Chasing Shadows | ✓

Chapter Twenty-Five

NICHOLAS AND HIS FATHER SAT ACROSS FROM FATHER AND I.

Victoria had retreated to her room, refusing to come out and Father let her off. Apparently, a woman had no place at the table when business was being discussed. There was a tense atmosphere; one that no matter how many times Father bellowed a fake laugh, it would still hang in the air like the suspended moment before a falling glass shattered on the ground.

Two tall, silver candelabras commanded attention from the centre of the table, holding smooth white candles whose wax never dripped. The polished silver cutlery was heavy to the hand and shone brightly under the bright lights. At each place stood a tall empty wine glass and there were beautifully folded napkins to match the runner. Laid on the long oak table was an amount of food that on any other day would be expected to last several more. Pheasants and goose, a bowl or roasted root vegetables, creamy sauces with garden herbs were all lined down along the table.

I sat hunched over in my seat, my lips tightly pursed. With my fork, I pushed the food around my plate, nausea still swirling in my stomach. I had no appetite, nor had I any reason to be sitting at this table.

"So," Father began, wiping his mouth with his napkin before leaning forward. "I heard Nicholas here will be taking over for you after you retire."

I looked up then, to see him staring straight at me, a cocky smirk on his lips. Under his scrutinizing gaze, a shiver shot through me. Even when I averted my gaze, I could still feel his piercing through my skin. Soon, my hands began to tremble and I reached over to grab my glass of water, gulping down the cool liquid. I shove my hands under the table, my fingers curling into small fists. I couldn't hear my rapid breathing, but I felt the oxygen flooding in and out of my lungs.

"Ah, yes," His Father, Michael, beamed, and reached over to pat his son on the shoulder. "He's always been a hard worker, so I have no doubt that he'll do an even better job than I have."

Nicholas smiled at his Father, before looking over at me, almost like he was trying to shove it in my face. When we were younger, I had confided in him a little about how Father and I never got along. At the time, he comforted me, saying I was welcome to come over to his anytime, and that his own Father wouldn't mind. It was a place for me to hide, and not once was I ever made to feel unwelcome or hurried out the door. It was almost like a safe haven for me, when a tornado was ripping through my home. Always easy with honest advice, but carefully phrased not to cause harm. He had never just been a good friend to me, he had been one of the rocks of my life - an anchor point.

I thought of him like my own brother. He looked out for me, made me smile when my parents were fighting at home and for the short while that we went to school together, he looked out for me. He was like the older brother I never had. I thought the bond that we shared, could and would never, be broken.

The skin was battered and scraped, small horizontal red lines decorating my skin. I tugged on the long-sleeved top I wore, even in July. Beads of sweat were building up on my forehead and body, but I knew the consequences I would face at home for showing my scars would be worse than sweating.

"Hey Trevor!"

I turned to see Nicholas running over to me, a football tucked under his arm. I fiddled with my hands nervously, standing up to greet him. However, the smile on his face quickly dropped when he saw my expression.

"What happened?" He demanded, dropping the ball to the ground.

"I didn't think you would come," I replied instead in a small voice. "It's almost evening.. How did your parents let you out?"

Nicholas frowned at me, "You said you needed me so I came. I sneaked out the back, so they don't know I'm gone yet."

"I. . . Well thanks," I awkwardly muttered. Doubt filled me up; was calling him a mistake? What was he supposed to do anyway?