━━━ ꧁ད ✶ ཌ꧂ ━━━

CHAPTER 02

━━━ ꧁ད ✶ ཌ꧂ ━━━

The anger besieged me, and soon the feeling of fear turned into an inexplicable rage. I didn't even have words or a voice to object.

I was convinced. Thomas must have hidden the medallion in my backpack while we were leaving the station. I couldn't dwell on the matter any longer, nor could I find any other explanation.

"Enough with the games," I concluded the call, and I tossed the phone onto the pillow with exasperation.

After the few minutes it took me to put on my pajamas, consisting of shorts and a t-shirt, I made my way back to the bed, wanting to ignore the despicable desire to throw that dreadful object out the window.

As I placed the medallion on the small dresser tucked in a corner of my room, my mind debated the best way to get back at Thomas. I had no intention of returning it to him. Somehow, he would pay for this.

I opened the door with a loud click and stepped into the hallway. I thought better on a full stomach.

I hurried down the stairs, skipping a step or two. My legs allowed it; they were long, and I had to be grateful for that aspect, even though physically it wasn't an advantage when it came to finding a good prospect.

In the past, the only person I managed to form a relationship with happened to be my height. However, we didn't stay together for more than two weeks. There was something about this guy that I couldn't understand, or maybe it was me who was off. He was a year ahead of me in school, but as the inexperienced person in relationships that I was, I didn't know what to do. I thought it was fine to approach him, but when I saw him with his friends, out of fear of bothering him, I never did. And my biggest weakness was usually words, so that made the situation worse.

How could people talk about their feelings? I still didn't understand it.

Once in the living room, at the foot of the stairs, I froze as I anxiously watched the poplar leaves scattered on the floor.

Mom was going to kill me.

I shifted my gaze between the sofas until I discovered the source of the mess.

The front door was wide open, allowing the winter wind to seep in and scatter the damp leaves from the storm that had started at some point.

I made my way to the entrance, trembling from the cold and shock.

With great clarity, I remembered having locked the door after entering, so how could this have happened?

I turned back toward the kitchen, and just as all the lights in the house flickered, I thought I saw a silhouette move at the top of the stairs.

My heart took an unexpected leap, freezing me in place. My thoughts raced, leading me straight to the most just and reasonable conclusion of all, and, of course, blaming my imagination.

Once the situation became clear, I decided to move, albeit clumsily.

I went to the door, locked it again, and retraced my steps. I slowly made my way to the bottom of the stairs and glanced upstairs. I didn't notice any signs of anything out of the ordinary, so I tiptoed until I could see the threshold of my room shrouded in darkness.

The cold crawled up my bare legs and shook me forcefully as I remembered leaving that light on, as well as all the lights along the path I had followed to where I currently stood. It wasn't a mystery with the night present. I never liked the idea of being in the dark with the house empty.

Soon, I suffered from a terrible sense of guilt. I started to wonder how long it would take me to clean up the mess before someone came home when the loud noise behind me made me run up the stairs in less than five leaps.

The front door had opened again, and from the second floor, I could make out the shiny patent leather shoes halted in the middle of the dark threshold.

Another light went out without any explanation.

In the company of overwhelming fear and a racing heart, I was about to enter my room and lock myself in, but then I remembered the lights being off and decided to stay in the hallway.

Was my house being robbed? Thieves? Or could they be kidnappers?

The mere idea made me step back, along with the footsteps that echoed like gunshots in the living room. And to top it all off, I remembered that I had thrown the phone onto the pillow. I couldn't ask for help.

A wild thought blossomed in my head. It was, in fact, the only thing that could save me. There was nothing else.

I ran to the room. I didn't stop to check the state of the lights, and like a professional athlete, I leaped over the bed. This way, I retrieved the phone, rolled onto the mattress, and let the floor absorb the impact on my backside.

As my fingers tapped the screen, I winced in pain.

I had to hurry, but the adrenaline made me clumsy, and I had to delete and try again several times. I also thought I heard a sound. I didn't know exactly where it came from, and I didn't want to find out either.

My blood froze, and I turned into an ice block when a snort ruffled my blond, wet, and probably fluffy hair. Every muscle in my body was tense, and I could only turn my head like a rusty robot.

Upon seeing it, the phone slipped from my hands, and my scream was drowned in its eyes, tinted with a terrifying bloody red. The immense animal, on the other hand, stretched its neck backward and let out an off-key neigh.

I threw myself onto the floor and crawled as the hooves thudded forcefully on the boards I had just slithered across.

I found refuge under the bed, wondering what the hell a horse was doing in my room. It wasn't like such a voluminous animal could fit through the front door or any window.

With my chin pressed against the floor and my body rigid, I observed the bay coat that, on its two front legs, kicked the dresser violently, smashing it near my head. As a result, something rolled on the floor and hit me on the shoulder. Consequently, with the same horror, I shifted my gaze toward the medallion.

The strong inhalations of the animal resonated in my room, and immediately after, the shiny shoes made their glorious entrance. They moved gracefully and stopped next to the bed, just inches away.

The horse was the first to disappear, and a moment later, the shoes vanished behind the sound of the forcefully opened window.

I couldn't pay attention to what was happening outside my childish hiding spot, and it was worse when the powerful gust of wind entered, knocking everything down and forcing me to close my eyes.

An eternity passed, during which I still sensed the breeze entering frantically, until everything came to a stop with a snap.

I examined my surroundings and the rest of the room. I didn't see the patent leather shoes, let alone the hooves, and for some reason, I couldn't find the legs of my bed, only a faint bluish glow next to my shoulder coming from the medallion. It shimmered, but like a faulty light with a low battery.

Slowly, I turned around to lie on my back, and my mouth opened without being able to utter a single word.

My bed was floating near the ceiling.

Slowly, the tall top hat, followed by the bangs hanging over the forehead, peeked out behind the mattress. And along with them, the inquisitive gaze of what seemed to be a handsome young man. I couldn't even grasp the level of darkness that lurked within him at that moment because I couldn't define anything else.

"That..." He pointed a finger at me. "That's mine."

His accent was strange. Perhaps foreign.

I began to doubt my reality. Consequently, a crazy idea formed in my brain.

"Ashton?" I dared to ask, barely above a whisper.

He tilted his head with cautious curiosity, examining me. If he was surprised, I could be sure that I was even more so.

"Who are you?" When my eyes met his gaze for the second time, thanks to that last question, I discovered that his voice carried longing.

After the moment my brain suffered while processing the situation, he hinted at a smile that chilled my blood.

Ashton. A ghost.

Was that even possible?

Besides, he looked younger than I had imagined at first.

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