Page 13 of House of Bass

Still, when Annabel came back into the room with two cups of strawberry tea, she no longer had the desire for small talk as she couldn’t help but worry about her ma. Posy reassured her they were going to take care of her, but knowing her mum, she wouldn’t take it quietly.

“If it’s okay with you, I would like to rest, it’s been a long day,” Harley said, interrupting whatever else was going to come out of Annabel.

“I’ll show you your room,” Annabel said with a strained smile, “It’s on the first floor, opposite mine.”

Harley dragged her bag up the stairs refusing all notions of help. When they got upstairs, she thanked her and disappeared behind the doors of her new room.

The first thing she noticed was how unbelievably bright the room was. It was colour coordinated in pastels; the walls and lamp were pink, the sheets and desks were green and the pillows were a mix of both. Next came the sheer size of it, that left her gobsmacked, unable to contain the shock from seeing there was a bathroom in here.

This was supposed to be her new normal. A great part of her was scared and it was why she had given Annabel a cold reception. Assimilating with others didn’t always come easy to her, especially due to how she had lived with her mum. But the other part was excited about a fresh start.

She was going to complete her four years at TUL and make something for herself. Then get her mother the help she could never afford before. Tomorrow was a new day and she was going to make the best of it.

6

ST. ANNABEL

I have always wished I could explain the relationship I had with my father to someone, but from the conversations I have with others around me, I realise no one ever would understand. Do you know what it's like to simultaneously crave the approval of someone while also deeply resenting them for making you unable to freely live in your own skin? It was a nightmare. It is my life.

As a child I followed him everywhere, people used to call me his little shadow. It didn’t matter where he was in the house, I would've found him and stuck to him like glue. My mother always complained, saying you would’ve thought he gave birth to me instead of her. We look so alike, albeit I didn’t get his eyes, everything else about me is him. I wanted to be him.

Then I grew up and it was the last thing I ever wanted. When it became more important for me to actually follow in his footsteps than to exist as my own person. When “daddy” became “father” and when “mummy” became “mother”, it was a shift that happened slowly but I had detached myself from both. I love them, my parents, even on the days that I hate them. They are my parents after all, I can’t have another. I taught myself how to suck it up and just do what they wanted. What I didn’t realise was that by doing that, I was tearing myself apart. I was beginning to unravel.

The panic attacks started when I was thirteen. Nobody knew about them, not even Arden, since I never told him. I used to cry myself to sleep on many nights and it was why I begged for a single room at boarding school, framing it as not wanting to be distracted.

My father always made it a case to keep up with everything I did so as to not embarrass him. He always said that if you are going to start something, you finish it great. He doesn’t need to approve of it, it is how it ends that matters. Beyond the crippling disappointment in myself, I know that is what had launched my panic attack earlier: my father won’t come to watch me play anyone other than Odette. And I know I failed him. Yet, when I saw Harley, those eyes, I realised at once he is the one who failed me first.

The idea that I’m not his oldest child should have set me free and despite it, I can’t help but feel this tug of upset, that after everything I really am not enough.

The clock on the wall inches towards ten o’clock. I pinch my eyes closed, taking deep breaths to go back to meet the girl who shared half my DNA, there in my living room, trying to ignore the sharp pain in my chest. Delicately carrying the mugs in hand, I headed back in, mustering up my best smile again.

I get to the rim of my entrance, watching Harley inspect the art on my walls, some of them I had collected from auctions or bought from exhibits–a hobby of mine. The one in particular that she was gently caressing was the Lyra constellation.

My father loves the stars. It's the only thing I ever see him inherently animated about. He even has a mini observatory at home with his telescopes, there were days when he would show me different stars or the moon. Lyra was particularly important because it is one of three constellations involved in the Summer Triangle. After all, he had named his company after it and it is why mine and Stassie’s middle names were Cygna and Aquilla, respectively.

“I only have strawberry at the moment, it’s my favourite so I keep it stocked more than the others,” I say, walking inside, startling Harley from her trance. She mumbles a thank you in response, but her demeanour has shifted. I stand there wondering what I might have said or done wrong.

Her gaze still lingers on the drawing, so I fill in, “I picked that up at a museum in Vienna, it’s the Ly–”

“Lyra constellation. Yeah, I know,” she says, bluntly.

Awkwardness permeates the air as neither one of us knows what to say to the other. The silence almost stretches too thin until she breaks it. “If it’s okay with you, I would like to rest, it’s been a long day,” Harley says.

“I’ll show you your room,” I tell her with a strained smile, “It’s on the first floor, opposite mine.”

After we say our goodbyes, I flop back onto my bed wanting this incessantly long Monday to end.

Not even a couple minutes later, I hear my phone ring and I pick it up without even looking at the caller ID. I growl out, “Who the bloody hell is this?”

“Is this how we greet people now?” Arden tsks . “No manners.”

My eyes widen from the shock and I sit up straight. “Did you make a mistake and call the wrong person?” I ask.

“No.”

“So you are calling me , on purpose?”

“We’ve established that.”