Nine - Esther

Nine- Esther

My dad always told me that if I couldn’t make him proud, I wasn’t his daughter. So, even as a little kid, I tried so damn hard to make him proud of me. Nothing made him happy, though. In order to get the smallest bit of his attention, I graduated highschool three years earlier than anyone my age should have and I went to college to become a Department Private Investigator or a DPI.

This didn’t impress him much, but he didn't even tell me he was upset with me for becoming a DPI, either. For anything, he seemed a little pleased. I ranked highest in all my classes just to get his attention and still it wasn’t enough. I don’t make friends easily, so I rant to myself about my dad and that all stays in my head most of the time. For a year, I've been working on any cases I can to earn a higher reputation. One of my most recent cases deals with Shades. Shades are creatures no one understands; we can't. A Shade’s only goal is to drain the life from any living person. We know little about them because if we get too close to one, we could be drained. That’s another thing; trust. You can't trust anyone.

As a kid, my dad told me I wasn’t shit to him. His exact words. He said if I wanted to gain his trust, gain his acceptance, I needed to prove myself to him. He won’t even let me call him dad; I must refer to him as sir. If I were to take a knife and cut it through his chest, nothing would fall out. No heart, no insides, no blood. Today, sitting in my room in the smallest apartment on the street, I have too many voices in my head. My father’s voice, my strange voice, everyone’s voices.

Sometimes I cloak just to feel the magic. Sure, the stripes on my body tell me I have magic, but I want to feel it. Looking at myself in the mirror, I cloak repeatedly; on, off, on, off, on, off. It’s like a trance. There’s a knock at the door, disturbing me. When I get to the door, my stomach drops. Father stands in the doorway. Quickly, I step to the side and let him in. He scoffs and sits in a chair at the head of the table. I don’t sit at the other end.

“You’re still living here in this trashy apartment, I see.” His voice rings throughout the room. This wasn’t a time for me to respond. “Makes sense why they haven’t given you a job since last month.” This was a moment before I could respond.

“They have had no cases since, sir.” I avoid eye contact, staring at my entangled fingers.

“That gives you no excuse to live in this shit hole. You should know this by now, child. The reason you have this job is to make money. Where does the money go?” his voice grows louder, making me shake.

“I’m-”

“Buying clothes? Random crap you don’t need? You truly are a waste.” He stands, slamming the chair against the table. Without another word, he leaves. Standing, I lock the door and return to the bathroom, where I continue the cloaking idiocy I got myself into. In a few years, I want to just be me. Not my father’s shadow, just me. I never knew my mother, but she was a kind soul. She is in my dreams when I have them and tells me I can do whatever I put my mind to. I can at least have that to get me through.