The Divide (The Divide Series Book 1) (2 page)

I took a quick peek behind me and glared; I could feel the temperature rising in me, even with the cold wind that kept spitting in my face. The laughing morons were still watching me, but now the stranger I bumped into was smirking. I could feel the flush burn further into my face. I curled my hands around my middle and shuffled my feet forward. His gorgeous-meter had started at ten but was now at two. Okay, maybe more like eight. Maybe he was decent, and maybe it was just buried under his asshole attitude.
And maybe fairies are real if I’m going by that logic
.

By the time I looked back up, I was quite surprised that I was standing in front of my house. My house was a good fifteen minutes from the theater; I must have power walked when I was thinking of all the different ways I’d have liked to
jab
the handsome jackass with a hot
poker
. I stared up at the large house. The house stood two stories high with an unfinished basement. On the outside, two large windows decorated each side of the front door. Two large white pillars stood alongside the windows, with five stairs leading to the front door. I detested this place. In the windows, I could see people running about getting everything set up for tonight. Dread bloomed in my stomach and I took a deep breath.
I can do this. I will walk through that door and get myself ready for tonight. I will not embarrass my father.
Otherwise, there will be repercussions, and I don’t want that.
I nodded to myself and willed myself up the stairs.

Opening the door, I could feel the warmth of the house caress my body, my limbs instantly relaxing. I closed my eyes and took a deep, satisfying breath. My body was frozen and my ears started to burn, but I didn’t care. The smell of warm vanilla wafted through the house; smelling delicious. And cozy. 

“Mia, shut the damn door,” my father snapped.

The coziness evaporated as I opened my eyes to find my father glowering at me. Chills ran up my spine. There went the warmth. I quietly shut the door, wishing I didn’t have to see him until later tonight. 

“What the hell did you do to your stockings?” My father flicked a look of disgust at my torn stockings then back to my face. I could
so
feel the love in that.

Looking down at my torn stockings—I’d completely forgotten I’d fallen—I should have remembered and sneaked in through the back door, but had it really been my fault that the wind was brutal and decided to take it out on me, and then I’d met the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen, only to find out that his personality was about as pleasant as stabbing myself in the face? “I, uh, fell,” I finished lamely. 

“How many times have I told you to take care of your things? There is a rip going all the way down your leg. You look like you belong with
them
.” His face contorted into a sneer at that last word.

I looked around and could see the judgment that decorated the party planners’ faces like they had much to prove. I rolled my eyes at them and mentally flipped them off, but was careful to stop before making my way back to my father’s heated face. Blood drained from my face. “I didn’t mean to. I stumbled over the curb and couldn’t catch myself in time.” Sweat sailed down my back as I clutched my chest, feeling my heart race against my breasts. 

My father narrowed his eyes at me, and I could see his hand closing and opening. Swallowing down the panic that started to crawl its way up my throat, I took a small step backward.
Please, not now
. “I won’t let it happen again. I promise,” I finished quickly. 

“Your promise means shit,” he said. “Go get yourself ready. I don’t need anyone coming in and seeing how much of a disgrace you are.”

Tears pricked at the backs of my eyes, but I wouldn’t cry. I never cried, and I was getting off easy. Taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out I started to walk toward the stairs. “Yes, Father.” My voice shook as I slowly walked by him, trying to go as quietly as I could.

My father’s hand grabbed my arm and gripped it tightly as I passed. “Make sure this never happens again.” My head bounced up and down as I nodded, and I kept my gaze on the wall. His nails bit into my arm as he squeezed for a full silent minute; I bit my lip from crying out. When he finally let go, I all but ran up the stairs and into my bedroom; shutting my door as softly as I could before I finally let out the breath I’d been holding.

I dropped my backpack on the floor and leaned up against the door. My room was my safe haven. The walls were a light yellow, the bedding the same yellow with butterflies drawn on. The dresser was a deep mahogany, the same as my desk and beauty station. It was simple and that was what I loved about it, and the fact that my father never stepped foot in it. I didn’t know why he never came in, but I wasn’t complaining. 

I frowned at the pile of dresses laying on my bed; I didn’t want to attend the stupid party tonight. My father insisted on throwing a party for some type of law that he was putting into place. The only people who actually knew what it consisted of were the councilmen. They were probably waiting for it to be put into place before letting anyone know what it actually contained, that way no one would have the chance to openly complain. Once a law was put into place, it was illegal to openly complain or protest about it. It was annoying to be around a bunch of rich socialites trying to win my parents' attention.

I walked to my bed and sat down, picking at my stocking; blood had crusted on my knee. My door squeaked open, and I could hear footsteps enter. The door closed, but I kept my eyes on my stocking. I already knew who it was. It was the only person who ever came into my room: Agathy. 

“We need to get you ready,” Agathy said, her voice floating closer to me.

“Can’t I pretend to be sick? I really don’t want to go.” I looked up and gave her puppy eyes, and pouted my lips. Agathy just rolled her eyes.

“No, you have to go. Up, up, up.” Agathy went to the bathroom that was adjoined to my room, and I could hear the water turn on in the shower. “Mia!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” I sighed and moved slowly toward the bathroom. I loved Agathy. She was our chief maid—more like a mother to me—she had practically raised me. She was the only one who gave me birthday and Christmas presents; of course I would have just been fine with spending time with her. She took care of me after my father had a round with me, she held on to me when I needed a shoulder to cry on, and she was there for me whenever I needed her. If it meant living on the other side of the wall, I would have done it if it meant I could live with her. 

Steam was already filling up the bathroom by the time I walked in. The mirror was fogging up, but I could still see my reflection: my strawberry-blonde hair was high up in a ponytail, my soft, clear water-blue eyes staring back at me, and my thin pink lips frowning.

“Such a beautiful girl,” Agathy said, coming up behind me. She was the same height as me, but a little on the plumper side. Gray streaks swam throughout her hair, and her eyes were dark blue, like the color of a storm brewing.

I shrugged my shoulders. “If you say so.” I didn’t believe it. My sister had been the beautiful one. When she was still alive. She’d had perfect, curly blonde hair and deep brown eyes, she’d looked just like our mother, except for the eyes—my mother had midnight-blue eyes. There had been this delicate and precious look about my sister. She'd always been able to talk her way out of trouble and get people to do her work. But she had always been kind. Never hurtful.

“Come on, come on. We need to get you ready.” Agathy squeezed my shoulders and led me over to the shower. She left me alone, closing the door behind her as I undressed and stepped in.

The hot water felt amazing on my body after being out in the cold. My toes burned, but I didn’t care. It was the good type of burn. I lathered my hair up with coconut shampoo and rinsed, repeating with the conditioner. I covered my body in bubbles with strawberry shower gel, wincing when my knee started to sting from the cut. After I rinsed off, I just stood in the downpour, shutting my eyes: green eyes materialized in front of me. I wanted to see a smile.
Or a grimace, for when you kick him where it hurts. Since, I don’t know, he was kind of a dick to you.
I nodded my head. He needed a good kicking.

“Mia!” Agathy banged on the door, and my eyes flashed open. “Are you finished yet?”

“Yeah,” I yelled out. Why couldn’t I stay in the shower longer? Like an all-night type of deal? Watch my fingers prune along with my body type of shower. I shut my eyes, imagined myself kicking the dude where it hurts, and turned off the shower. Pulling open the glass shower door, I grabbed a towel and wrapped it snugly around my body. Making my way over to the door, I grabbed the handle and held in a breath: this was it. No backing out of it.
Like I had any choice to begin with.
I wanted to shut myself in the bathroom, but I didn't. Letting out the breath I was holding, I opened the door to see Agathy arranging the different dresses on the bed, with matching shoes. I bit my lip. Tonight was going to be a long night.

“Mia, stand up straight,” my mother slurred in my ear. I could smell the alcohol roll off her tongue; I grimaced from the burning smell. I rolled my eyes but straightened my shoulders back. 

After I was finished getting ready, I had walked downstairs and my brows disappeared into my hairline. The house had been transformed, and it looked ridiculous. The place was decorated in gold and silver: gold balloons bobbed up and down from the ceiling while silver streamers surged out of every available nook. Confetti was thrown all over the floor and tables. It honestly looked like an angel had walked into the house, glanced around, and decided to throw up on everything. Guests didn’t seem to mind the obnoxious display. They mingled and crowded the once very empty house. So many people littered the rooms. If I were claustrophobic, I would probably have passed out. But at least I got to stand next to the door all night greeting people. The downfall: standing next to my already drunk mother and listening to my father drone on about how grateful he was that Mr. and Mrs. So-and-so shown up. Did I have better things to do? Probably, like read a book or file my nails. But did I have a choice? Nope. I was itching to move around and eat. The only good thing about these pointless parties was the food; I usually stuffed my face and packed a plate full to sneak up to my bedroom.

“Can I go now?” I asked my mother. I smiled sweetly at her, hoping her uncaring, drunk personality would decide I could leave. She narrowed her eyes at me in response.
So that’s a no
. 

“Aedan! How are you?” my father asked. I tried hard not to glare at my mother before turning my attention to the man standing in front of my father. The man was a little on the short side with light peppered hair and dark blue eyes. Wrinkles appeared at the sides of his eyes and mouth. Standing next to him was a tall, slim woman, who I assumed was his wife. White streaks flashed throughout her long brown hair as if lightning streaked through sand. As she looked at me, her soft brown eyes warmed the way a mother’s eyes should when looking at their child. Except I wasn’t her daughter, and the only temperature in my mother’s eyes was ice cold. 

“This must be your beautiful daughter, Mia,” she said, her voice flowing like honey. She stepped in front of me and clutched my hand, covering it with both of her soft ones. “I’ve heard wonderful things about you.”

I tried not to roll my eyes. I knew for a fact that no one talked nicely about me, except for Agathy, but no one ever talked to Agathy like she was an actual person. It would have been more realistic if she’d said,
I’ve heard you’re such a disappointment
, or
I can’t believe they spawned you
than
I’ve heard wonderful things about you
. I stretched a fake smile across my face. “Hello.” 

“Mia,” my father said, “this is Aedan and Aileen Wibert. Aedan, as you know, is the Ambassador of Inonia.”

The fake smile stretched even further on my face. “It is nice to meet you both,” I said, finishing with a curtsy. I kept my head bowed and counted the long ten seconds before I could get out of the godforsaken position. I didn’t work out. I hated working out. And when one curtsied, one was doing a type of squat. I didn’t do squats. Beads of sweat started forming on my temple and my legs started to buckle. After ten excruciating seconds, I stood straight back up.
Don’t forget to push out and flaunt your boobs so your back is straight.

“Right, right,” Aedan said, without breaking eye contact with my father. “Andrew, we have to talk. Things are getting dangerous with the rebels. They are out of control. People are start—”

“Aedan,” my father chided, as though he were talking to a child. “We’ll talk later. For now, let’s just enjoy ourselves.” He patted Aedan on the back. “Now, where is your son?”

Aedan glowered. He wasn’t happy with my father’s dismissal. “He’s back home. He’s buried in coursework. You know how it is.”

“That’s too bad,” my mother chimed in, her words slurring at the end. “I would have loved it if Mia and Jake had gotten together.”

Still holding my hands, Aileen slightly squeezed my fingers at my mother’s comment. Clearing her throat, Aileen smiled at my father. “Would you mind if I took Mia with me? I don’t have the first clue of where to go in this massive place.”