Sunder

CHAPTER 1

THE HOMEWRECKERS

Song: Bottled Up || Tender

Lola Lowe hung on a precipice between life and death. Her world was torn apart as she stared at the pool of blood on the ground. She hoped hers would not join in the crimson puddle. The woman approached her with a knife; it was still red from the previous victim. She had shaky hands, and her knuckles were white from the grip. Lola interacted with the woman in a deadly dance of predator and prey, and Lola backed up until her heels hit the wall. On the coffee table lay an empty bottle of gin and an unlocked phone. Her father's gurgles filled the room, and the only other sound came from the basement where Lola's brother, Jude, was blasting rock music.

"Don't be afraid, Sweetie. I know best." Her mother's usual sweet tone was now deranged. Nothing about her was different, except that everything was. Her smile was too wide, her eyes were a little too open, and her usual perfect posture was completely forgotten. She was a little lopsided with her stance, and her fingers were twitchy. She dropped the knife. The tears had since dried on her face, but the remnants of her makeup made it evident that she had broken. "Your father can't ruin our family's image anymore."

Lola wanted to speak. She wanted to say everything that was coming to mind, but it was as though her vocal cords had been snipped. She was speechless. The rock music from downstairs stopped blaring. Stomping footsteps that could only be achieved by Lola's stoned brother were now heard. Lola and her mother maintained eye-contact as the basement door swung open.

"Hey Mom, I'm hungry."

"What would you like Sweetie?"

Jude did not answer. Lola risked taking her eyes off her mother to look at Jude, and he did not seem fazed by seeing his father dead on the floor. He said nothing and as soon as he had come up, he went back down. The door did not bang shut as usual, and his footsteps could not be heard as he went back down to his retreat.

"I'll make some lasagna. Wouldn't that be nice?"

Lola's mother did not seem to notice how destroyed her white pant suit was as she turned around and headed to the kitchen. Her father had stopped breathing a while ago; quite some time had passed since his throat had been slit by a bread knife. His phone was the only source of light in the room. It gave off a faint glow, and the texts there burned her brain. Her father had been having an affair for years, and her mother had finally snapped at not being able to deny it anymore. The whole thing had ruined the night. The only thing she had been worried about approximately an hour ago had been missing the weekly TV show binge night. How differently her night had gone. Now? She just sort of wanted to die too.

Her mother walked back into the room. Her gaze was solely on the phone. She picked it up and she, with fingers that would not fully cooperate, dialed a number. There was silence, but then at the last minute it was answered.

"Good evening. This is Mrs. Lowe. I apologize for the hour. I just wanted to inform you that your whore of a wife has been sleeping with my whore of a husband. Good day to you." She tossed the phone at the corpse and went back into the kitchen. Lola slumped to the floor and her hands covered her cheeks. She could feel the blood on her face from when she had rushed to her father to try to cover the wound. Lola couldn't believe what her mom was capable of.

Her ears got red, and she could feel her blood pumping through her veins. Her head was getting hot, and she could feel her heartbeat in her fingertips. She could feel sweat building up on her forehead and under her arms. Her eyes were stuck on her father. His throat was cut in a jagged line, and his white, silk business shirt had soaked up most of the blood on the floor. His eyes, much like her own, were open and fixed on the ceiling.

Her phone buzzed, and her body propelled her upwards. She dug her phone out of her pocket and answered without looking at who it was.

"Hello?"

"Babe, where are you? You were supposed to be at the party an hour ago."

"Oh... something came up. I'll be there soon. I have to get changed."

"You're not even ready yet?"

"I was, but then... never mind. I'll be there soon. Bye." She ran a hand through her hair before realizing, with horror, that she now had blood all over her face and hair.

"Fuck."

She dashed upstairs and locked herself in the bathroom. She gripped the counter with white hands and risked a peak at herself. She looked like she escaped a murder. Oh wait. She almost laughed out loud before simply stripping and standing in the shower. The water was scalding, but she couldn't move. It turned her skin pink, and yet she did not move or change it. She accepted it. The hot water barely even registered to her as she allowed it to erase the events of the day. Her forehead rested on the wall, and she found she couldn't cry even if she tried. In a daze, she went through her shower routine and when she stepped back on tile, the shock of the cold floor brought her back to reality.

Her dad was murdered by her mom.

Wrapping a towel around her body, she left her bathroom to grab a drink. Her mom kept stashes all throughout the house... as though no one else would find them. She went for the linen closet. Putting the bottles of vodka and tequila under her arm, she walked back to the bathroom, leaving watery footprints in her wake.

She locked the door and proceeded to uncap the vodka. Taking two generous gulps, she started the arduous process of looking good. She enjoyed makeup because she could reinvent herself, and then she could pretend that she liked how she appeared. Her makeup style was always dictated by her mood, and right now she was dark and empty mixed with vodka.

She gazed at her reflection with half-lidded grey eyes. Tearing her eyes away, she moved into her adjacent bedroom to get dressed. Her outfit before now wanted to make her puke. She wanted to look dangerous because the only way she was going to be strong enough to get through this was to at least look the part. She had to put her walls up to keep everything else at bay, or everything would come crashing down leaving her with nothing but her loss. She chose a sheer, black bralette shirt and high-waisted black jeans with black heeled boots. In addition, she had a Gucci belt. Grabbing a purse, she stuffed her liquor inside and ordered an Uber.

All but running down the stairs and out the front door, she collapsed on the bottom step and focused on returning her breathing back to normal. She didn't have long to wait for the Uber as she could see it start to come to a stop in front of her house. Not needing any more encouragement, she approached the vehicle and got in the back. A soft hum of music could be heard from the radio, but other than that it was silence. Lola appreciated the silence. She wasn't sure she would be the politest person at present.

Every time she closed her eyes, she could see her father going to hug her mom, and then her mom whipping out the bread knife and slicing his throat instead. He tried to scream, but instead he made a gurgling noise and slumped to the floor. He didn't die immediately. His eyes had pleaded with Lola to get help, but she had been frozen to the spot. She couldn't have made a sound. She didn't cry. Somehow, she had been able to slump in front of him and press her hand against his throat to stop some of the blood, but he was already gone. His glassy eyes were open still, and she stared at him long enough that she'd never forget the expression there. He had died in minutes while her mom was humming to herself and inspecting her nails.

Blinking, she looked down at her lap. Her phone had notifications rolling in, but she didn't care to answer to anyone right now, not her mom, and not her boyfriend. They'd both see her soon enough. 

The car rolled to a stop in front of her boyfriend's house.