Patterns of Betrayal

(4) Vials

I can already tell she won't believe any of the lies leaving my mouth. Instead, I just nod, hoping that she won't deem the meeting important enough to further ask about.

«Nikolas told me your first mission alone went well enough. You'll have to be better at guarding your own back for when the clients come after you with a wench.»

I can't help but let out a small humourless laugh at the reminder.

«Got it.» 

She nods at me dismissively and I quietly exit the kitchen. I rub my palms together in an attempt to rub the nervous clamminess off. No matter how many times I speak with Mother, I never truly get used to her unwittingly piercing stare. The sly curl of her lips makes it seem as if she already has an answer to every possible word I could think to say. I don't doubt that keeping quiet was the best card I could have played. 

I head for the couch in the living room, replaying the scene in the kitchen in my head. Some part of me was certain that she had seen through my lie and knew everything; from the car break-in to the car drive.

But it is impossible for her to know, I reassure myself. She would have beaten me already if she knew.

My eyelids are heavy, and I am close to dosing off just as the morning alarm goes off through the house. My body doesn't startle at the sound, having heard it every day since I can remember, but my drowsiness disappears immediately.

I watch as my siblings stream out from their rooms and gather in the living room for breakfast before the workday begins. Celeste shows up last.

Her eyes meet mine in confusion. She must have wondered where I was this morning.

As expected, she quickly averts her stare and marches past me into the kitchen. Even with age, she will never like me. I was not one to bend over backwards to make a friendship out of our family ties, anyways. Some people just don't go well together. 

The door to the basement opens and Mother steps into the living room. My dosing off must have missed her leaving the room earlier.

I sit next to Alijah by the table and grab a slice of bread from the plastic bag next to me. The usual low murmurs of conversation acts as a background buzz as everyone prepare their own plates. 

I glance up at the boys and girls around me as I wait for the bread to travel its way around the table and settle at my end. 

Mother's family consists of fourteen people as of now, including myself and an absent Nikolas. 

Only three children joined after me; Delias, Ron and Brent - all picked up on the streets somewhere not important. Although they were scrawny, dirty four-year-olds when they first had wandered around the house, they now have grown into calmer, but no less disheveled, eight-year-olds. I don't mind them, much because they don't bother trying to annoy me on a day to day basis. I barely even see them since they always get the slum jobs in the city as their work sector.

Next to the trio sits Victor, with his snobby down curved mouth, glaring at his breakfast oatmeal. How I hate that boy. He never misses a chance to remind me of our one year age gap, as if it had anything to say.

I silently glare at him as I spread the butter onto my slice of bread. I reckon I can take him down. Yes, he's bigger than me, more muscular and maybe even faster, but I'll come up with something. I haven't gotten him back for all the times he has ripped the strands of hair out of my scalp by tugging on my ponytail up until I was nine and finally cut it off.