Page 22 of Shadowed With Fear

The large house was homey, it radiated an abundance of comfort and love. My dad’s new house is not the case. I lived here for such a short time, but I counted each second until I could leave. Lucky for Brahm, he never had to spend a night in this cold hollow shell of a home, where the nights were so quiet that you could often hear the creaking of the house as the wind blew against the outside.

Then Jennifer came. I could deal with the loneliness and the barren vibes of the house, but when she came, and brought her bullshit fake smiles and condescending attitude and constant judging, no. I just wanted the purple bedroom facing the side of the yard with my dilapidated tree house casting weird shadows on the backyard.

“Dahlia! It’s so good to see you. My don’t you look—” she starts with a fake ass plastic smile, trailing off as her eyes roam over me. I stand on the threshold of the house in a pair of brown plaid pants, the hem rolled over my black combat boots, and a Night of the Living Dead shirt tucked into them. I don’t know if it’s the outfit that has her stumped on what to try complimenting me on, if it’s the black lipstick, or maybe the fact that I have a new tattoo since the last time they had seen us. Maybe all three? I don’t really care. I like Ted. I look down at the little snail tattooed on my forearm. Ted’s cool. Jennifer can fuck off.

“Festive!” Jennifer finally finishes her sentence and inspection of my outfit choice. I roll my eyes as she purses her lips, turning to Brahm. Her smile has returned and there’s that disgusting little hint of seduction that’s been there since she’s been here.

“Brahm Beckett you handsome man. You look more and more like your father every day.” He flashes her a charming smile.

Ass kisser.

I stick my tongue out at him from behind the succubus before us. Brahm’s eye, crinkles, so I know he seen me. I smirk, pushing past my stepmom to the foyer. My dad is there, arms spread wide waiting for my embrace. AS his arms wrap around me, a lot of my stress is just gone. Instantly. I don’t get to spend as much time with my dad as I would like.

Charles Beckett is a busy man. Running a multiple corporation business in our family name, one that’s been passed down for generations, starting as a small coal company, and has grown exponentially over the decades. No matter what, though I know I can always count on my dad to give healing hugs.

I sigh in his arms, body relaxing in his strong embrace.

“What’s wrong, doll?” His deep voice vibrates through his chest and a small smile plays at my lips.

“Nothing, dad. Just happy to see you.” He squeezes me tighter.

“Happy Birthday, sweetheart. We’re gonna eat outside on the patio, okay?” He pulls back looking down at me with his warm brown eyes.

“Good, deal, old man.”

He gasps dramatically, quickly pulling his hands back. “Take that back missy.”

“Nope,” I laugh walking with him to the patio doors. He told me about his latest trip to Virginia and the one he has next month to Pennsylvania. I told him about school and my portfolio project.

“Maybe you can take some pictures of the town. You could use identity as your topic, or something like that. Make the portfolio a sort of collage of you.” Dad takes a quick swig from his beer while I think it over.

I mean, I do want to try to find myself. I want to be acquainted with who I used to be. This could help. It would even work with my Get My Shit Together List.

“Hmm, yeah, dad. I might. That’s not a bad idea. I was also thinking of doing things like before and after. Having a photo and taking one in the same spot at the same angle and combining them into one image. Kin of like how in moves they use over las to switch scenes.” Dad hums his understanding just as Jennifer and Brahm step outside. Brahm sports his own beer, and Jennifer is sipping a glass of wine.

“Oh, please. Dahlia are you still spouting all that film nonsense.” She tsks her disapproval and my cheeks heat.

“I mean really. It is such a waste of your time and potential,” she continues on, but I drown her out. Potential. It seems everyone knows more about my own goddamn potential than I fucking do lately.

“Jennifer, I appreciate the concern really, but I don’t care much about what you have to think about the subject.” I cut her off and she looked at me mouth agape.

“Excuse me?”

There is an awkward silence that falls over us. Brahm is staring at me wide eyed, and dad is trying his best to sink into the seat cushion I believe.

“I know your opinion on my interests, and despite all of your previous attempts to sway me, I am not interested.”

She sniffs, sitting back, crossing her knees.

“I understand. I am only trying to look out for you Dahlia. Someone like yourself should know that you won’t have much luck with breaking through the film industry. They expect a certain kind of person, and truthfully dear, you just don’t fit that image.” Jennifer sips at her wine.

Her perfectly curled blond hair pinned back and over one shoulder, makeup to the nines. She looks the perfect picture of a trophy wife. And in my experience, she can play the role of cunning and conniving with a sweet smile so well she deserves a goddamn Grammy.

I grit my teeth, and mutter through them. “Thank you for your opinion. I am not looking to be an actor, or on screen. Though I’m unsure if you would be aware of the little bubble that you’ve built around yourself, Jennifer, but the industry is changing. Bodies of all shapes and sizes are beginning to grace the silver screen. And plus size models have made the covers of magazines. So, while I appreciate your concern for the future, I will be working behind the scenes, not in them.”

Brahm clears his throat. “So, about dinner huh?”

Jennifer’s attitude changes completely. The air of perfect hostess coming to play as she stands hands wiping down her pressed skirt.