𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝘄𝗼

𝗢𝗯𝗹𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗼𝗻 (𝗻.) - 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗯𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘂𝗻𝗮𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁'𝘀 𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂.

I could feel it in the eerie air, the house was a little too quiet. It's like each and every nook knows a secret and is trying to conceal it from me. My heart accelerates at its own pace, my nerves jittering all over the place. My palms now itching with anticipation.

Surely, this has happened before. I've been confined to my bedroom more than once. Nevertheless, today is different, I wasn't allowed to attend dad's meetings before, yet today he requested for someone to pick me up from my room. I should be happy, but everything screams the opposite.

I slam my book shut, unable to concentrate on the words. I might have to re-read a few pages now. I get up from the bed and begin pacing back and forth looking for some sort of idea or memory of why he would want me present.

Why would dad want me to interfere with his business? My mind wanders to my past, and I halt before crossing the ironclad door. The one thing I locked myself.

No.

Today is going to be different. Inhaling sharply, I assure myself. However, my moment of euphoria is cut short, when a loud knock on the door sounds throughout the bedroom.  

"Miss?" Sebastion's voice full of concern vibrates through the door. Releasing a shaky breath, I open the door coming face to face with the human hulk crowding the doorway.

"Yes, Sebastion?" I smile gently at him.

"Your father is asking for you miss." Sebastion sighs robotically.

"Okay, just get me a minute to put my slippers on." I smile before shutting my door and heading into my walk-In closet. I step inside the closet filled with arrays of designer clothes, jewelry, and shoes. The lavish luxury. All selected by my very own mother. All of which, I don't need. All of which, I don't deserve.

A pang of guilt rushes over me at just the thought of her. And even him.

Their laughs fill me. Two pairs of innocent eyes stare at me. My eyes brim with ushed tears, inching at the rims, swiveling there, ready to spill at any moment. The past crawls onto my skin leaving ghastly marks on my soul, its branches squeezing the beating organ in my chest painfully, the roots digging deeper into the pits of my stomach twisting my gut. I can feel the heat of the collapse heating me. My breath comes into short pants.

No, No, No.

This isn't happening.

I am not going back there.

I won't.

Remembering what I learned in the sessions, I inhale sharply. Then, slowly exhale. I count the numbers backward, as the therapist told me to do numerous times.

10. Inhale,

9. Exhale,

8. Inhale,

7. Exhale,

6. Inhale,

5. Exhale,

4.Inhale,

3. Exhale,

2. Inhale,

1. Exhale.

Eventually, my breathing slows. I breathe in swallowing my demos. Pushing back the tears, I slip into the white flip-flops and turn to leave. However, my body finds something before my eyes do. There it sits, amidst my designer clothes.