The house was eerily quiet as I stepped into the hallway. Subconsciously, I glanced at Mother’s door, the emptiness inside echoing. Whatever mission she went for, I hoped it would be extended till another week. Two weeks without her wouldn’t be so bad.
I slipped into the empty bathroom, internally wincing at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were hollow, dark bags looking like bruises under my lid.
I looked like the undead.
My lips pressed in a thin line as I shook my head, not so impressed. I couldn’t imagine the amount of concealer I was going to need to cover that today.
Pulling off my clothes, I stepped into the shower, turning on the faucet. Steam rose around me, fogging the air. I tilted my head back, letting the scalding heat burn the remnant of the dream off my skin.
But the memories Mr. James Donald had managed to unlock with his display in class yesterday were strong and raw, flashing behind my closed eyes. The darkness, the hands, their wicked words.
“I hope you know you deserve this.”
“Your father took many lives. You should pay the price.”
“Maybe if you stopped screaming like a banshee, you might actually enjoy this.”
“I should fill you up with my seed. But what’s the guarantee you won’t infect the child with your family’s curse?”
“Hold down her fucking hands, I wanna come so fucking hard in her mouth since her cunt is off limit.”
“Fucking daughter of a monster. You deserve everything you’re getting.”Theirwords were layered with spite. “You deserve being forced to take four cocks in your tight, little cunt.”
B–but I was just 10. I wondered if they knew I was just a 10-year-old girl. I was innocent. I didn’t do anything wrong.
I sucked in a sharp breath, my warm tears mixing with the hot water cascading down my face.
My father’s sin was never meant to be mine. And yet, the world and fate itself thought so. And over time, I started believing so too. Because even the Holy book said it. And the Holy book wouldn’t lie, would it? The sins of the father shall be visited on the child’. So if the maker of heavens thought I deserved it, who was I to disagree?
So I would take it. Whatever the world threw at me. If the universe believed this was what I deserved, then I would take it without mumbling.
But I was scared. I didn’t want to live through that horror again. If Mr. James Donald decided to tell my secret to the world, dig up the bones I buried, would history repeat itself? What would become of me?
I stayed under the spray until the water turned cold. Then I forced myself out, wrapping a thin white towel around my body.
The routine was automatic, like that of a robot would–lotion, deodorant, brushing my hair into something presentable, something attractive, then my uniform.
By the time I sat in front of the mirror, the shirt I ironed till the edges became as sharp as a blade last night, clung to my skin.
I applied enough concealer under my eyes, dabbed a little bronzer on my cheek. I needed to look pretty. If I didn’t, no one would want me. No one would take another look at me.
I unscrewed the cap of my cherry red lipstick, bringing it to my lips, but a knock on the front door made me pause.
I glanced at my door which was left open, peeking into the hallway. I didn’t hear any car pull up at my house. So, it was definitely not Kenzo. He wouldn’t have bothered coming in. He hated coming inside in the morning because he couldn’t stand the chance of stumbling into Mother.
I rose to my feet after applying multiple layers of the lipstick. The knock came again as I exited the room, then louder when I walked into the living room. The first echo of the fourth knock came at the same time I pulled it open.
And for a fleeting moment, I wanted to be relieved at the sight of the man before me. I even almost was. His scent was crisp and familiar…but not entirely the same.
He stepped fully into my line of vision and the air shifted, thickening with something suffocating, jagged.
My heart began to pound.
It was still not Callan.
It washim.
That…thing.
