Chapter 9. I don't Belong

* Julliane *

I was just about to close the door of my bedroom when I heard voices echoing down the hallway. It was my stepfather Primo and my mother Marriane, their conversation hushed but distinct enough to catch my attention. A sudden wave of curiosity washed over me, and instead of shutting the door completely, I left it open just a crack and leaned closer, listening intently.

"Why is Lance not letting us meet that woman who's always following him around, Primo?" my mother asked, her voice laced with something more than simple curiosity, something sharper.

"Oh, you mean Sylvia, dear?" Primo replied, with a hint of amusement. "The lady in the lavender dress?"

There was a brief pause after his question. Silence lingered, interrupted only by the distant sounds of guests moving about inside the large manor. Some were exploring the antique furniture, admiring the grand portraits of the Dankworth family that lined the walls, part of the attraction that drew them in.

"Yes... I suppose that's her name," my mother finally said, her tone turning a bit syrupy. "I saw how sweet she was being with your son, Lance."

There was a subtle edge in her voice now, malice disguised as sweetness.

Primo responded after a breath. "I've been thinking... maybe Lance is dating her." He then added, "Stay here, dear, I'm going to greet the other guests arriving."

From the crack in my door, I watched my mother's eyes follow Lance, who had just appeared in the hallway, walking towards Sylvia. Both of them moved with a kind of pull, as if they were drawn to each other like moths to a flame. But what struck me was how my mother, too, seemed compelled to join them, like she couldn't resist inserting herself into whatever was about to unfold.

"Hi Lance!" she called out, her voice artificially sweet. "Aren't you going to introduce me to the beautiful lady beside you?"

I saw Sylvia reach Lance before my mother could. She was poised, graceful, her presence undeniable. Lance laughed in that boyish way of his, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Oh, Sylvia. Meet Marriane, my stepmother. Marriane, this is Sylvia. She's... a friend."

I watched Sylvia's expression shift slightly. She raised an eyebrow and extended a hand toward my mother, but her words came with a teasing sting. "A friend, Lance? That's all I am to you? That makes me sad."

Both women laughed, but it was the kind of laughter that carried an undercurrent, something sharp and cold beneath the sound. Lance's gaze drifted toward my slightly ajar door, and I quickly pulled it shut before he could see me. I pressed my ear against the wood to keep listening.

"Is that really true, Lance?" my mother asked again, pressing the issue. "You two are only friends?"

"Yes, Marriane," he chuckled. "Sylvia is a good friend of mine."

I could hear my mother's soft, satisfied laugh. Clearly, she was pleased with that answer.

"By the way, Marriane," Lance continued, "why is Julliane staying in her room tonight and not joining the party?"

His words made my heart stutter. I held my breath, waiting.

"She's having one of her episodes, Lance. Don't worry about her," my mother said smoothly. "Just yesterday, I asked if she needed anything, I was planning to go out, but she declined. Said she wanted to be alone."

I clenched my jaw at the lie. My hands balled into fists at my sides. That never happened.

Then Sylvia's voice cut in, overly sweet. "Oh, that's what I heard about you, Marriane, that you have a tall and pretty daughter. I can't believe you already have a teenage daughter. I mean, look at your body! Despite your age, you still look gorgeous."

My mother let out a laugh, but there was no real humor in it. The compliment hadn't landed kindly.

"I just take care of myself well, Sylvia," she replied flatly.

"I only hope I look as beautiful as you when I reach your age," Sylvia continued with a smile. "Come on, Lance, I like the music. Let's dance."

I heard their footsteps fade, leaving my mother alone at the top of the stairs. Then, under her breath, she muttered just loud enough: "Bitch."

She meant it for Sylvia, obviously, for not-so-subtly calling her old. I rolled my eyes, retreating back to my bed and pulling the covers over me. I wanted to sleep, to forget about the entire scene, but the music from the garden still floated through the open window. I had no idea how long the party would go on.

After sometime, I closed my eyes, trying to force myself into slumber. But then I heard voices, different ones, drifting up from below my window. I pushed back the blanket and crept toward the glass.

It was Darren, my other stepbrother and two boys I didn't recognize, whispering and laughing in the garden near the benches and flower beds. A glance at my clock told me it was nearly 2 AM. My curiosity got the better of me.

I opened my door slowly, the house now dark and silent. All the guests had gone. I tiptoed down the hallway, into the kitchen, and slipped out the back door into the cold night. The wind nipped at my skin, my shorts and T-shirt did nothing to protect me. I shivered slightly but kept walking, making my way toward the boys.

As I approached, I caught the scent of something pungent in the air earthy, smoky. Their voices, once light and casual, lowered when they saw me getting closer.

"You need to go now, Mike," Darren said, his voice tight with concern. "My brother might still be awake and could check on me."

"He's probably knocked out from the party," Mike replied. "Come on, this is the perfect time."

"Just take a hit, Darren. It's amazing. Don't be such a good boy you've got to experience this."

But before Darren could respond, I stepped into view. The three of them froze when they saw me. Darren's eyes widened in surprise.

"Jullie? What are you doing here?"

I crossed my arms, glaring at him. "I should be the one asking that, Darren. What are you doing out here this late?"

The two boys with him Mike and another I didn't know looked me over with interest. Mike grinned and swaggered toward me, throwing his arm over my shoulders like we were old friends.

"Oh wow. Who is this, Darren?"

"Hey, don't touch me," I snapped, trying to shrug him off, but his arm was heavy and unwelcome.

"Shhh," Darren said, his voice almost pleading. "Lower your voice, Jullie. We don't want to wake up Lance."

That smell again. My eyes narrowed, and I took a deeper breath. I knew it now.

"You're smoking weed?" I asked Darren, disbelief turning into worry. "Seriously?"

"It's just this once, Jullie. It's not harmful like people say it's herbal. I just wanted to try. Please, don't tell anyone."

Mike chuckled and held the joint out to me. "Come on, baby girl. Try it. Just one puff. You'll like it."

"No! Don't give her that!" Darren snapped. "She's still a minor!"

"Relax, man. What's the harm? Let her have some fun."

Mike tried to push it toward me, even as I turned my head away in disgust.

Then, like a crack of thunder, a voice rang out loud and furious.

"What is the meaning of this?!"

We all froze. Lance stood near us, barely a few steps away, his expression unreadable, his eyes dark and filled with fury. I gasped, and the boys beside me stiffened. No one dared to speak.

The night had suddenly turned very serious.