My head spins as I come back from the dark. The birds sing me a lullaby, but I won't succumb to it. My eyes flutter open, just like their wings. I'm no longer in the mansion, instead on this sofa. Nice for my back, who am I kidding? Daylight escapes, so it's no longer night, huh? Paintings and Funiture fill my vision more than anything else. I sit up, with an aching back. I would rather a hangover, no lie. 

I look to my right, stairs. To where? Not time to be Dora the explorer. My head is against it, I hold my head in my hands, then rub my eyes after. Jut merely a bit better. I look ahead of me at a fancy glass- wooden door. It shines, it's like I'm in heaven. It's a way out of here, outside on the other side. shuffling is heard. I look around me, nothing. Must be my head from the knock. Escape time, then!

I stand on spaghetti. I mean wobblily feet. My vision is blurry my head is beating, just like my heart. I have to fight. I stagger to the door, like a drunk old man, who can't hold himself upright. It takes time; eventually I reach the door. I take a time, to stand straight and gather my composer before attempting to open the door. You know what they say about delay? They don't come with pay, okay probably I'm just making that up. 

As I'm about to turn the lock, Clinton's maniac laugh reaches my ears. I spin around and watch Clinton walk down the step. What? The devil is in heaven? 

"No not today!", somehow, I manage to sing a line from a BTS song. I open the door and run outside, like a turtle. My body slows, he did something to me. His manic laugh consumes me. I'm a fool, always have been. 

The sun blinds my eyes, but I can still see the guards surrounding the building. This is my utopia? This is what I called heaven? I'm a fool and was led to stray. The gardens are pretty, but this isn't even. The vehicles are shiny, but they aren't gold. I'm big, but this house is bigger. I don't know where I am. I don't know who I am. All I know is I'm a fool with lost memories. 

It rings louder, the birds chirp, I turtle walk no more. The dark is pulling, the manic laugh is comforting. I want to go but faith has other plans. I refuse to surrender, but I can't. I do. Falling to the floor like a rose petal, I re-enter the darkness. 

I wake up again, I'm in a room this time. I'm back to my normal self, everything has worn off, except my back. I sit up in queen size bed, as Caribbean blue walls keep my eyes captive. Cinnamon and honey fill my nostril, oh I remember that smell from my childhood. 

I scan the room. Closet and bookshelf to my left.  Dresser, desk and chair to my right. The bed in the center of the room just in front of the door. Not time to escape as yet. Two bedside tables keep the bed company, it helps me to get off. 

I start the search for treasure. The bedside tables possess books, stationery, more books, - this person loves books like me- an ID and a necklace. I've seen the person on the necklace before, so familiar. But where? 'Amelia Brown' She looks just like me! They were right, so identical. 

The necklace, I've seen it before. My tiny hands held these; I just know it. It's all coming back. So is Clinton, the door opens. I drop everything back on the table and sprint to the bed. I lay down, like I did nothing. He comes in with a tray of food. Breakfast in bed? Like it, just not from you. 

"buenos dias mi amor", Clinton says, as he uses his foot to shut the door lock. - good morning my love. My eyes don't leave him as he walks over, he can't be trusted. He puts the food on the bedside table after removing the books. 

"Let me see your head", he then says as he sits on the edge of the bed. I sit up and play along. Pain travels up my back like always. 

"It's fine. It get better love. Soon," Clinton says staring into my eyes. This feel weird. Ith his hands on my cheek and us so close. Weird, but this is my role. So I'll play it well. 

"mi amor lo se," I play along. - my love I know it.

I don't know where I am it's the safest way to play it. Play him then get the prize. It's cruel but crucial. He's my only get away back to Xmas and out of this place. So, let's be Lovers... 

"You like it? I brought it online, for you," Clinton says running his hand down my night gown. Hold on did he change me?

"I didn't change you if you're wondering. I made Mary do it," Clinton says, putting his hands on his knees.  This is getting really weird, is he blushing? One minute he's a violent bastard, the next a commander, a loving person, now, he's playing the role of a teenage schoolgirl in love. Should I be worried about this? My eyebrows fur on its own. 

Clinton lifts his head, eyes stone cold. He stares into my eyes, bringing his hand up from his knees. Oh no, not this again. I flinch, afraid he has changed back beardy and mighty. However, he doesn't hit me, but tug the hem off my blouse. So, he's also a rapist! What a plot twist.  

I'm about to put him in his place with sticks and clever lips, but he speaks up. 

"I'm so sorry for all of this'," he runs his fingers along my bruises. I shiver from his touch and the pain. My back screams in agony for him to stop. 

"I thought you had forgotten me. I just did it to remind you. I did it to remind you. I didn't mean to hurt you; you have to believe me," he pleads. I'm so confuse you beat someone to remind them of you, smart? Where did you go to school again? 

He stops running his hand down m back and stare into my eyes.

"Amelia please forgive me," he whispers so low I could hardly hear. Whoever this Amelia is she sur has a great impact on him. But, I'm not her.

"Please," Clinton breathes out tightening his hold.

"You did it because you love Amelia Clinton. Only because you love Amelia," I give him a bittersweet smile and take his hand from my back. I hold his hand in mind, he places his other on my cheek. Just like in the moves, but we're not lovers.

"Only because you love Amelia, I repeat. I take his other hand in my next hand and smile; he smiles with me. He kisses my hand at the back, then leaves the room, a smile extending to both ears. 

I eat the food he left me, I kind of feel safe around him with this Amelia identification. He loves her, he won't hurt her. Well, not too much. 

I run my hand over the books on the bookshelf wiping the dust from it. They haven't been touched in months there is dust but not a lot. I search the closet, just clothes nothing important. I take a dress from the hanger; it looks oddly familiar. I hold it to my chest, it's the same size too. I put it back and walk to the other side of the room. 

I search the dresser, nothing much here either. Just more clothes and a photo. 

There a much younger and handsome Clinton stands in a red tux; one of his hands is missing.  I flip the photo over, it was folded. I run my finger over the crease straightening the paper before flipping it around. There Amelia stands staring straight at me. It's like I'm looking at myself. Our smiles so similar, hair the same color: brown. The dress the same I wore yesterday. She looks so young and free.  She looks like me...

The necklace she wears it in the photo. I wore it? I memorize every single design. I stand there forever; well, it seems like it. I put it back, I can't just stand there all day. Probably I could, with the tether I'm not going anywhere anyways. 

I walk back over to the bookshelf, my hair playing along to the same tune. I take my time with choosing a book.