Playing His Own Games | ✔︎

chapter five | an unforgettable party

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"It's like I'm drowning, while everyone else around me can breathe."
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Mason

"MASON, GET THE DOOR!" my dad yells from the kitchen as the doorbell sings it's tune throughout the house.

I rush down the stairs three at a time, one hand straightening my tie, the other flattening my hair down. Nearly knocking Jared over on my way, I dive for the door handle and yank it open to greet Carrie and her family.

I stiffen, my eyes widening as I take in Carrie's appearance. She's wearing a black dress that hugs tightly to her curvy figure and rides up her thighs, her breasts spilling it over the low cut neck, her developed hips sticking out. She's curled her blonde hair and is a few inches taller from her white high-heels

"You're looking very handsome, Mr. Foster," she smirks, nodding towards my navy suit and polished black boots.

"Likewise," I say with a small smile, sidestepping to allow them all to enter. Carrie has a bemused expression on her face—I doubt she ever expected there to be a polite side of me.

I cringe as I feel my fathers hand fall onto my shoulder but quickly replace it with a warm smile.

For a good ten minutes we all stand in the foyer chatting and laughing, my dads voice filling up most of the conversation. My father has this charm about him, one that lures people into a false sense of security and makes people instantaneously believe the nice-guy demeanour. Sometimes his so convincing I feel myself doubting that his even raised his voice at me, like everything is all an illusion and his rage is just a figment of my imagination. But that charm, that good-natured smile and those kind eyes can shift into a dark mask, twisted with inhuman rage and hatred with a click of your fingers.

"Cocktails, anyone?" Ruby asks the group, motioning towards the kitchen. For once, she's not a sedated zombie with eyes as lifeless as a dead fish.

"Oh, yes please," Martha says with a chuckle. Her shoulders, tense when the family first arrived, have relaxed and I can tell she's more comfortable. My father and her should write a book about good reputations and appearances.

"You sure have deserved it," my father jokes and as I look into that face, I wonder how in Gods earth this man broke my ribs just a few days ago. I hope it's exhausting to keep up the facade. "Moving is tiring, that's for sure!"

We all head into the kitchen and I make sure to avoid Carrie, not in the mood to strike up conversation.

"Have you ever moved before?" William asks, smiling gratefully at Ruby when she hands him a cocktail.

"Sure have," my father says, taking a delicate sip of the glass. "Mase, you would've been around ten, right?"

I nod and he frowns at me, a flash of irritation darkening his blue eyes for a split-second, but it's enough to convey warning. "Uh, yeah," I get out.

Carrie is staring intensely at me, confusion and amusement masking her face. "Cat got your tongue tonight, Mase? I can nearly count on my fingers the number of words you've spoken."

My tongue rolls in my mouth, biting back a retort. I ignore her comment, feeling my shoulders slouch, my brain zoning out, escaping into universes, fantasies, alternate realities I have built and constructed inside my mind to help cope; help deal with life. Away from the eyes full of hatred and rage, disgust and bitterness. Away from the verbal barrages and violent, explosive rages. Away from the world where problems are ignored and unnecessary terrors are amplified.