4
ST. ANNABEL
I love Monday mornings. Most people hate it because it means school, work and obligations, but I love the fresh smell of a brand new week, shedding the stench of the old one.
However, this Monday I have been summoned to my father’s office, and like a dog answering its owner’s beck and call, I am here. After spending almost two weeks screening his calls, I knew I couldn't avoid him any longer.
The early traffic is abysmal and it took me over an hour to drive down here, so I am aggravated before even seeing his face.
I look up at the Astaeris building, situated next to the infamous Gherkin, and sigh.
Ever since I began university, I have been coming into the office once a week to shadow senior employees, board members, and mainly my father himself.
I don’t mind it. I am good at it. But it isn’t what I want.
Rain splatters on my face as I rush into the building; the first day of September and it is already pouring, how dreadful.
Plastering on my public smile, I wave to the guards and ask about their kids, speak to Sarah and Jessica at reception, and chat to the employees I recognise in the lift until it is just me left going to the highest floor.
There are only two rooms on this floor, his and mine.
I near my father’s office and his secretary, Natasha, sits in her open cubicle right by his door.
She sees me and smiles. She is a beautiful redhead in her late twenties with big tits and a pretty smile; it makes me wonder if he has ever slept with her too.
“Hello, my darling.”
“Annie, hey, how was your summer?” she asks as she pulls me into a hug.
“Fantastic,” I answer , returning the hug, wondering if she could detect the sarcasm.“Is he busy?”
“He’s in a brief teams meeting but I’ll phone in on another line and tell him you’re here.”
“It’s fine, I’ll just go in and wait,” I say with a smile and wave, “We should catch up later.”
My smile drops as I enter my father’s office, he looks up when he sees me but goes back to his meeting.
The room is one of my favourites in the building (only second to my own, which I designed); the graphite colour scheme of black, white and grey is tastefully put together, the sofas, round coffee table, even the bookshelf behind him, making it modern and homely while somehow remaining intimidating and cold, just like him.
The lighting in the room is utterly brilliant (some of my best pictures have been taken in here), the floor to ceiling windows frame the whole city and have the most stunning view.
My own office has a similar view, which is why I sometimes went in there to think and breathe.
My father shuts his laptop and walks around to sit on one of the smaller sofas, crosses his legs, while I stand on the other side of the room and we both stare at one another. He speaks first, “You look well.”
“You don’t,” I spit back.
He scoffs out a laugh. “Is there a reason you haven’t been answering or returning my calls?”
“Have you mayhaps considered that I didn’t want to hear a word out of your mouth?”
“So why are you here?” he asks, pouring himself a cup of water.
“I realised that sooner or later you’d sent Joe to my place and brought me by force, figured I’d spare myself the drama.” Joe is the head of our personal security, and has been with us for as long as I could remember. He is the one sent to reel me in when I do things my father didn't like.
“That’s a first.” It is funny how people think men can’t be sassy, but they are worse than women.“Sit down, I have something to tell you.”
“I’m alright where I am.”
All traces of humour leaves him, his gaze turns sharp and mean. I do as instructed.
He sighs, craning his neck looking particularly irritated all of a sudden, “The girl will be arriving tonight and she’ll be staying with you,” he informs me, and I freeze in disbelief in my seat.
“What?”
“She will start at Thorne on Next Monday, a little late but I had to get things sorted in quiet and without fuss. I’m sure she can cope with missing a couple classes, but help her fit in regardless. This is being kept very low profile so nobody can know… about her being mine.”
“Are you having a laugh?”
“Does it look like I’m joking?”
“What else would explain you doing this? To Mother? To me?” I grit out, my voice rising with each word. “Why does it have to be my house? Since you’re suddenly father of the year, let her fucking stay with you!”
“Reasons for anything I do is none of your business, St. Annabel,” he says with a sigh, like I am exhausting him when really I should be the one tired of his shit. “Also, I paid for that house. After you begged me to get it for you, so I’d tread lightly if I were you.”
An involuntary tear slips out of my eye and he looks at me condescendingly before groaning, “Are you crying? Tell me you aren’t fucking crying.
” He doesn’t believe in tears; he always said they are a telltale sign; anyone who can’t control their emotions is susceptible to letting it cloud their judgement and influence.
Signs of a weaker being. I look away from him.
“I don’t even get a choice in this…wow,” I say, incredibly baffled by his audacity. “Being around you right now is suffocating me. Don't call me, I definitely won’t answer, and if I see Joe I’m calling the police.”
I walked out without waiting for a reply. I finally understand why people hate Mondays.
???
My decision to go see my father just before my auditions might take the cake on terrible decisions I have ever made.
I can feel the world caving in on me, I want to claw out my throat.
The flask sitting in my bag is now empty of the vodka I had just refilled two hours ago and I think it hardly made a difference to my mood.
The last thing I want to do is dance but I had to, this is going to be my final showcase before I leave this place.
We are doing Swan Lake and I am gunning for the role of Odette just like everyone else but my main competition is Devon. She is going to give it her all with no care of how much I want it too. So, I have to make sure I get out of my head; forget my father and everything else trying to break me.
The hall is buzzing with damn near the whole department excited for their chance to audition. There are six girls and guys each in their final year. We take priority over the other students but Gigi, our head of dance, would still rather pick whoever did best no matter what year they were in.
I see Devon surrounded by some of our coursemates and walk up to them, popping a couple pieces of gum in my mouth to hide the smell of alcohol.
Usually before I dance I need quiet because it feels like I’m emptying my brain from everything other than my choreography.
However, I am hoping she will provide a good distraction since my mind refuses to quieten down.
“Oh my, you’re back,” Anthony, one of the male dancers, says like he doesn’t already know this.
My face has been all over the internet the entire weekend.
You leave for one summer and people treat it like you disappeared for years and went radio silent.
I am not the only one who left London when uni isn’t in session but I apparently am the only one that counts.
“That I am,” I reply, with a smile and a subtle knowing look to Devon, who gives me a look back in return. She can’t stand him, she thinks he talks too much.
“Nobody threw good enough parties the entire summer, we missed you,” says Ella Spinelli.
Her full name was Adelma but we all know her as Ella.
She is the kinder of the Spinelli twins, always in bright pink and with a smile on her face.
Devon finds it nauseating. I don’t mind it because her sister is in my Econ course and she is the complete opposite, it is nice to receive kindness from one of those gorgeous faces.
“Did we?” Devon says with an eyebrow raise.
“Shut up, you definitely missed me most,” I say. I walk around the others and link our arms, resting my head on her shoulder. We fade into the background passively listening to the chatter of the others.
“Everything alright in Annieland?” she asks me, quietly.
I shrug a shoulder at her, so she continues “Surely this can’t be about Arden again?”
“I never said last time it was about him.” I lift my head.
“Oh please, it’s clear to anyone with a brain how you feel about that fool.”
“Erm, excuse me, I think I manage to hide it pretty well.”
“No, you don’t. MJ just doesn’t want to see it because it means confronting that perfect friendship of yours,” she says perfect with such vigour you can tell she means the exact opposite.
“Our friendship is perfect.” I unlink our arms, getting defensive. This is what I mean when I say it feels like she can’t stand being around me. It is the little comments that feel like a joke but equally feels like there is truth to them.
Before she can say something back, Gillian Abrams, our head dance teacher, has the room silenced with a clap of her hands, which is repeated back.
“We will teach the group choreo first, solos will come afterwards. Guys first, then the girls. You should’ve received your spots via email this weekend,” she calls out to the hall.
I am going last, which usually won’t bother me, but today is the kind of day I just want to be over. She continues, her dark hair tied into a bun with her glasses hanging on the edge of her nose. “You get one chance. Don’t fuck it up.”
Group auditions go by in no time and soon after we have moved on to solos. Everyone is good, but I know I can do better, I just have to get out of my head. After an hour and half, I am the last one left.
“St. Annabel Bass.”
I hear my name called out and come out to the whole room awaiting me with such great expectations in their eyes. I am the best here, so I take a deep breath in and out to remind myself of that.
And I am doing well, I truly am, but then I trip on my feet and gasps ring out across the room.
The teachers sit up a little straighter, as I lay on the floor for a short beat, but I get up and continue like nothing happened, I want to burrow myself in a hole and never get up.
I feel sick to my stomach, I could feel my body vibrating and my ears ringing.
When the music stops, you can hear the stillness in the room.
This might be the worst day of my life and I lived through the age of fourteen, where everyday was like dining with Satan.
I nod at Gigi and the rest of the department then walk off stage with my head held high.
A moment later I hear, “That’s all for today, results will be posted on Monday. ”
Refusing to let anyone witness the impending breakdown that was sitting at the tip of my throat, I grab my bag and run out of there.
My vision is blurry, the world spinning, with my lungs rapidly constricting as I struggle to breathe.
I’m not even sure where I am anymore until the gentle touch of a hand wraps around me, the other cupping my face.
I can’t really see but I recognise the voice—MJ.
“Annabel, listen to me. Remember what we said for these? Focus on the sound of my voice.” I nod rapidly. “You’re alright, I’m here. Okay, now breathe in and out.”
“I can’t–”
“I’ll do it with you,” she gently presses, her hands slowly rubbing up and down my arms. So we start doing it together to calm the racing beat of my heart. I am no longer shaking in her arms but hardly out of the woods, my ears were still ringing.
“We’ve done this before, Annabel. Five things we can hear, feel or smell.”
I shake my head, I could still barely speak nor see. She presses, “We need to take your mind off it, so try.”
“Cars,” I start. “Footsteps.”
I pause and she taps my arms, signaling me to continue as I speak in short, quick gasps. “Your hair.”
“Which you’re terribly pulling on at the moment,” she mutters under her breath.
“Bracelet.” The thin ones she wore on her left wrists.
My vision slowly returns, grateful for her attempt at trying to make me feel safe in the midst of it all. “One more,” she whispers.
“Vanilla,” I manage to push out, in reference to her perfume.
I pull her into a hug and whisper, “Thank you.” She kisses the side of my head, and I let her drive me home and have her tuck me into bed. Devon is wrong, our friendship is perfect.
“How did you know?” I ask as my head touches my pillow.
“I didn’t,” she admits. “Hani called and I was nearby.” Devon’s korean name was ?? ( Hani) and it is a name only reserved for family and us, so when we were younger we used to love that our names sounded similar.
We were Hani and Annie, best friends. She is still looking after me despite our argument earlier, people are always looking after me. I am such a nuisance.
MJ notices the shift in me but she mistook my upset, “Hey, however bad you think it was, I promise you it likely wasn't. You’re great, Gigi would be a dumbass not to give you Odette over a small mistake.” I give her a strained smile because we both know the woman isn’t the type to let mistakes slide. No special treatment for anyone.
Not ready to let her know what’s going on just yet, I turn on my side making a show of wanting to be alone, “Sleep. It’ll be like the day never even happened.”
Some time later, I groggily peel my eyes open as the heavy knocks on my front door wakes me from my slumber.
I look at the red mini clock next to me and it says ten pm.
MJ must’ve left as soon as I dozed off, there is a note pinned to the clock that read, “ got hungry xoxo ” she can’t cook so there was no point staying over.
I drag my feet towards the door, as the banging increases. “I’m coming!”
I open the door to reveal a stunning black girl with big curly hair standing there with a bag in hand.
She is in jeans and a hoodie that she drowns in as she is slim, and of a similar height to me, with high cheekbones.
She has a couple piercings on her nose. Her green eyes, that feels eerily familiar, scans me, as I do her, with a faint level of distaste.
“Can I help you?” I question trying to muster as much pep in my voice but it definitely came across weak.
“I’m Harley. Apparently, I’m your sister,” she says.
Everything became clear instantly. Why those eyes felt familiar, they are identical to my father’s.