but I still bit into it again regardless, throwing her a playful shrug while I patted her back and began heading to the sitting room.
"Your father is very mad at you, Daven." She whispered to me before I turned the corner into the lounge area.
Just as expected, the old man had a newspaper pressed inches to his face. Hopefully I'd get to my room quickly before he notices.
I walk over to the staircase making sure to keep my footsteps as light as possible so he wouldn't notice.
"You're home late." The words were heavy on my ears.
He wasn't fooled.
I sighed and turned around to him. He still had his face in the paper.
"Yeah, I stayed back with my friends."
Friends? Yeah right.
He stared up at me for the first time, his brows knitted in a deep frown. From the glasses which sat on his nose, it was clear the amount of rage in his eyes.
"You are not allowed to stay home late, were you deaf to that instruction?" He asked, his tone harsh and malicious it made me wince.
"I'm fine, father, nothing happened."
"Nothing will happen as long as you obey my instructions." He snapped.
The way he spoke to me made my insides boil with anger. It was no secret in my house that I could get really really angry.
I turned around and continued heading up the stairs to my room. I heard the newspaper crumple and my father jolted up.
"Don't you dare walk away from me you monster."
That word, 'monster' hit me like a thousand bullets to my chest. My steps froze and I slowly turned back, the rim of my eyes red with rage.
"Me?"
My father's hands were balled to fist at his side. "You have done nothing but bring disgrace and suffering to our family and our businesses so much so we left everything behind just to come over to this sh*t hole and start over."
"Did I ask for this?" I asked him, my tone low and deliberate as I walked back down the stairs towards him. "Did I?" I yelled as soon as I got close to him.
He stumbled back lightly, his weight held by the cushion behind which kept him from falling.
His stare was hard and I could see him shaking like a leaf.
"Do you want to... experience the full power of this monster?" I asked him, my tone sinister and malicious.
Then that look came, that look of dear that always seemed to do something to me. It stirred something within me.
I leaned so close to him that our faces were just inches apart.
"Do you want to see that, father?" I asked him, the corner of my lips lifted in a sinister smirk.
"Daven." My mother yelled.
Her heels clicked against the tiles as she ran towards the both of us.
"Daven, he's your father. You both have to stop this childishness?" She pleaded frantically.
Both our chests were heaving up and down rapidly.
Then she turned to my father. "You know we must never make him angry and yet you can't stick to that. You'll make him do things he'll regret."
He stared at me. "I already regret this as it is."
It was not news that he regretted having me as his son. He regretted it when I was still a young growing teenager and still regretted three months earlier when we had first come into Darnville and even now.
"Don't say that, Herald." My mother cautioned.
My father stared at her, eyes hard and cold, with no single emotions in them. "This is all your fault, Madeline."
With that, he shoved her roughly to the side and walked off in the direction of the stairs.
My mother's face was drawn low in concern, her brows furrowed in a mixture of worry and disappointment. She glanced at me once, before glancing back to the staircase where my father had just disappeared into the rooms on the upper floor.
I caught a glimpse of her eyes and they were clouded with deep sadness, as if the weight of the argument between my father and I had settled upon her shoulders. The gentle lines around her mouth were etched with tension, her lips pursed slightly and I knew words lay on the tip of her tongue which she couldn't express at that moment.
My insides flared up with anger at the situation. The situation with my family was never good but it had gotten worse over the weeks.
"Daven." She raised her hand to touch me but I evaded her touch.
"I'm going up to my room." I threw over my shoulders as I walked up the stairs.
I banged the door shut as soon as I got in. I was seething with rage on the inside. I badly needed an outlet. My insides turned dangerously and I felt like ripping something apart.
I slammed my fist into the wall. The crack echoed, and the sting barely registered. Then came the scent — iron, thick, and metallic. Blood. The scent of it was oddly—delicious.
My breath hitched. Not now. Not again.
I ran over to my bed, sat on the edge and placed my palms firmly over my ears to silence them out. The voices that hunt me.
I rocked myself back and forth. "They're not real." I muttered to myself continuously. "They don't exist."
Then I slowly tucked myself in bed, pulling the covers so high up to my chest and clutching onto it, waiting for the storm to pass.
Then I closed my eyes tightly before sleep took me.
Red eyes. The feeling like I was walking in the forest; sounds of twigs snapping under my feet. Then I looked below, staring at my hands and there was...blood. It felt so real. The smell was pungent.
My eyes slowly grew wide as fear coursed through my body and I panicked. My heart began to race so fast and my eyes flung open. I sat up abruptly, breathing heavily. My eyes darted to my hands, they were covered in dirt. I was shirtless.
I wasn't in a dream. The dirt beneath my nails was real. The ache in my bones — real.
How? How did I end up with dirt all over me?
And then I heard my mother sobbing. She was seated at the edge of my bed, sobbing into her hands.
"What happened?" I asked her, my voice rough and gruff like I had screamed.
She raised her head and looked at me with a sorrowful gaze, eyes puffy from crying a lot. She tried to speak but words failed her.
Then the door to my room flung open and my father stormed in. His face was crumpled in immense rage; it felt like he would explode from it. He was holding a newspaper in his hand.
"You..." He stated, pointing at me. "Do you realize what you're costing this family?" He asked.
I looked about my room, confused. My cook was standing at the corner of the room with her head bowed. The air was tense.
"I—don't understand." I stuttered.
He threw the paper at me and it hit my face then landed on my thighs. "There, you'll understand better after reading that."
Then he stormed out.
I picked up the Darnville Times and glanced through it.
My breath caught in my throat and my eyes slowly grew wide.
The front-page headline read, "ANOTHER BEASTLY ATTACK AFTER THREE MONTHS WITH A SEVENTEEN YEAR OLD FOUND DEAD."
My eyes slowly lifted up to my mother.
"Did I—do that?"