Amara

Chapter 25 - Ultimatum

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"I despise my own hypersensitiveness, which requires so much reassurance. It is certainly abnormal to crave so much to be loved and understood."

– Anaïs Nin

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Amara's POV:

Last night Papa let me sleep in his room. He told me to go to bed, and that he would help me sort out all of the books tomorrow. And I did try to fall asleep. I laid there for hours with my eyes closed, but I still couldn't sleep. Dad fell asleep almost instantly, he was on his side, his hand placed under his pillow.

And for the rest of the hours, I was just lying there. Thinking about something so stupid, that for some reason wasn't on my mind for the previous week. Something that for some reason I had completely forgotten about. My Mom.

She died. She died a week ago. And I haven't really thought of her. But now I can't get her out of my mind. I know she wasn't the best person. I know she messed up. But she was my mom. As the thoughts run through my mind, a few stray tears fall out of my eyes, landing on my cheeks.

Sometimes I thought that maybe the reason she didn't stand up for me against Luke was because she was also scared. That deep inside she did want to stop him, but she couldn't. Just like me, she wasn't strong enough. But I can't get her face out of my mind. When she would just look over at me lying on the floor, being beaten to a pulp, and she would do nothing.

I quietly get out of bed. The cold wooden floor making my toes hurt. I turn around looking at the alarm clock. The time reads 6:53. Eventually I stand up, hoping that none of the floorboard's creek, waking him up.

I wipe the back of my hand across my face, slowly making my way out of the room. I make it out successfully, pulling the door closed behind me. I walk down the hall to my own room, making a bline for the shower. I get into the bathroom, standing right in front of the mirror. Slowly, I take off my clothes. Letting the fabric fall off of my skin.

I look at my nearly healed skin, something that I haven't seen in a very long time. It almost looks strange now, to see it without bruises, to see it without dark blues and purples painted across it.

After I finish looking myself up and down, I move into the shower, turning on the water. I turn around, tipping my head back, letting the water run down my hair.

After successfully finding the inner strength to wash my hair and body, I get out of the shower, drying off my body and wrapping the towel around my body. I walk to my closet. I rummage through many drawers to find a comfortable outfit to wear, taking out a pair of dark green sweatpants and a loose oversized t-shirt.

I don't have the energy or the patience to dry my hair so I simply dry it a little with the towel before going back into the bathroom to put the towel back on the rail.

I Walk past the mountains of books lying on my bedroom floor over to my nightstand. I grab my phone and switch it on, the time now 7: 24. I put on a pair of fluffy socks to keep my feet warm, why my dad doesn't have carpet in any room of this house I have no idea, but I completely disagree with his interior design options.

I again cross the book mountain to the door, this time hitting my foot on one of the towers, causing it to tumble. "Son of a bitch. Stupid book tower." Annoyed, I carry on walking back out to the hall and down to the kitchen. As I make my way down I wonder what I'm going to have for breakfast, hoping that clears my mind out of the annoyance. Cereal? Toast? Eggs? Eggs sound good I guess.