Deserted house

Grusha's POV:

“Amalia”

The moment he said that name, I looked at him while dropping my hands to my lap while still holding the glass of water and pills in my palms. He again mistook me for my mother. ‘How foolish of me to think that he has finally…..never mind’ I mused as a sad chuckle escaped my lips.

“Amalia”

He called again but I did nothing and just stared at him. This is not the first time he mistook me for my mother, so it’s not new. And I know this won’t be the last time too. But each time this happened, his eyes, his behavior and everything looked different. His eyes seemed somewhat softer and showed many emotions but I couldn’t quite grasp what those were. However, he appeared somewhat different. That’s all I knew. In the beginning I believed it to be a side effect of the medications, but later I was proven wrong when this persisted even when he used to refuse taking medication.

Sighing, I again reached out to him in the hopes that he would take them, either consciously or unconsciously. It doesn’t matter what he calls me as long as I get the job done.

“Sir, please take your medicine.”

He seemed to regain his consciousness as his eyes returned to the cold gaze. His lips and fingers began to tremble as his eyes grew darker and darker by each passing second; something could have terrified me a long ago but not anymore. I was aware of his potential next move based on my prior experiences. He is going to…

“Aaaarrrr….”

He groaned deeply, expressing his anger as best as possible as expected, yet failing miserably to scare the shit out of me-probably because I have seen the worst or because even I know that he is powerless right now. As I told before, his condition is a torture. That’s obvious.

It is not surprising to know that my own father despises me this much that he hates to even look at my face. Not after what I did.

Sighing, I stood up placing the glass on the tray before putting the pills in the bottles and placing them inside the drawers. There were not many pills left in them and I knew that once they were gone, he wouldn’t receive any more since no one was concerned about his health. However, if he continues in this manner, it won’t be a matter for a while.

I picked up the tray, completely oblivious to the pain that forced me to bite hard on my lower lip and close my eyes, almost making me cry as the pain shot through my wrist to my entire hand. For a while, everything that just happened completely distracted me. I decided to apply something on my wrist first because I knew that I won’t be able to work with an injured wrist.

I took one last look at my father who was still trembling before hobbling outside while hissing with each step.

I couldn’t help but wonder how quiet this place is as I hobbled through the hallway on my way to downstairs. There are twenty bedrooms in total, as I recall counting when I went to clean, even though only few of them were occupied. I have heard that my parents used to reside in the last room at the end of this hallway, but after my mother passed away, that was abandoned and even father moved into another room, where he is staying right now. Despite the fact that no one was allowed to go there, I have paid couple of visits since I was told to clean the entire house regardless of the rooms being occupied or not. Everything in that room stays the same as before. Neither clothes nor furniture have been touched nor moved.

There are pictures hung on the wall, where I first saw the picture of my mother. There is a picture of a woman standing next to a man who had his hand around her waist and eyes on her face while she was carrying a boy who appeared to be around 6-years-old. The woman had a beautiful smile over her lips and loving eyes which left me quite astonished since those things have never crossed my face. They appeared to be very happy. When I first saw that photo, I felt a pang in my chest from guilt over ruining that happiness they had. Everything has been perfect until I came to their lives. I regret it and I am aware that I will never be able to forgive myself for it. Each time I entered that room I used to stare at that particular picture for what felt like hours until my eyes became glossy. But now, whenever I enter that room what I feel is only anger. I feel fury at myself.

When I was a child, some of father’s men used to stay at this house, but later they also left god knows why. Ever since then, this place has grown darker and more desolate than it was before, as if a gloomy cloud has descended upon the house.

Except these, brother has a room in the second floor where he rarely stays since he spends most of his time at the bar or at his office. Like father like son. No matter what, their alcoholism and greediness will never be satisfied. Despite the fact that they never get along, they have more in common.

So except those rooms, all of the other rooms are empty unless we have some unexpected overnight guests which is really rare or brother brings some chicks to fuck which happens quite often.

My feet finally halted at the staircase as I took a deep breath before clutching the handrail and going down. Balancing the tray with one hand, I slowly made it to the bottom before letting out a sigh of relief. I was about to enter the kitchen when I heard the main door opening abruptly, making me flinch at the sound, stopping me in my tracks and sending shivers down my spine as I witnessed the last person I wanted to see and hadn’t seen since last night entering the house with anger raging through him.

Brother…

I clenched the tray tightly in my hands, lowering my head and closing my eyes tightly when I saw him storming towards me fuming in rage, bracing myself for any tantrum that he is going to take out on me. But…