CHAPTER. XXVI. CRACKS

                                    

                                          

                            

                                
                            
                              
                                  
                              
                              
                                
                                  
                                  
                                
                              
                             
                            
                            
                          
                          
R A F A E L   V A L E N T I N E 
I watch Juliet and Sebastian debate passionately about the cake decorations. Juliet wants floral designs, while Sebastian prefers a more classic look. My grasp of sign language is still a work in progress, and I often rely on Dante for interpretation.
Leaning against the wall, I chuckle at the banter. "No, Juliet, those flowers won't match tonight's aesthetic!" Sebastian argues , challenging her choice.
Juliet rolls her eyes and signs something that clearly rattles Sebastian. "How dare you! My cake isn't basic!" he fires back, visibly surprised.
"Who cares about the cake? It all ends up the same anyway, in the toilet as the form of shit."Antonio comments, nonchalantly munching on fruit with an innocent grin. Mateo looked at Antonio like he was the most idiotic person ever.
Before long, chaos ensues as Juliet and Sebastian redirect their argument toward Antonio, caught in the crossfire.
Shaking my head at the typical sibling drama, I notice Scarlet, clearly annoyed and murmuring under her breath. "Everything alright, Scarlet?" I ask, concerned.
Startled, Scarlet jumps slightly but offers a sheepish smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... thinking," she responds, her gaze briefly distant before returning to the present.
"Don't mind her, Dad. She's just salty because I'm better than her and won our bet," Nicolas boasts, flashing a wide grin.
"Only because I got distracted!" Scarlet retorts, clearly frustrated.
"Classic excuse from a loser," Nicolas teases, prompting a slight twitch in Scarlet's eye. In response, she calmly picks up a butter knife, her demeanor oddly composed. "Of course," she replies calmly.
"Let's see how much of a loser I am before I stab you in the eye!" Scarlet playfully threatens, and Nicolas bolts away, shrieking as he tries to escape.
My other children watch the scene with a mix of amusement and disbelief. Juliet sighs, muttering about the drama being a bit much, before returning her attention to the ongoing cake debate.
This had been my dream for so long, and finally, I had it all. Amidst the animated discussions and disagreements, I caught sight of Violet, her feet trailing blood, and immediately rushed to the cabinet, grabbing the first aid kit.
"Violet Valentine, what the hell happened to your feet?!" I exclaimed, a mix of concern and alarm in my voice.
Violet glanced down, surprised to see her feet covered in blood and blistered. Despite the shock, she maintained her composed demeanor.
"Oh, I didn't notice. I might have overpracticed this week," she replied calmly, her tone almost nonchalant.
"You should take some rest," I insisted, motioning for her to follow me to the living room, where the others continued their fervent discussions, oblivious to Violet's condition.
Violet sank into the plush cushions of the long couch as I swiftly delved into cleaning and disinfecting her injured feet.
"It might be wise to take it easy for a while," I suggested, my voice filled with concern.
"Don't worry, it's part of the dance. You're bound to get hurt," she retorted dismissively, her tone devoid of emotion, almost as if she didn't acknowledge the pain.
As I cleaned the wounds, I noticed how she seemed detached, as though the pain didn't register, or perhaps she had trained herself not to react. Her face remained stoic, hiding any signs of discomfort, her eyes distant, almost robotic in their lack of emotion.
Certainly, here's the continuation:
Despite my insistence that she should take it easy, Violet remained unyielding, almost as if pain was an insignificant part of her world, a mere consequence of her pursuit of perfection in dance.
"Violet, this isn't just part of the dance. It's about taking care of yourself too," I urged, trying to break through her detached façade.
She looked at me briefly, her expression unreadable. "I know how to manage. Pain is temporary, but perfection lasts forever," she stated, her voice tinged with a determination that seemed to overshadow any discomfort she might have been feeling.
The conflict in her eyes, however fleeting, hinted at a depth I couldn't quite grasp. There was a resilience about her, an unyielding drive that bordered on self-destruction.
I finished tending to her feet, silently pondering the contradictions in her words and actions. Violet was like a perfectly choreographed dance—flawless, precise, yet harboring untold emotions beneath the surface.
"Thanks," she said flatly, as though this were an everyday occurrence for her.
I couldn't help but notice something—a scar, red and wrinkled, peeking out from under her sleeve. "What is that?" I asked, my curiosity piqued. As I reached out to get a closer look, Violet abruptly slapped my hand away.
"DON'T TOUCH IT!" she snapped furiously, her sudden anger catching me off guard. It was a side of her I'd never witnessed before—her eyes intense and focused, filled with an emotion I couldn't quite decipher.
I took a step back, stunned by Violet's unexpected outburst. Her gaze bore into mine, a mix of anger and something else I couldn't quite discern. The room seemed to crackle with tension as she took a deep breath, attempting to compose herself.
"I-I'm sorry," she muttered, her voice softer this time, almost apologetic. She glanced down at the scar, her expression momentarily distant before the steely resolve returned to her features. "It's nothing, just an old injury."
I nodded, trying to mask my surprise at her sudden change in demeanor. "If you need anything—"
"I don't," she interrupted, her voice firm, cutting me off before I could finish. The momentary vulnerability I glimpsed in her eyes vanished, replaced by her usual steely composure.
"I don't need anything, thank you," she uttered icily before abruptly standing up and walking away, leaving me standing there, perplexed and alone.
♢♦︎♢♦︎♢♦︎♢♦︎♢♦︎♢♦︎

                            

                                
                            
                              
                                  
                              
                              
                                
                                  
                                  
                                
                              
                             
                            
                            
                          
                          

AUTHORS NOTE
Who do you guys want to see more of ? 
What did you guys think of this chapter? 
Who do you want to see more of?
Questions?
Comments?
Any suggestions? 
Don't forget to vote.
Adios mis amores ♥︎