Static
Jules
“It’s just a couple of days, you’ll be back before you know it,” Dread trickled down my body as those words came out of my mothers mouth. I held back the groan that rose as a reflex, pressing my forehead against the passenger-side window. Outside, the city of Nuevo Santo rolled past in a blur of concrete and bright lights. We were crossing out of Santa Vela — the neighborhood where my mother bought her apartment with her first alimony check— and into Santa Estrella, the wealthiest part of the city….or the country.
The street ahead was a sea of red break lights, every lane cluttered with cars inching forward in stubborn traffic as we funneled toward the same miserable destination: my father’s home. Before the accident, the stunning penthouse used to be our home. It was the first thing my father bought when he inherited St.Clair Co., the parent company to some of the most successful and influential fashion companies in the world.
After the divorce, I’d usually just walk to the penthouse from school, but ever since my father married Megan, the 25 year old ‘high society influencer’—as she likes to be referred to—I’ve refused to go back. She makes living there insufferably painful.
My father had tried to get me a chauffeur, but I usually just avoid them or out run them. My mother had tried to walk me to the penthouse, but I made too much of a scene. So now, she just drags me into the car and makes sure I actually walk into the lobby before she leaves. After a month of struggling and getting into some nasty fights with her, I tried to explain to her that I would genuinely just start walking on my own, but by then she didn’t buy it.
“I just don’t understand why I have to go…It’s not like he even pays attention to me, I’m just stuck in a room all day doing nothing, until I’m forced to have dinner with Megan while she scrolls on her phone.” I huff at her, rolling my eyes as I say Megan’s name.
“Jules please don’t start this again” My mom said in a whiny and very frustrated tone, she sounded like she was at a breaking point, so I decided not to push further, she gets like that sometimes, especially when Megan is brought up. Finally, my mom pulls over right in front of Moonstone Tower. It was a tall Victorian style building with plenty of glass to make it glow in the golden hour glow. I get out of the car and slam the door without saying goodbye to my mom. I knew I couldn’t muster up the right tone, and I didn’t want her to get more upset than she already was. The accident had made things so fragile, not just between my mother and I, but between all of us. Thinking of how much my family has changed since just last year brings tears to my eyes.
The door to the building was framed in gold with a nicely kept black rug leading up to it. I opened the door and walked into the lobby. The floor was made of a beige marble, with black interruptions to create a swirly design. To my right was the bar where the doorman worked. It was high, thick, and made of the same black marble as the designs on the floor, with a golden frame to contain it. Henry stood behind the bar, smiling at me.
“Hello Miss Juliette, Welcome back.” He said with his signature doorman smile. Henry is in his mid twenties, and currently studying for his masters in business, which makes your head hurt when taking into account how long his shifts as a doorman are.
“Hey Henry, how’ve you been?” I asked as I leaned on the bar. Henry was the best part of my visits. I would get weekly updates on how his MBA program is going, and maybe, if I was lucky, I would get some gossip on Megan.
“I’ve been great, my break is almost over, so I will be back in school soon, but…” He paused, a mischievous glint flickered through his eyes. “Mr. Quinn on the 12th floor said he may have a job offer for me once I graduate, and let me just say, the pay is pretty good” He says in a low voice. I felt my face light up.
“What? Henry, that’s awesome!! Wow, I feel like you just got here, can’t believe you’re already leaving us!” I exclaimed, lightly punching his arm.
“Yes, well, Let me graduate first, but things are definitely looking up, pretty soon I might actually be able to have my own apartment in the city!” He glowed at the thought. Suddenly, Gertrude comes out of the office. She was a leasing agent, and therefore, Henry’s boss. Because Moonstone is one of the most expensive penthouse towers in Santa Estrella, gossiping with residents isn’t exactly allowed. So, Henry immediately straightened up and hit the security button on his side of the bar.
“Alright, well you’re all good to go Miss St.Clair. Have a great rest of your night” Henry said in his professional tone. A polite smile stretched across my face directed towards him, and a small wave towards Gertrude as I rushed to open the glass door between the elevators and the lobby. There was a key card in my bag that could let me into the building without the doorman’s help, but Gertrude didn’t have to know that. My fingers brushed the elevator button causing it to glow, my eyes gazed at the light, mesmerized as I waited for the doors to open. The building had a total of 30 floors, which doesn’t sound like a lot, but each floor is around 2-3 stories high since most of the floors have penthouses, so the building is incredibly tall. One of the tallest buildings in the city.
My father’s Penthouse is on the 29th floor. Which just happens to contain the largest penthouses. The elevator doors open, and I am greeted with a waiting area. It was decorated with world renowned paintings, and luxurious couches. The marble floor was dressed with a gorgeous Persian rug. I turned to my right and walked down the hall to 2905, my fathers penthouse.
The double doors were large, and white, with two golden cups on either side of the door, that were filled with white tulips. We weren’t allowed to have any rugs or pots outside of the door, so flower cups drilled into the wall were the most decoration these doors would get to see. I take out my keys from my leather brown bag and open the door.
I walk into the penthouse, which has a circular entrance with a white marble floor, and matching pillars. The walls were decorated with ugly paintings of random golden splotches. Megan called them “Modern”. I call them over priced. The whole house was white, black, or gold, with the occasional gray. It was so much more depressing than the way my mom had decorated it. It was so sleek, modern, sharp, and cold. Full of art with no meaning, devoid of feeling. A door suddenly slams open.
“Oh! Beverly darling, Is that you?” I heard Megan yell from upstairs. I wrinkle my nose at the sound of my middle name. My parents chose it solely to make my grandmother happy, and Megan used it to remind herself how exclusive the family she had married into truly was. I could hear water running, so I assumed she was in the middle of showering.
“Yes, I’m home” I yell back as I walk into the living room. It was massive, with high ceilings. One of the walls was covered in tall panes of glass, giving you a view of all of Nuevo Santo. The sun was setting, so the golden light was shining into the white living room, which I must admit, was the only time the living room looked particularly pretty.
There was a large TV right on top of the fireplace, and directly across from it was a puffy white couch, large enough to fit five people, and two love seats on each side. A plain beige and gold rug sat below the couches to frame the living area, and a glass coffee table was placed in the center with random magazines that no one has ever opened. I heard the click of heels rushing down the glass staircase, and as I turned, I saw Megan — seemingly dry — in a robe with a towel wrapped around her hair and Louboutins on her feet.
It was a bizarre scene. Who takes off all their clothes before their shoes? Most importantly, how can someone famous for their taste be so devoid of it?
“Oh darling! you are just going to love what I got you!” She squeals in her fake British accent as she squeezes the concealed dress in her hands. She comes to a stop right in front of me and unzips the protector to reveal the dress. It was a short dress made of what I can only describe as the tattered material of a toddlers used tu tu. It had horizontal stripes of bright orange and yellow which would make anyone who wore it look like a deranged candy corn. “It complements your hair perfectly! Oh and it comes with this red ribbon you tie around your neck, Oh my! You are just going to look fabulous wearing it to our Final Gala!” I furrow my eyebrows as I imagine myself in it. The colors don’t flatter me at all, it would clash with my dark black hair, and make my skin look sickly pale.
Of course, Megan knew this, she was doing it on purpose. Before I could complain about the dress, my father came out of his office. It was at the end of the hall directly behind me. Huge, and filled with documents, designs, colors, and fabrics. A fashion designer’s dream and an accountant’s nightmare. I turned around to look at him.
My father was tall and lean, with long, but well-kept, dark black hair streaked with gray. His eyes were jet black, and his skin pale, giving him an ominous presence, but his bright smile dissolved it.
“I think it’s lovely,” He grinned, his bright white teeth gleaming in the light as he came up to me and Megan. He ruffled my hair and hugged me, planting a kiss on the crown of my head. He must’ve missed me — he’s usually not this affectionate.
“Wait, did you say your final Gala?” The building has a grand hall in the lobby. My father has always taken advantage of it and uses it to host grand galas with an after party of his inner circle at the pent house. Megan adored those nights, so having a final one seemed odd.
“Oh, well, of course not the final one, honey” I cringed at her ‘honey’. “Don’t be ridiculous, of course we’ll have more galas!” She says, flailing her little hands as if to swat the idea away. “Just not here,” I frown at her and look up at my father.
“Why not here?” I ask him. His eyes suddenly soften. I could tell something was wrong.
“Jules,” He starts, but is quickly cut off by Megan.
“We’re moving silly,” She says gleefully. I felt my stomach drop, and suddenly I regretted every thought I had this evening.
“You’re selling the Penthouse!” I snapped as I swerved my head to look towards my father, taking a step away from him, freeing myself from his affectionate arms. I was in complete disbelief and shock. I searched his face for a reason, a look. How could he even think about selling this place? He couldn’t, there’s no way he could possibly ever sell this place, ever leave this place. It was devastating for my mother to leave this place, and she did it completely against her will. So how could my father willingly leave it? But there was no reason I could find on his face. “W-why?” I stammered, deciding to look at Megan for the real answer my father could not give me.
“Well, we wouldn’t move too far, you know your father and I could never leave Santa Estrella, but this building is just getting too old, and, well, there’s this fabulous new penthouse building in El Callejón de la estrella that has some amazing facilities...” She gleams, daydreaming of the potential shiny new penthouses. “Besides, It would be a fresh start for your father and I,” Her smile widened, and I swear her eyes darkened. If I could capture one moment to explain why I can’t stand Megan, it would be moments like these. Not the seemingly innocent words, but the look in her eyes—the way her smile grows just as she twists the knife deeper for her own twisted entertainment.
Her intentions are obvious. She wants to move out of this house to erase any trace of my fathers life before Megan. Get rid of my mother, get rid of my brother, and get rid of my childhood. I felt tears begin to sting my eyes at the thought of my brother’s memory fading away. It’s simply too soon. I dip my head down, to refrain from Megan or my dad looking into my eyes. I stumble past Megan, crashing my shoulder into hers, causing her to spin into the railway. I could hear her complaints as I ran up the stairs and spun right, rushing into my room.
I couldn’t breathe, I felt my chest tighten as sobs rack out of my throat. I collapsed onto the floor. All I could think about was Vail, and suddenly it was as if I were taken back to that day. I held onto my bag the same way I clung onto Vail’s body. As I cried out for my brother, I found myself burning with anger. Angry at Megan, angry at my father, angry at Maeve, angry at Cass, angry at God for taking my brother from me. So incredibly furious, but all I could do was cry on my cold bedroom floor.
A scream woke me up. I immediately sat up, rubbing my eyes. It was dark, the only light in the room was the moonlight that shined through the window. I was all sweaty, strings of hair stuck to my forehead and a bitter taste in my mouth. I stay completely still as I listen intently.
Suddenly a sharp, loud, bang comes from downstairs. It sounded like a gunshot. Loud, heavy, fast footsteps come down the hall. I felt my blood go cold. I jumped up from the floor and ran into the bathroom, the vibration of the footsteps got stronger, meaning they were almost at my bedroom door. I hopped into the large stone tub and untied the fabric that held up the thick lace shower curtain that was mainly for decoration and let the fabric become the wall between me and the outside. I hugged my knees tightly as I felt my heart pound, I tried my hardest not to breathe heavily, or at all.
I hear the door to my bedroom squeak open. Heavy footsteps gently walk into the room. They must’ve stepped on my bag because I could hear the leather rub against the stone floor. The window behind me lets the moonlight in, and due to the thin fabric of the curtain, I could see the looming shadow of the person with the heavy footsteps. I began to hold my breath as they slowly approached me, my lungs burning from the lack of oxygen.
Then, my worst fear came true, the curtain began to pull back. I winced as the curtain revealed the shooter. He towered over me, especially since I was curled up in the tub. He was in all black, tan, with messy golden waves. His eyes were wide and wild as if he were just as shocked to see me as I was to see him. I didn’t dare look away from his eyes, especially since he had a pistol in his right hand. He slowly let go of the shower curtain, and raised his left index finger, and pressed it to his lips. I let out a small gasp and clamp my eyes shut, bracing for the bullet to hit me.
But instead, I hear the fabric of the curtain move. I dared to open my eyes and saw that the curtain was closed, hiding me away from the danger. My heart was beating out of my chest, like an animal fighting for its release from my ribcage.
“Clear ″ I hear the boy call out from the other side of the cotton wall. His voice was like honey, soft, angelic, harmonic. I was paralyzed in the position, I didn’t dare move, and I forced my breathing to be low, and soft, even though it desperately wanted to be heavy like a pant.
It wasn’t until what felt like hours later, that I was finally pulled out of the tub by a police officer. I was dragged out of my room, and down the hallway. As we descended the stairs, I saw the pool of blood on the floor right by the pretty white couches in the living room. That’s when my vision started to blur, and I began to disassociate from the entire thing. My whole body went numb, and I decided to just look at the front door as the police escorted me out. All I could see, hear, and feel was static.
