Chapter 008
1146 Words
"She’s got your eyes."
The words hung between us like a dense mist in the air. Eleanor sipped her tea nonchalantly, her fingers carefully caressing the rim of her cup, and I halted, staring at her. I got a chill from the way she said it, as if it were simply another observation.
"What did you say?" I inquired, sounding much too abrasive and defensive.
Eleanor didn't appear to be aware. A tiny, hardly noticeable smile curled her lips as she put down her cup. Her gaze remained fixed on my face, as calm and calculating as ever.
"Mia," she uttered quietly, as if the name alone had some kind of influence. "She has Mike's eyes, your eyes. The same blue color. It's eerie.
My heart pounded loudly in my chest as I tensed up. I was urged by my thinking to seem normal and dismiss her remarks as only another casual remark. However, there was something about her tone and the way she was staring at me that gave me the impression that I was in a trap.
My fists clenched around the glass of water before me as I attempted a smile. I tried to seem as nonchalant as possible when I said, "It's just a coincidence." "Kids can have a wide variety of appearances. She is only a friend of my daughter.
Eleanor, however, didn't appear persuaded. The smile gradually disappeared from her lips, but her eyes remained fixed. She narrowed her eyes and leaned forward just enough to make me want to back off.
"Of course," she uttered slowly, as if she were trying to test the words. "But isn't it more than simply the eyes? It's the way she looks at people and how she handles herself. Mike, she has your manners. You seem to be looking at a younger version of yourself.
My pulse accelerated as my breath caught in my throat. I felt the thin wall of control I had erected around myself crumbling, so I tried to maintain a neutral expression. Eleanor was not a moron. She had never been. Her remark was an accusation rather than a casual remark. She was waiting on my response to a question.
I forced myself to turn away as I cleared my throat. I answered, "You’re imagining things," perhaps too hastily. "Mia’s just a sweet kid, no more than that."
Eleanor wasn't finished, though. Swirling the tea carefully, as if relishing the moment, she grabbed for it once again. She said, "Mike," in a steady but gentle voice, "I've known you long enough to recognize when you're trying to hide anything. Additionally, I can sense you're withholding something from me.
I felt like I was slapped across the face by the words. I nearly felt compelled to tell her everything for a split second. The reality. Concerning Mia. Concerning Cath. regarding everything that had been bothering me for several months. However, I was unable to. I wouldn't. Not in this manner. Not when I wasn't even sure that anyone in this house was trustworthy.
Even though it felt fragile on my face, I forced a smile. Eleanor, you're exaggerating the situation. Mia is only a child. Nothing is happening.
Eleanor was not grinning. She made no move to nod. She only continued to observe me, her gaze penetrating my barriers like paper. We both remained silent for a long time. Between us, there was a long, awkward silence.
Eleanor's voice was sharp and low when she finally spoke again. She added, "If you're sure, Mike," as if to question him, "but I've seen how you look at her." I've also observed her gaze on you.
Blood rushed to my ears as I felt the room spin. Once more, there it was. I was unable to respond to the query. The reality I was afraid to confront.
With a raspy voice, I betrayed myself by saying, "I'm just trying to do what's best for her."
Eleanor's gaze was impenetrable as she watched me for another beat. Then, as if the moment had passed, as if she had already decided on something, she straightened up and took a purposeful sip from her cup, which surprised me.
"Of course you are, Mike," she finally answered, in an overly composed tone. "Obviously. However, you must exercise caution. Sometimes the things we believe we are concealing are actually visible to everyone.
With a dry throat, I swallowed hard. This was not what I wanted to hear. I didn't want her to understand my thoughts or the things I was keeping hidden. However, that was too late. Eleanor was no i***t. She was too perceptive, too keen. And I felt as though I was being choked by the weight of her suspicions.
I managed to add, "I’ll keep that in mind," but my speech was halting and awkward.
Eleanor nodded, her smile coming again, but this time it was harder and colder. "I’m sure you will."
It seemed like she had gotten what she wanted when the discussion changed, but I was unable to concentrate on anything else. I was too preoccupied with how her comments had struck me. Had she guessed it? Was she aware of what I had been frantically trying to conceal?
I wasn't certain.
The remainder of the afternoon flew by, but I couldn't get rid of the sensation that Eleanor was keeping a closer eye on me than before. She seemed to be waiting for me to make a mistake or confess something I wasn't ready to discuss, as evidenced by every look, grin, and tiny movement.
After supper that night, I found myself trying to decompress by strolling through the mansion's deserted hallways. The sole sound in the home was the gentle click of my sneakers on the shiny floors. Mia had been playing there earlier that day, her laughter resonating through the hallways, when I walked past the great staircase.
I stopped for a second and looked up at the top of the stairs. I had no idea what I was searching for, but I had a gut feeling that I wasn't alone.
Then I noticed it.
Mia, looking down at me from the top of the stairs. Her blue eyes, which were the same tint as mine, met mine. With an intensity that made my pulse skip a beat, she was observing and analyzing me.
"Mike?" She spoke in a tiny, hesitant voice.
With a parched lips, I stepped forward. "Mia, what are you doing up there?"
She took a while to respond. She simply did not take her eyes off of me.
Then she spoke again, like though she was waiting for something.
She spoke the word "Mike," almost too gently. "Why do I feel like I know you from somewhere?"
For the first time, I had no response to the question that struck me like a thunderclap.
- Writer
