I saw him again last night.

I didn't even know his name.

And half of the time, he didn't even speak to me.

Yet I've long since stopped trying to justify my strange infatuation with this man. The simple fact is that, however ephemeral it may have been, he roused something in me. But as it grew, all sense started to seem illogical.

But nearly every day for the previous year, at one minute after midnight, I would find him waiting on the same curved bench, shadowed by the surrounding trees. He was waiting for me with his elbows resting on his knees and all of his hair covered by a dark beanie.

I used to convince myself every night that it was the last time. But I discovered that I was nearly always donning my trainers and sneaking out my back door at night, like a moth destined to dance in this blazing flame. There were moments when my resolve overcame my unreasonable thoughts and kept me at home. Such occurrences are now rare, though.

My eyes rolled up to my bedroom's high ceilings as I exhaled deeply. Here, I hated it. The constant sense of being watched, coupled with the unnerving silence that can only come from living in a mansion three times the size required, never ceased to seem forceful. There was a persistent stench of old mould that was heavily overpowered by a disinfectant odour.

The bedroom was pristine. Nothing was out of place, including the books on the bookcase, which were arranged neatly by colour, the folded clothing at the foot of the made queen bed, and the enormous white fur rug on the floor, which seemed to have never been walked on. I was sitting at my desk with my notebook open and a pen hanging from my fingers. My own bedroom was missing in individuality. Simply put, I did not see the purpose of decorating my room when the next morning I would find it neutrally decorated.

After several attentive knocks, the door to my bedroom creaked open. I tensed up from head to toe and straightened my back. The key was posture. I was spared through appearances. It hurt less the more put together I appeared to be.

In this household, no one waited to be granted permission to enter my room. That is why the whole of my life I have learned to change in my bathroom, where I could lock myself in and bask in that temporary privacy.

When Lorna entered, she rapidly glanced over my body with her gaze. She shook her head, sadness clouding her torn features. Her dark brown hair was braided down her back, with her simple navy uniform looking neat on her. " You're not prepared?"

I calmly retorted, "No," whilst adjusting the hem of my blouse.

"Do you not want to go?" she asked me once more as she moved deeper into my bedroom and shut the door behind her. She always made me feel better because she made me think back to a period when I didn't know about all the evils in the world around me.  A period when I was constantly filled with the love, warmth, and delight of my mother.

Occasionally, it was devastating to realise how disastrous everything was.

I gave her a headshake. We both understood that my attendance was required, so there was no point in trying. With a Degree I had no business ever utilising, my father took great satisfaction in showcasing his daughter, a recent graduate of a top university. I often liked to think about how dad would respond if I told him I had no interest in ever pursuing the professional routes he had suggested.

Lorna remarked in a low voice, "You have no choice," and she started to stomp across my room toward my closet. Her frustration was not directed at me, but instead at her knowledge of how my night would go.

"Is my uncle here?" I asked hesitantly, as I got up to start the torment that is getting dressed. Slipping on an expensive dress with killer heels was never an issue. What was truly awful was what happened next. Sneers, stares down my sternum, wandering hands—all of this has started to feel rather routine to me.

Lorna whirled about. Her expression hardened. "Yes."

And one of the worst was my uncle.

I shifted to my chest of drawers after giving a quick nod. I promptly threw away my jeans and blouse after locating my three pairs of skin-coloured spandex. I furiously pulled the fourth one up my legs after finding it.

"Too much?" Lorna remarked.

"Never with those sleazes," I grunted out, finding it quite difficult to get these on. They either shrank while being washed or I have a few additional friends on my bones. Lorna grimaced at my struggle before she came to my side and started to lend a hand.

"You have-" A heave, "to do this-" a longer heave, this one emerging deep from inside her, "always do this." She whisper-shouted, looking around in case anyone heard.

"Are they already here?" When we had all four spandex on successfully, I questioned her. The level of discomfort was borderline intolerable but we long ago established that this was a necessity.

"Some," Lorna spoke as she reached for the chair holding my father's carefully chosen green wrap dress, which was all steamed and silky. Tears welled up in my eyes when Lorna quickly pushed me down onto the bed, preparing me for the makeup application that was soon to start.  It's all very depressing.

I started going into my mind, mentally barricading myself from what I was about to endure. What little was left, I would fiercely guard. I shut my eyes, commanded every fibre in my body to go dormant, and then I let the creation shaped by my surroundings take the lead.

When I opened my eyes, I catch Lorna frowning down at me. "Is she here?"

I smiled up at her, feeling the ice creep into my bones. "Yes."

Later, my heels could be heard resonating off the walls as I descended the stairs. I realised I was late when I heard distant conversations emanating from the dining room. I forced myself to settle down as anxiety about my father's likely response prickled through my veins. I started to pass the long hallway and continued on to the big oak doors that were slightly ajar. As the distance shortened, I could see the people filtered inside.

I crept inside the big door as soon as I was there and hoped to everything and anything that I wouldn't be seen.

The dining room sprawled very wide, a place in this mansion that could easily accommodate fifty-odd people. Which, by the looks of it, looked to be at its maximum.

I entered with my head hung low and my focus on my manicured toenails. They needed a refresh, which is something my father would probably comment on if he caught it. I quickly made my way to the open bar that was well-stocked with everything. But on a night like today, being alert to every circumstance was essential. I gestured toward the bottle of water that was neatly stored behind the bartender, and he so graciously handed it to me. Once, I had become good friends with the bartender who always came to mind the bar at any of my father's functions. Lovely Benjamin was the one person who, the majority of the time, helped me get through the night. He was youthful and a breath of fresh air. After a few mutterings and remarks, my father noticed that I had been mingling outside of his exclusive group and put an end to it right at once.

In the only way possible. The young man was fired, and he was backlisted everywhere.

Since that day, I haven't heard from or seen Lovely Benjamin.

"Drinkingwater?" Myhand froze mid-air, clinging onto a water bottle as I compelled my facial expressioninto a blank one.  I turned to look behind me and saw Claud smiling ferociously, his whiskey-coloured eyes flashing yet emotionless. "On this beautiful night?" He pondered aloud, his thick drawl accentuating each syllable.

His inky hair, which contrasted sharply with his near porcelain skin tone, added to the ominous feeling he never failed to exude. Claud would be the one person I would never want to be in a room by myself with. I knew I wouldn't have the guts to question his way of thinking.

I stared at him with narrowed eyes, but I then tried to make a pleasant-looking smile with my mouth. "I'm making sacrifices these days," As I replied, I took a noticeable step back as he prowled closer.

"You sure-" he began to say.

"I have to go." I cut him off, marvelling at my audacity to interrupt him like that. When usually I smiled at him, knowing every word would go back to my father.

I saw his shoulders tense for a second before he dipped his head, a silent goodbye.

I turned around and walked closer into the midst of the crowd. As usual, my mind wandered to effortless thoughts of what he was doing right now. What his life is like.

He was certainly having a better time than me.