Page 124 of Queen of Nothing

The words whine out of me, “You don’t love me.”

My face twists with a fresh onslaught of tears.

“None of you do,” I say, voice trembling.

I lift my watery gaze to Father, to his unreadable face, all that rage re-contained, re-caged, but nowhere near dormant.

I shrug. “Mother maybe, but not enough to protect me.”

Oliver’s face shutters—

It falls.

He pushes off the leather armchair, a slackness sagged over him, like despair. “You think I don’t love you, Liv? You are more important to me than you’ll ever know. You are feeling less than adored in the face of our anger—but to believe you aren’t loved?”

Father tenses, and his gaze swerves to my brother with a warning. “It is another of her manipulation tactics, Oliver. A way to escape consequences.” He turns his dark stare down on me. “Your relationship with Eric Harling is over, do you understand me?”

I nod, because, duh.

If Father just listened to me for once, he would realise I don’t give two shits about Eric Harling.

But he is so determined to not listen.

Father takes a pause in his anger. Reigning it in, he runs his hand down his face, then, “Mr Younge has already confiscated your phone. Do not expect it returned to you. Do not ask for it. The phone in your room is also disconnected.”

A snivel runs through me.

I nod again.

“You are confined to your chambers. You are not to leave them, you are not to try, and you are not to do anything that I have not approved. Am I clear?”

This nod is hidden behind my hands as I wipe at my wet cheeks.

Snot bubbles at my nose, and I’m fairly certain it’s in my throat, choking me too.

Oliver pulls back towards the desk.

I glance at him, seeing that he’s gathering a bunch of papers and the newsletter, then stuffing them into a folder that looks sort of like a briefcase but disposable.

Father sighs, then drops onto the coffee table. He buries his face in his hands.

For a moment, he just sits there, right in front of me.

Then he drops his hands and his voice is exhausted, “I don’t know where I went wrong with you. Sometimes you feel more like a punishment than a daughter.”

His words are a punch to my chest. All the air is forced out of me, and I double over.

I thought Father couldn’t hurt me.

I was wrong.

Oliver’s steps advance, soft on the rug.

Defeated, I look up at him.

His throat bobs.

His eyes dance with tears, unshed, and he hands me the bulging folder. “This will catch you up on what you have missed. Study it.”