Iridescent

Chapter 17

How could she still go to him?

I opened my eyes to feel the tears fall down my cheeks and Meredith's eyes widened. She immediately threw her arms around me, "Stasia—Stasia, honey," Her hand smoothed my hair and I clung onto her waist feeling the first trembling wave crying called for. "Hey," She tried to say, reaching for my hands on her waist, but the blistering burn of fear and tears streaked into my throat and I clung tighter. "Tell me what's wrong," She insisted, hugging my face with her hands so I would look at her, "Please."

Was I supposed to tell her?

I shouldn't be this scared. He didn't hit me. I should have taken her words and just walked—building strength and steadiness, ready to shield whatever he was ready to spit in my face. I knew I should have saved the drama—saved the tears—for someone worthy of them. Tell him that I wasn't his little chess piece—that I wasn't his 'little princess' anymore.

Show him that I was never going to be little again.

The tears dried for a moment and I sniffed them back, feeling Meredith's thumbs push away the excess. "What is going on in that head?" She said, almost to herself, probably fed up with my silence and tears.

If Meredith knows, she will try to be the hero.

And she can't afford to be a hero to someone who will flick her six feet beneath the system.

"I've got to go," I whispered, "He's expecting me."

Pulling from her grip, I felt her hand remain on my arm, refusing me the ability to leave, "Stasia, wait. What's wrong?"

I kept my back to her, "It's okay. I'm okay, Mer."

"No," She resisted, "You're not."

In every way she was right. But choices seem to have a better outlook when they are made wrong.

I closed my eyes, trying to erase the tears that spilled out moments before. I wanted to kick myself for not saving them for a better occasion.

I was scared, and I let Meredith see every bit of how scared I was—the best thing about it was that she didn't know why.

And I wanted to keep it that way.

"It's just another one of his talks," I filled in the words, "You know how I feel about them."

Meredith was not good at letting things go, especially her people—she lived and loved to fix and mend the broken things in life. So, I could feel every helpless strand in her hand as she slipped each finger from my arm. Her words followed in a whisper, "I'll be here."

I stretched as much as I could, reaching for the handle that shined and dazzled, too far out of reach. Sticking my tongue out (for extra measure) and making a little laborious grunt, I realized that I would have to settle with a polite rapping of the towering door.

Voices rumbled on the inside and a servant appeared through the groan of an opening, "Sire, it is the princess."

"Come here, my little princess," Father's voice called, and I ran through, nearly knocking over the servant in the process. Father's laugh reached every corner of the room as he swung me up into his lap, resting me to face the countless papers—names I have never seen, curves and scribbles of writing I couldn't entirely read and shiny, embossed seals from so many different places.

My eyes caught the shine of a knife that poked out from under some documents and I reached for it, feeling the cold metal so heavy in my hand, "Daddy, can I hold this?"