His Twisted Queen

Alaina. ...................... The rain is falling hard and mercilessly, giant drops of water crashes against the windows and the lightning amidst the storm alights the starless sky, each time it strikes. "Alaina, do you want to come back to the table?" The voice comes annoyingly sweet. Why does she have to be so friendly to me? She's here to analyse me, help me compartmentalize my thoughts and emotions because that's her job description. Not become my friend, she should stick to being my shrink. I unwillingly turn away from the window and slump towards the plastic chair and plop down. Doctor Ruth give a warm smile, her eyes looking for mine. "Why don't you share with me, how you feel about going to the funeral." She ask, hopeful that I use more words than just yes and no. I let out a soft sigh and look around the consulting room. It has become a known setting to me. The intense perfume of my shrink and the scented candles smell bother me. I can't wait to leave. "I don't know how I feel because I'm not going to the funeral." I reply, absentmindedly. Doctor Ruth gasp heavily. "Why is that? Alaina, they were your--" My eyes almost immediately dart to her and I wait, silently daring her to finish that statement. So far, she hasn't said anything to piss me off, she shouldn't start now. Fortunately, she decides to smile. "I see." The funeral of my parents is a blessing and a curse. It's one hell lot of weight to shoulder and I don't wish it on anyone. Late at night in the bedsheets, I silently jogged through my head, praying that the sun don't rise. For better or worse I woke up and wished that they don't. And a few days ago, my wish was granted...they didn't wake up. "Alaina, it was your birthday a few days ago. Did you do something exciting?" Doctor Ruth aim for small talk. I drop my gaze, fidgeting with the loose sleeves of my top. Five days ago, I turned 25. And my parents thought it would be the perfect age to orphan me. Like every year, they send me a birthday card with three simple words: Happy birthday, Alaina. But this year I got an exclusive invite to my parents' beach house, an invitation dropped of by my father's PA on the morning of my birthday. I acted on my first thought and that, was to toss the card in the dustbin and that's exactly what I did. I was so, so close to setting the dustbin on fire and burn the card to ash like all the previous emotionless cards. But I didn't. For the first time, I wanted to see them, look the people that conceived me in the eye and tell them, you f****d up. And when I pulled up at their house, two days after, I was driven by enough anger and hatred to face them. I've never gotten a gift from my parents and I only ever wanted one, and the f**k-ups finally gifted it to me on that day. One so great, I will forever remember it. Their dead bodies gift-wrapped in their California King bed. Their deaths shook the foundations, they were rooted on. There were tweets, posts on social media platforms, the death of the Haze power couple blew up the internet. Everyone had an opinion, they thought they knew everything but they knew nothing. No one knows that the estranged daughter of Lucas and Amelia Haze discovered the lifeless bodies of her parents stacked perfectly next to each other in their bed. And instead of calling for help, she ran away. Father was diagnosed with a rare heart condition, getting a nail in his coffin with each crucial day. Most days, he was connected to machines, took dozens of pills every day. Their lifes changed and so did my mother. Her husband's suffering took a toll on her. Neither of them knew that I was a shadow in the hospital ward. I used to dress up like a damn doctor and sneak into his room to see how they were holding up. And when he finally released that last breath, mom consumed pills...she killed herself. She chose to die rather than live in a world, her husband wasn't part of. They didn't think about me, they didn't care about their daughter. And I know I should be devastated over their deaths. God, probably even cry but I can't. Nothing has really changed, they were never part of my life. I've always been alone. As the daughter of two important figures, I grew up with wealth and priveledge but not love or guidance. Shipped off to boarding schools from an early age, signed up for every camp, it was difficult to escape the loneliness and carve out a path of my own. My parents' fame followed me everywhere. The world knew me as the daughter of the Vice President of the United States. My parents gave me everything they thought I wanted but they had no idea that all I wanted was for them to be a mom and dad to me. I didn't fit in among my own parents, they popped in and out of my life like it was okay. And it was never okay, I was never okay. Eventually, I strayed...rebelled and I liked who I became. I stole my first wristwatch when I was six and I liked the feeling of taking something...something that didn't belong to me. At sixteen years, I had my heart broken by a boy...that night I stole his car. I became a thief, smoked weed, mingled with the wrong crowds. I remained in and out of juvenile prison. At the shy age of seventeen, I got arrested for breaking my landlord's legs in four places. My first real crime, and I did my time. My f****d-up past defines me and illuminates the road I travelled. Out in my imperfect world, I wasn't the VP's daughter. I was Alaina Haze. This is who I really am. Controlled. Resourceful. Forloned. So forgive me for not being eager enough to drop flowers in the six-feet graves of my dead parents. ................ The Anchor is busy as hell today, but I'm keeping up. I'm making lots of espresso drinks that I didn't mind since I've become quite a pro with the espresso machine. It's calming, tamping the coffee grinds, watching the steam of espresso whoosing from the sprout and filling cup, frothing the milk, clouds of heat and steam rising to meet me. It also helps that I can take orders and make complicated beverages at the same time, a sharpened skill that came in handy during our busiest hours, it all comes naturally micromanaging and I rarely make mistakes. We are right smack in the middle of the noon rush that meant customer after customer--a mixture of office workers, finance bros, cops and assorted government workers--each one with a distinguished request that I fulfilled with a rehearsed: Hope to see you again. Funny thing is, they always come back. The place is staple for people in the neighbourhood--a sweet, small hole-in-the-wall in Manhattan downtown with pristine bathrooms and killer pastries. The prices are decent and the customers are mostly...nice. Being a barista isn't a dream job for most but I like it and it suits me. It help me pass time and take my mind of other stressful stuff. And I don't feel bad for slinging coffee at the age of 25-- I figure there are worser ways to spend my days. It wasn't like I was one of those kids that dreamt of becoming a doctor or lawyer.