11. Before

The morning after the blowout fight at dinner, the house had been awfully quiet. Camille padded down the steps from her room and came downstairs to find boxes full of Matthew’s things in the hall. She wondered if perhaps he’d returned and was plotting to leave for good this time. Perhaps, she still had a bit of time to talk him down.

Through the windows, she could see her father tossing things into the fire pit. Books, A4 pads, photographs and sketchbooks that normally scattered Matthew’s desk were now being soaked in Kerosine.

Camille ran outside, nearly tripping over a box of Matthew’s clothes. “Papa stop! What are you doing?” she yelled. Tears glimmered in her eyes.

George didn’t bother to turn around or stop himself from lighting a match and dropping it a top of a soaked notebook. Flames engulfed the pages, eating away at all of Matthew’s treasures, memories and creations. There was a look of malice in her father’s eyes- it was like he was trying to erase Matthew from the world.

He tossed in a few more boxes of his things and lit himself a cigarette. He reclined back in the wooden garden chair and he stretched out an arm to her, motioning for her to come to him. His strong arm wrapped around her and pulled her onto his lap, just like he used to do when she was a child. Despite the fact that Camille had never felt close to her father, she found herself laying her head down into the crook of his neck.

“Listen closely to me, love.” George says blowing a puff of smoke in her direction. “A smart and obedient girl like you shouldn’t waste tears on a useless and disgraceful boy like Matthew.” With a thumb he wipes a single tear drop that trickles down her cheek.

“What if he’s hurt, or worse-”

“He’s nineteen years old Camille. He’s old enough to know the consequences of his actions. If he wants to get out so bad, then so be it, but he’s not welcome here anymore.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but was cut off by George. “Now, enough talking about that sorry excuse of a man, let’s just enjoy some quality time together. It’s like I never hear from you anymore, Camille.” His gaze shifted toward her. Hers was somewhere on the ground, watching the hungry flames devour her brother’s possessions.

“Surely you still love your dear father?” He asks resting his hand on her thigh. Camille clenched her jaw. He was playing games again, just to get his way. She had no defences left, she was like a target on an open range, waiting for the shot.

She forced a smile and pecked his cheek. “Of course I do.” she said and shifted out of his lap. She returned inside, but she could feel her father’s piercing gaze upon her through the door.

There was a pain in her chest as she passed through the hall, it felt like she’d been stabbed. But she couldn’t be bothered to give her father the pleasure of watching her bleed.