Brooklyn Moore's world has been turned upside down after her parents divorce. Forced to leave her fancy Manhattan home, private school, and friends in the city, now Brook and her mom are scraping to get by in middle-of-nowhere town, Birch Hill.
Her...
Light from the streetlights and passing cars below freckle the ceiling of the apartment. The familiar hum of city life is muted from the fourth floor home. I walk towards the kitchen with its dark granite countertops and meticulously organized utensils. The scent of dinner, the sweet notes of Honey Roasted Duck, is still wafting in the air.
The Nascar cooking glove my mom had gotten him as a birthday present is hanging next to the microwave. I wonder if she uses it now.
My hand runs along the cool expanse of counter then slides up the side of the wooden knife block. The knife feels like ice in my hands as I slide it free from its resting place.
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I let it dangle lifelessly at my side as I walk towards the living room. My toes tangle in the gray shag rug. The one he would almost trip over once a week and we would all laugh.
Past the coffee table we'd bought from a flea market, sanding and painting it together while singing along with The Beatles one crisp Fall day.
Remembering how we were then seems like a cruel joke.
Like another lifetime.
He is snoring, like always, with the thin blonde wrapped in his arms. They'd fallen asleep on the couch. The one the three of us used to curl up on with hot chocolate to watch feel-good movies. Movies about the power of love and the importance of family. Movies he would usually end up falling asleep through...
As I hover over my father's prone body I can feel the heat rise in my chest. He looks so peaceful sleeping next to her. This girl so close to my own age.
It makes me sick to my stomach.
"Are you really so happy to have gotten rid of us, dad?" I whisper, gripping the knife tighter and taking a shaky breath.
Do it. The voice is deep and rattling. Echoing within the edges of my mind but also somehow all around me. It is a forceful whisper that makes my blood feel steaming hot rushing through my veins.
Maybe I should. After what he did to mom and I...
He deserves it.
How could you, dad? I trusted you.
He doesn't love you.
"I loved you!" I scream and bring the knife down in a flash.
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