When the car pulled up, I couldn’t shake those demons scratching away at the pit of my stomach. They’d been there all day, just waiting. Now they had their chance, relentlessly attacking my insides.
Dinner was something of an awkward affair, stilted and somewhat meaningless conversation peppered with the sounds of chewing and glugging of wine. No one seemed to want to address the issue that was surely pressing on the minds of each of us, it had to be, what else was there to be thinking about?
My sister sat by me. She is two years older than me and never before had I seen her look so chill. Was she even feeling anything akin to the pain that ate away at my insides like a parasitic insect? Of course not. Anyone would think she was glad he was leaving, though they wouldn’t point it out. It had to stay perfect and serene. Don’t rock the boat, just let it bob gently down this silent stream in a passive state of blissfully unaware. I wanted to scream.
The cousins around the table were just as calm as my sister, did they feel nothing? I wanted to speak out, to scream out, but I knew someone would just should me down, dousing the words that burnt so hotly on the tip of my tongue.
The passing seconds, turning to minutes, and then to hours were like the beating of a drum in my ear, growing louder, harsher, the back of my head positively pulsating with the sound.