Touch Me While I Taste You

Chapter 4

4

 

 

Arabella Rivera 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Goodmorning Arabella.” Gertrude greeted me as I entered the kitchen. 

 

 

 

 

I wanted to point out that there was nothing good about the morning, especially the day ahead. But of course, I swallowed it down and murmur a soft greeting in return. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You’re here so early?” I asked, throwing my bag on the island. I fixed myself onto the stool and let my eyes stray to Gertrude. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My eyes drop to stare at the broken wine glass she was quickly sweeping in the dustpan before disposing it into the bin. My stomach drops already knowing without having to ask. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

” Yeah, your mom needed me to come early to clean up.” She answers, pushes a cloth under the running pipe and wrings it before wiping down the spilled red wine on the floor. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“They had a rough night huh?” I asked. It was no secret that my parents never saw eye to eye. 

 

 

 

 

Funny that they complain about the Cross’s while they were no saints themselves. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. At least the Cross’s didn’t hide behind the facade of a perfect family. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gertrude doesn’t answer confirming my suspicion. I should not be surprised, in fact, I wasn’t. This was normal, it was normal. But that didn’t help the lurking anger I felt knowing that my parents never cleaned after themselves. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They treated Gertrude like a slave who should always do their bidding. Yes, she was practically our maid but no one should be worked to the point of exhaustion. ” Maybe one day you should have them clean up their own mess.” I couldn’t stop the hint of anger that slipped when I spoke. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

” Who needs to clean up their own mess?” A hoarse voice speaks. 

 

 

 

 

I looked over at mother who entered the kitchen, fingers pressed to her temples like she had a massive headache. When her eyes fall on me, I took note of how red and swollen they looked. It appeared like she had been crying for hours. At this point, I wouldn’t doubt it. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She was also dressed in her normal formal attire, white blouse, pencil skirt with deathly high red stilettos and a black Prada bag clutched in her hands. She looked like the epitome of a hot wicked boss whose personal life is falling apart day by day. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In her case it was true. I could vouch for that since I was living in her world. The one where I am supposed to be perfect just like her. Or as perfect as she portrays to be. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She groans rubbing at her temples. ”

 

 

 

 

 

 

up wine cloth in the sink then walks over to the

 

 

 

 

 

 

I asked purposely. I observe how both Gertrude and mother stiffen upon hearing my

 

 

 

 

around my question she orders Gertrude. ”

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m not an orange juice kind of person on mornings.” I said flatly, mildly irritated that she forgot I was allergic to citrus. Then again I should not be surprised, my parents forgot a lot about me or

 

 

 

 

 

 

before you head to school Arabella.” She sighs grasping the glass of orange juice Gertrude handed

 

 

 

 

I could see how quickly she took out what looked like pills from her bag and popped one in her mouth before

 

 

 

 

 

 

buy my favorite vegan salad

 

 

 

 

 

 

and she turns to me. “Is Gwen picking you up or do you need a ride? I

 

 

 

 

 

 

our state. I remember the younger me dancing around with the

 

 

 

 

 

 

of my

 

 

 

 

 

 

drop me off.” It was not like I hated my parents,

 

 

 

 

 

 

though we were more like strangers than being actually related and the only thing connecting us was the blood running through our veins. Besides, a

 

 

 

 

 

 

being a senior. Like the first day I dropped you off in kindergarten.

 

 

 

 

 

 

who had dropped me off in kindergarten but Gertrude but I bit

 

 

 

 

I nodded. “Right.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

in at work earlier than expected, he has already left.” She spoke

 

 

 

 

 

 

wants to talk about

 

 

 

 

 

 

be the perfect daughter with good grades while they act like the best parents when they’re, not. Sometimes I felt that my parents saw talking to me as a chore which was rather draining on both our

 

 

 

 

 

 

I make no effort to answer her. Her eyes tear away from me to look at the clock again. ” I should be going now. Arabella don’t stay out late and if anything comes up at school, I’m one phone call away.” She utters,

 

 

 

 

 

 

been eavesdropping while pretending to wipe down the countertops, walks over to where mother was a few seconds ago and reaches for the empty glass. Her head lifts and her eyes connect

 

 

 

 

Don’t look at me like that Arabella. You know

 

 

 

 

 

 

at me and read my mind. Note my

 

 

 

 

through my phone as I waited

 

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