Page 6 of Hearts Etched in Glass
I will find a work around for this.
Chapter 3: Tilly
Like A Villian,Bad Omens
Present time.
I should have stayed dead.
The cynical thoughts float within the confines of my mind, as I sit across from my stuck-up mother and pompous father.
Some time ago I was declared deceased, but luckily I had been brought back to life by Bobby’s dear wiccan of a grandmother, named Baba.
I was instructed to stay dead in order to bring out the diabolical portion of Bobby, that Baba foresaw hidden withinhis soul.
It was bloody awful. Calling him on the telephone, as my ghost, to manipulate him into the creature he was ‘always to become,’ as Baba stated. The poor man was hallucinating from drugs for Christ’s sake and they had me messing with his mind like a marionette, ordering him to murder the Italian mafioso family to extract revenge. She told me it would help him grow stronger, though I flinch at the thought of causing him so much anguish.
I wish she could have foreseen that my death would drive him to drugs, to sooth the hollow ache in his soul.
I pleaded with Baba numerous times to cease this torturous experiment; in fear we’d lose him to overdose or suicide.
Once he realized I was alive things weren’t quite the same. Obviously, he still utilized drugs but something in his spirit cracked. I was terrified he may become angered by my part in this, but I had come to realize the man had no qualms.
The only thing he cared for was me.
In the past, I jokingly declined his engagement and sought more grandiose gestures before my death. Now I live to realize how stubborn and cruel I had been.
Every time he gazes at me, it is as if, it is the first time he has ever laid eyes upon me.
It invokes an emotion I have never felt before. And I swear if it takes my whole, undeserving breath, I will make it up to him somehow. Though, I must make him cease his addiction. Unfortunately, the only way I know he shall stop is if I withhold myself from intercourse. I’ve planned other ways in the hope he understands that it is all out of love.
I can’t fathom the effects the substances shall cause on his body in the long term and I refuse to lose him to something I could have prevented. I must take better care of him and be as protective of him as he is of me.
My thoughts are interrupted by the two miserable beings in front of me.
My mother and father.
“Tilly for goodness’ sake are you even listening?” My mother, Patricia, croons. Rapping her fingers on the table. I slowly raise my hand to my face, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“Are you giving me attitude?” She snaps; both of her arms now outstretched on the cafe table. She has a blonde bob haircut like mine and a full face of perfectmake-up. White elbow length gloves covering her arms. Her pink dress sparkles with the sunlight from the tall windows within the cafe.
Father sits cross armed in his tan, tailor-made suit. A blue ascot sticking out from the corner pocket. His mustache curled atop his lip, as he furrows his blond brows.
“You know we had to come out here,” he says with a gruff, irritated tone. “After we heard you died, for heaven’s sake, do you know the damage it has done to me, to your mother especially?” As he finishes his statement, mother gives a dramatic sob into her handkerchief.
“We had to purchase a damn town home here, just so we could try and find some answers. Then we come to find out you have been alive for several months and not just working as a nurse at this small, desolate hospital, but fraternizing with lewd gangsters!” My mother gives another exaggerated sob into a pink handkerchief.
I want to roll my eyes and storm out of the cafe, for these individuals sitting before me claim entitlement to my life. But when the thought grows inside my soul, it quickly is snuffed out by the insecure little girl sittingdeep within my body. Anytime I am in the same room as them, I transform into the tiny child they raised.
The child that doesn’t talk back.
The child that listens and obeys their parents in fear of their wrath.
The child that carries an abundance of guilt, for they never did anything correctly.
I was supposed to be a doctor like my brother, but I overheard my mother tell anyone with bloody ear drums that I “unfortunately became a nurse.”
If I showed any emotions I’d be berated, called a burden, a pathetic case.
