I felt a sudden, intense sensation—a pinch, as if a needle had pricked my heart. But that momentary pinch was swiftly replaced by a searing pain, so sharp and deep that it seemed to cut through every layer of my being. It sliced through my skin, my flesh, and reached down into the depths of my soul. How could something so cold, so seemingly innocuous, carry the burning weight of molten iron as it tore through me?

In that moment, waves of agony surged through my entire being, each one more relentless than the last. The pain was so consuming, so overwhelming, that I couldn't help but release a scream. It erupted from my throat, raw and unfiltered, a desperate plea for release from the torment that threatened to engulf me. It echoed through the empty space around me, carrying with it every ounce of anguish and despair that had taken root within me.

With each scream, I expelled a fragment of my shattered self. It was as if I screamed for every lost hope, every shattered dream, every ounce of innocence that had been cruelly stripped away. My voice carried the weight of my despair, my longing to escape from the unrelenting pain that engulfed me.

Every fiber of my being cried out, pleading for respite, yearning to escape the clutches of this unendurable agony.

As if a switch had been flipped, my mind went blank and I became numb. Behind my father, I saw Lorna break free from the men holding her back. She leaped onto my father, clawing at his head. I think that made him drop the knife—it clattered to the floor. But the pain still lingered, or at least I think it did. I couldn't be sure anymore.

I stared ahead, my gaze fixated on a small section of my dressing table mirror. It held my attention, though there was nothing particularly special about it. It was a temporary distraction from the chaos and overwhelming emotions around me.

In that moment, time seemed to freeze. The outside world faded away as I sank into a state of detachment. Numbness enveloped me, shielding me from the full weight of the lingering pain—or whatever I perceived it to be. I wasn't certain anymore.

I allowed myself a brief respite, focusing on the ordinary details of the mirror as if they held some hidden meaning. It was a momentary escape, a pause to gather the strength I needed to continue to breathe.

Amidst the commotion unfolding in the other corner of the room, muffled sounds of tumbles and shuffling, I found myself unable to tear my gaze away from the mirror. The longer I stared, the stranger things appeared, as if reality itself were warping under my unwavering gaze.

But suddenly, a sensation broke through my detached state. Something warm and wet fell onto my arm, jolting me out of my trance. Startled, I shifted my focus downward and discovered a vivid trail of bright red liquid, like a ribbon, cascading down my arm and pooling on the floor below. It was a stark reminder, an undeniable symbol of the rawness and violence that had consumed the room.

In that moment, a surge of longing and anguish coursed through me, intertwining with the confusion and numbness that had taken hold. The sight of my own blood, a stark reminder of the brutality and chaos surrounding me, amplified my yearning for the one person who could provide comfort and reassurance—my mother.

Her presence, her soothing voice and gentle touch, were what I craved in that harrowing moment. I wanted her by my side, to shield me from the horrors that unfolded and to help me make sense of the senseless. It was an instinctual cry, an unspoken plea for her love and guidance.

But in that fractured moment, all I could do was take a deep breath and steady myself. Though my mother's physical presence eluded me, I would draw strength from her memory, her resilience, and the love she had instilled within me. With that resolve, I turned my gaze away from the mirror, away from the unsettling reflections, and prepared myself to face the grim reality that awaited.

****

One week later
Nate

"This is not acceptable," Claud stated firmly, his voice resonating with concern as he stood by my side, a lit cigar dangling from his mouth. He exhaled a cloud of smoke, momentarily obscuring his face before he grinned mischievously through it. "You're just upset because someone left you hanging high and dry."

I glared at him, fully aware that engaging in a conversation with him often led nowhere productive. Some things were better left unsaid. "There's something off about this situation. She hasn't shown up for work in a whole week. She's not in her room. Where the hell is she?" I exclaimed, my frustration palpable. Claud scanned the street, our car parked across from her father's office building, providing us with a clear view of anyone entering or leaving. I knew that she would only come this way, yet so far, there had been no sign of her.

Since that morning she hastily left my house, I hadn't heard from her or seen her. On the first day, I was angry; on the second, desperate to catch a glimpse of her; and by the third, I was downright worried. Something felt deeply wrong.

"You've been in her room?" Claud inquired, studying me with a peculiar expression.

I shrugged, immediately regretting my slip of confession. I shouldn't have disclosed that information to him.

Claud stepped further into my line of sight, obstructing the entrance doors of the building. "You've been sneaking in and out of that damn house without being detected?" he asked, his words dripping with disbelief.

I stared back at my uncle, who often felt more like an older brother. We had grown up together, spending countless days side by side. We were well-versed in each other's lies and deceit.

But this was something he had never known.

"How long?" he pressed, his tone demanding an answer.

"Does it really matter?" I retorted, frustration lacing my voice.

Claud moved even closer, his face filling my vision. "Tell me, you bastard. How long?" he demanded, his voice low and intense.

"Does it really matter?" I reiterated, my own frustration now boiling over as I snapped back at him.

He must have replied but my eyes caught a glimpse of a familiar figure in the distance. It was Ellie, unmistakably Ellie, walking alone and looking undeniably desolate. My heart skipped a beat. Without a second thought, I pushed Claud away and quickened my pace towards her, a mix of relief and concern coursing through my veins.

As I drew closer, her downturned eyes revealed the weight of her sorrow. Her steps were slow and heavy, as if each one required an extraordinary effort. The once vibrant energy that radiated from her seemed to have dimmed.

The first thing that struck me were the dark, sullen moons under Ellie's eyes. They stole the vibrancy from her face, replacing it with a weariness that cut deep. "Ellie?" I called out, my hand instinctively reaching out to touch the angry mark on her cheek. She flinched at my touch, taking a step back, as if afraid of any contact.

With each passing glance, my eyes discovered something new. My gaze drifted downward, and there it was—a vivid, angry swell of finger-shaped marks bruising her throat. A surge of fury coursed through my veins, threatening to consume me, but I held it in check. In that moment, my anger had no place; all that mattered was the fact that Ellie was not okay.

My voice, barely above a whisper, trembled as I spoke, "Ellie..." The weight of concern and sadness in those two syllables was palpable. It was evident that someone had inflicted harm upon her, and my heart ached at the thought of the pain she must have endured.

Taking a deep breath, I struggled to compose myself. I couldn't allow my anger to cloud my judgment or further distress Ellie. There would be a time and a place for that, but now, my sole focus was on her well-being.

"It's alright," I managed to say, my voice filled with empathy and understanding. "I understand. You don't have to explain." I didn't want to pry or make her feel guilty for her absence. She needed support, not interrogation.

She couldn't even look me at as she spoke, her eyes downcast and so far, away. Where is she? Where is the spitfire that had my balls in her hands the second, we meant. Where is the bitch who controlled the whole air around her. This was a shell of a person, who seemed frightened of her own skin.

"Can we reschedule for today?" I asked, wanting to find a way to be alone with her.

She shook her head.

What the fuck happened to her?

She moved and I saw the wrong gait that she had. She was hurt. By who? And why the fuck did her father not protect her?

Unless...

I started breathing heavily and grabbed her arm carefully. "Please come with me right now," I said to her, trying to catch those blue eyes but she kept them down.

"Let go of my hand, you are hurting me."

"I am hurting you? Or I'm touching something that has been hurt?"

"Nate, please let go." She pleaded but to was almost like I could hear some unspoken words lingering. Did she not want me to go? Did she think we were being watched.

"At your lunch break, come find me where we keep our midnight secrets."

If I was not so entuned with every move that Ellie makes, I would not have seen the little flick of her head.