The Embodiment of Pain

Verena

Winters in Seattle haven't been the same in the past few years, today is no exception as snow cascades over the cars outside. I've been sitting in this supercilious bar for the past hour waiting for the snow to stop, sipping on my Sazarac. I am not one for intoxication but recently it's all I've made time for. I don't have time to look for a self-respecting career path or even get a therapist for that matter, but I have plenty of time to drown my sorrows in a plethora of whiskey cocktails.

It's about 10 p.m. when I finally make it out of Canlis. I am greeted with a frigid burst of wind, a wind that burns once making contact with my exposed face. With cheeks flushed, much brighter than the blush I put on this morning, I try to hail a cab but continuously fail. I tighten my coat as I come to terms with my defeat, I stride forward, trying to ignore my body's attempt to force me to call my father by shivering every five seconds.

After what felt like an eternity, a black sedan pulls up next to me. It is one that I instantly recognize as my father's town car.

"Miss Dorsey, your father sent me to get you," Says Taylor, my dad's chauffeur.

I sighed, "Hey Taylor, nice to see the old man still pretending to care," which granted me one of his award-winning looks of sympathy, "I know Taylor, you don't have to give me that look".

Taylor gets out of the sedan and opens the door for me, I step in hesitantly knowing the only time my father would send a car for me is during moments of "political crisis" or if he's found a new whore for the next few months.

I stare blankly out the window as frost coats the glass, vehicles pass by, and buildings get smaller with the growing distance between me and the city. We start to leave Seattle, moving into the woods of Redmond, WA. While the ride seems to take forever, it's only 30 minutes before we arrive. At last, I look up to see the horror I call home.

Most might think I am fortunate or even blessed to live in the house I sadly inhabit. The five-bedroom estate with 35 acres of land has become the prison I long to leave. I've always thought, 'who wants this much property for just two people who don't get any use of it?' It's been just my father and I due to my mother passing when I was seven, and with fifteen years since then, it seems the property just grows and grows. It started with just the house, my parents wanted a big place for a lot of kids and grandkids. They assumed they were going to have more than just me (which, if it wasn't obvious, didn't happen). My dad bought off the Howard's property soon after my mother's death, I'm guessing as a way to cope, but it didn't stop there. In a blink of an eye, we went from 5 acres to 35, jampacked with not one but two cabins, horse stables, an arena, and THREE barns. Tell me, why would two people need all of that?

I gather my thoughts as Taylor pulls into the cul-de-sac stopping at the front steps of the stately home. He immediately gets out and opens the door, hastily ushering me in. At this moment, it was clear the issue wasn't my dad's new whore but something to do with his job.

Stepping into the foyer, Florence the housekeeper takes my coat. No time is wasted from my entrance as I prowl towards my dad's office, my heels strike down on the checkered marble floor setting my path of destruction as my posture straightens with anger. My father, Atticus Dorsey, quickly comes into my field of view through the huge french doors separating his office from the rest of the house. There is no doubt by the way he paces from wall to wall, that he is fuming.

"Hello, father," I pronounce coldly, pushing open the glass-paned oak as he turns to face me.

"Verena, sweetheart, I've been waiting for you," my father says as he grabs my shoulders, forcing me to make eye contact with him.

"What is it this time, has something happened?"

He detaches himself from me and walks toward his desk as he begins to speak.