Page 17 of August and the Night

As I walk downstairs, I take a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever awaits me at the breakfast table. I wish things could be different, that we could have a loving relationship like other families do. But unfortunately, I do not think that it is going to happen anytime soon.

I make my way down to the kitchen, my heart fluttering with a mix of anxiety and dread as I see Layla sitting there, looking gorgeous as ever, next to my father. Her bruises are nowhere in sight, covered perfectly with foundation. My anxiety worsens quickly when I realize that he hasn't even acknowledged my presence.

"Hi, father," I say, trying to sound cheerful despite my nerves.

He looks me over with a disapproving frown. "Look at you, gaining too much weight again. You really need to take care of yourself."

"I've been busy with the lab and all," I try to explain.

He scoffs, not interested in my excuses. "And what's with your hair? It's a mess. Can't you at least make an effort to look presentable?"

Tears well up in my eyes as I fight the overwhelming feeling of heartbreak. It hurts that he didn't even say hello or ask about me before hitting me with his harsh remarks. It's as if my existence doesn't matter to him, and all he cares about is finding fault in me.

"I'll try to do better," I manage to say, my voice trembling.

His disapproval only intensifies. "You better."

I glance at Lily, hoping for some support, but she avoids my gaze and remains silent, I can see her expression is solemn though.

"I'm doing my best," I say, my voice shaking.

"Well, your best clearly isn't good enough," he retorts.

I force a smile and take a seat at the table, attempting to push aside the hurt and act as if his words don't affect me. But the pain lingers, and I can't help but feel my heart breaking. Deep down, all I ever wanted was his love and approval, but it seems like that's something I'll never truly have.

We sit at the breakfast table, the atmosphere stifling with tension. Lily appears visibly uncomfortable, fidgeting with her fork, while I try to finish my breakfast as quickly as possible, hoping to escape this suffocating environment. But my father doesn't make it easy; he continues to make disparaging remarks about me, even comparing me to Lily, praising her at my expense.

"You should learn something from Lily," he says, a hint of smugness in his voice. "She's always so put together, unlike you."

I bite my lip, fighting back tears and the urge to defend myself. I can feel the weight of his expectations crushing me, and it's becoming harder to bear with each passing moment.

When I finally manage to finish my breakfast, I stand up abruptly, not wanting to subject myself to any more of his hurtful comments. "I have to work on my thesis," I tell him, my voice strained.

He looks at me disapprovingly. "Always buried in your books, no wonder you're so awkward.”

I nod weakly, apologizing to him, not wanting to prolong this painful conversation. I quickly leave the house, feeling the tears threatening to spill over. As I step outside, John is waiting for me, concern evident in his eyes. Without a word, he pulls me into a comforting embrace, and I break down, sobbing into his chest.

He holds me gently, offering silent support, knowing that sometimes words aren't enough. As my tears subside, he takes my hand and leads me to the car, reassuring me that everything will be okay.

During the drive to the university, John does his best to raise my spirits, cracking jokes and sharing funny stories to distract me from the pain. By the time we arrive, I manage to offer a faint smile, grateful for his presence, he has been more of a father to me than my own.

I head to the lab, determined to escape the pain by burying myself in my work. I turn off my phone, shutting out the world, and immerse myself in my research. I continue to work until the winter sun sets outside, casting long shadows through the window.

As I finish my work in the lab, I tidy up everything, put on my coat, and step outside. The winter wind immediately sends a shiver down my spine as I make my way through the cold campus towards John's car. As I approach, I notice him fidgeting and appearing unusually nervous. Without saying a word, he urgently gestures for me to turn on my phone. Curiosity mixed with concern, I quickly unlock my phone, wondering what could be so urgent.

As I unlock my phone, I'm greeted by a flood of messages from August. The first ones are filled with genuine concern, asking how I am and why I haven't been answering my phone. As I scroll down, I see his worry turning into frustration, questioning why I turned off my phone and put him in a position where he couldn't reach me. The messages become more and more urgent, and I feel a pang of guilt and anxiety rising within me. It's clear that he's been trying to get in touch with me for a while, and my heart sinks as I read through his words. I feel so bad that my decision to turn off my phone has caused him stress and worry.

I take a deep breath and dial his number, my heart pounding with anxiety. As the call connects, I start to apologize for worrying him, but he cuts me off sharply, his tone full of rough authority and dominance.

"John will take you to my house," he commands firmly.

"But I can't sleep outside the house," I protest.

"John will return you home after we are done," he retorts. "He has already told your father that you'll be working late in the lab as an excuse. There's no turning back now."

My voice trembles as I try to speak up, "But I have other things to take care of." He interrupts me again, his voice even rougher and more stern, "I said, you will stay for a couple of hours. There's something important we need to discuss, and I won't take no for an answer."

With a sigh, I reluctantly agree to follow his orders, getting into the car for John to take me to him

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