Chapter 2
James sneered, "Ashley, it's not like your jealousy is anything new.
"Last time, you stole Mom's bracelet.
"Now you're pulling a knife on Jocelyn.
"What's next, you gonna try and kill her?"
I simply rolled over, turning my back to all of them.
"Believe whatever you want," I said, not bothering to argue.
I said, "I'm going to sleep.
"Close the door on your way out.
"Thanks."
Behind me, it was dead silent.
Jocelyn choked on her own sobs.
Then Dad's roar shook the room—so loud that it sent dust drifting down from the ceiling.
"Ashley, what kind of attitude is that?" he yelled.
He said, "Get up. Now!
"Apologize to Jocelyn.
"This instant!"
I pulled the thin blanket over my head.
From under the covers, my voice came out muffled but clear.
I said, "No.
"If saying sorry fixed everything, why do we even have police?
"Let her call them. I don't care."
Outside the blanket, I could hear Mom's heavy, shaky breathing.
She sounded like she was about to cry.
She said, "Please don't be like this, Ashley.
"If you're upset, talk to me, okay?
"You're scaring me."
Jocelyn cut in, her voice all soft and pitiful.
She said, "Mom, don't push Ashley anymore.
"It's all my fault.
"I shouldn't have upset her.
"This cut... I can just take care of it myself."
James jumped in, sounding all worried.
He said, "Jocelyn, you're way too kind for your own good.
"She cut you with a knife!
"Dad, we can't just let her get away with this.
"She needs to learn her lesson."
Dad paused for a few seconds.
When he spoke again, his voice was like ice.
"Fine," he said coldly.
"Ashley," he snapped. "If you like the attic so much, then stay up there.
"Don't come downstairs.
"No dinner for you.
"You're not eating until you admit what you did."
Their footsteps thudded away.
The door slammed shut.
And then I heard the lock click.
Finally, some peace and quiet.
I pulled the blanket off my head and looked up at the dusty ceiling.
I smiled.
Yeah, this worked.
My quiet withdrawal started right there, with this nice, long stay in attic lockdown.
Three hours later, hunger was gnawing a hole through my stomach.
It burned, sharp and hollow.
I sat up and started searching every corner of the attic.
To my surprise, I actually found something worth keeping—half a box of expired canned smashed potatoes and a small pack of cheap hot dogs.
One of the maids must have hidden them there.
I felt like I'd just struck gold.
I picked up a cracked old pot, washed it with water from the small bathroom attached to the attic—at least there was that—and came back.
Good enough.
I pried open the can of potatoes, scraped the thick paste into the pot, snapped a hot dog in half, and tossed it in.
While Jocelyn was sobbing her heart out downstairs, I'd quietly pocketed a lighter on my way up.
Now I lit a few old wooden scraps and let a low flame simmer beneath the pot.
Soon, the savory smell of potatoes and hot dogs filled the air.
I sat cross-legged on the floor and ate quietly in the dim, dusty attic.
The warmth flowed down my throat, making me feel alive again.
My stomach finally settled.
And for once, my heart felt at peace.
This was what life should be like.
Downstairs, faint notes from the piano floated up.
Jocelyn's laughter, bright as silver bells, rang out.
Mom and Dad were showering her with praise.
They said, "Jocelyn, you played so beautifully.
"You've improved so much since last week.
"Tomorrow, I'm getting you a brand new piano.
"Only a Steinway will do."
I finished the last of the food, licked my lips, and let out a contented sigh.
Damn. That hit the spot.