White debris flies everywhere, and then a hand comes in through the cracks, unlocking the bathroom door from the outside. My father's presence is enough to pour gasoline onto the spark of terror within me, and then it turns into a flame.
He is such a rotten man. All I ever did was offer him my hand, a smile, and my heart, but this man can't be satisfied. My father is a perfectionist, constantly searching for new reasons to hate me, punish me for not being like her, the original Amelia.
"Did you think you could get away from me?" My father snorts as if someone had said something funny. My blood runs cold. "Looks like someone needs to be taught some manners!"
The imposing man approaches, and I hold my breath as the fight or flight response kicks in. Part of me wants to try skipping past my father, while the brighter part of my brain knows I can't win against him; he is too big and too darn strong.
Why did he even pick a fight, to begin with?
I haven't done anything wrong!
Does my father get a kick out of tormenting me?
The answer is probably yes. Welcome to my tragic life. My father stinks like the bottles in the bottom of the fridge, and his eyes that used to convey love only speak of hostility—we are the opposite of a picture-perfect family.
Sometimes, I wish I had never been created.
"You need to learn to respect your elders," My father grunts as he kicks away a roll of toilet paper. His shoes are dirtying the tiles. "The Amelia I knew never tried to flee or speak back to her elders! She wore dresses with a smile, but you-..." He glares me up and down as if taking in my tomboyish clothes. "You speak like a boy and dress like one too; there isn't an ounce of a lady within you!"
"I'm s-so sorry-..."I stammer.
"Don't speak back to me with her voice!"
Frightened by his tone, I crawl back against the bathtub, but there is no use.
Escaping my fate isn't a possibility—I know that, yet I can't stop myself from gripping at straws. Fear has clouded my mind already, and I don't want to end up with more bruises. Therefore, I close my eyes so hard it hurts and pray that I will wake up from this nightmare.
But nothing happens.
No matter how loud my heart cries, I have to face the truth: this is reality.
With that in mind, I shakily grip whatever is behind me and feel the cold porcelain grace my palms. I can almost imagine the entire room whispering: "This isn't a dream,"
"You're so pathetic," My father is shaking his head. "Look at you, thinking those tears will save you!"
The hands belonging to my father grabs the front of my t-shirt, yanking me up from the floor by force. A strangled complaint slip out through my mouth, but the ferocious look on his face silences me. I have to tiptoe not to get lifted into the air.
My palms carefully tap at my father's veiny arms, but I can't stop him from lifting me higher. He is about twice my size with whitening hair and relentless eyes. I didn't inherit his size, nose, or burlier frame—I look like a doll compared to my father. The only resemblance I can find between us is our eyebrows; we both got bushy ones.
"I hope this will teach you some respect!"
Quickly, my father lifts his free hand. My eyes shut close—I know without asking that he is about to deliver a punch to my face.
"What is happening in here?" Carmen's voice bounces against the walls, shocking even my father, who immediately drops me.
I descend to the floor and dry my lips with the back of my hand, grateful for the interruption.
"Nothing," My father brushes invisible dust from his chest and then clears his throat. His eyes are blood-shot red, probably from the alcohol he has consumed. "I was simply teaching my daughter a lesson,"
Carmen folds her arms under her chest. The woman is short, but her stance expresses confidence. "The poor thing is crying and shaking like a lost lamb—I think you taught her enough manners for tonight,"
"And who asked for your opinion? You're the housekeeper!"
My father tries to turn around but instead stumbles forward on wobbly feet. Carmen catches him right in time. She might look like a frail old lady, but it seems she is more rigid than she appears.
"Easy there, Mr. Davis," Carmen is letting my father use her shoulders for support. His arm is draped over her petite body like a blanket. "I will take you to your room. You need to rest and clear your mind,"
Slowly, I stand up to my feet and silently mouth: "Thank you," to the older woman, who briefly smiles.
It seems Carmen is taking the job of helping my father very seriously, but once outside the room, the black-suited bodyguards immediately rush to my father's aid.
"Sir!"
"What happened?!"
"Are you alright?!"
Stronger, burlier men crouch down to support my father while Carmen picks up a suitcase from the floor.
I watch her intently from inside my room. Carmen seems to notice and turns around. A smile touches her face.
"Good night, Amelia," Carmen bows her head before turning around to run down the stairs.
I stare after her. Carmen saved me from my father; perhaps I'm not entirely surrounded by bad people.
"Be careful, sir!"
"Don't try to stand so soon!"
"You're all fucking useless," My father is yelling, entirely red in the face with his eyes partly closed. "Someone go get my cane!"
My mood darkens seeing my father treat even his bodyguards like they are worth nothing.
I turn around and close the door behind me, not even caring that my father is in bad shape. He is still breathing, and that's enough to know he will survive.
My father has been taken to the emergency room countless times, but he never learns—he drinks as soon as he gets home.
I bend down to pick up the phone, brushing it off and staring down at my latest message.
Ryan: You there?
I laugh before typing a reply.
Amelia: Impatient, are we? Haha. I was just trying to come up with a good enough answer! My name is Amelia, but the truth is, I don't know who I am!
Ryan is already replying to my message.
Ryan: Do you want me to call you? I'm currently chopping vegetables, and I must say chatting isn't really my thing.
The idea of talking to a guy that might be closer to my age and not related to me sets my mind on fire—I'm so nervous!
Amelia: Sure!
I'm definitely not sure! And when my phone vibrates with Ryan's caller id, my heart accelerates to impossible speeds.
I suck in a deep, calming breath. It does nothing. "H-Hello?"
A deep, husky voice verbalizes on the line. "Good evening, Amelia!
The voice supposedly belonging to Ryan is sexy and deep, giving him an air of solid confidence, and gosh, his vocals are so easy on the ears that speaking suddenly got more challenging. "Ryan?" I croak and feel my cheeks heat up when I hear my own echo in the background. Embarrassingly enough, I had sounded more like a frog than a girl. "Yeah?" Ryan appears amused. "Did you worry someone else might have called you?" "No, I just... How are you?" I inwardly facepalm myself for my awkwardness. "I'm good, excellent, actually. I came home from the gym mere minutes ago, and now I'm making myself some dinner," Ryan seems like a very extroverted person, the opposite of me. "Is everything good with you?" His question isn't a hard one, yet I'm experiencing a brain freeze. The sound of something getting cooked in the background is the first thing I notice when the silence folds, along with the fact Ryan likes to hum to himself. "Y
The last couple of days have been the best ones in my life. Where melancholy once raged, there are sparkles of hope, and it grows every time I open one of Ryan's messages. Ryan has blown my mind. He is sexy, funny, and supposedly hot, according to himself. I can't remember how I went through a day in the mansion without him humoring me during the day. And at night, god the man knows how to make me laugh with his perverted humor and desire to get to know the real me, Amelia the clone. Simply thinking about Ryan sets my heart on a furious fire capable of even burning down my inner fears. I no longer care or cry when my father hurts me because I know Ryan will be there later to cheer me up. Whenever I talk with Ryan, happiness skitters along my skin like the feet of young children, the man is the kindest soul I've ever spoken with. And I'm falling hard and fast—it's almost scary. I've been locked inside my room for what feels like eternities, but things
The fancy limousine smells like musky sweat and cigars. There isn't a single stain on the entire interior, which is somewhat surprising considering Ryan is smoking inside the car while singing along to the lyrics of "feeling good" by Michael Buble.I turn to the men sitting packed like fish in their seats; they are all curiously listening to someone telling them their life story."So, I noticed Isabella was texting someone, right? Her damn phone kept vibrating every fucking night, and she was very secretive about it," A man named Billy is shaking his head, while the other men are waiting for him to continue his story. "And so when I came home early one day, I found her in our bed together with Fernando, her freaking masseur!""Oh shit!" Someone exclaims. "Fucking whore!""And then what did you do?" Another one asks, biting his nails while staring at Billy."Yeah, what did you do, Billy?""You murdered the damn guy, right?" A guy bigger than a bear
Stepping out of the vehicle would feel amazing if I wasn't painstakingly aware of Ryan studying me like a hawk even while standing among his group of men. He doesn't even seem to be paying them any attention, which causes me to sigh.I wish I could run away from Ryan, hide from those blue, penetrating eyes, but trying to escape from here wouldn't serve a purpose when each one of his men carries guns and weapons so heavy they can barely stand straight."What are you going to do with her?" Giovani asks, and I know without asking that they are talking about me.I remain painfully still as the men turn their heads in the background; their eyes feel like a physical weight on my shoulder. Still, I manage to focus on the world around me. Soft tufts of snow are circling down from the sky, landing on my red velvet dress as I stand there, blinking at the many cabins and houses in the courtyard.This place looks like a miniature town hidden away from the world.
I toss and turn in my slumber for what feels like hours before finally awakening from my nightmare. My breath is hitched, and I can't seem to relax, too shaken up by today's events. I'm freezing even though the sheets beneath me are drenched in a cold sweat.How I managed to fall asleep in the first place is a mystery, the temperature inside the room is freezing. A window is letting the moonlight come in and illuminate the wooden planks, and I shift until I'm staring at the chair where I've thrown my velvet dress.I'm so messed up. Fear is scratching within me, speeding up my heart and inviting the reality of today to sink into my brain by replaying the unfolded events.I was kidnapped, betrayed, and fooled by a man who played me for a week, and then I watched this man named Arthur die at the hands of the same man—Ryan is dangerous. That realization makes me cover under my sheets.Tired of acting strong, exhausted from playing tough, I let the tears
I have a theory that hating someone and being attracted to them is so scarily similar that I might have mixed up the two emotions. Attraction and hatred are both instinctive—your stomach mangle like a rag at the idea of that person. Your heart thumps painfully and brilliantly, almost to the point of threatening to burst out through your ribcage. It's impossible to stop thinking about the person, and every interaction with them fastens your pulse. Obviously, I'm not attracted to Ryan at all—I simply hate him. That is why I wasn't visualizing Ryan naked before I fell asleep yesterday or imagined his lush lips kissing my earlobe before biting down on it, whispering: "I want you, Amelia," Fuck. I wish Ryan was ugly. It would be easier to keep him away from my dreams and sweet reveries if he was a short, fat little man with a balding head and warts covering his entire face—stained, yellow teeth from smoking and a foul stench that followed him everywhere. B
Anger is sizzling through me, awakening vicious rattlesnakes in my blood until I'm standing there, hissing. "And how do I do that?""Do what?" Courtney sounds surprised; her facial expression makes me want to laugh."Find a man who isn't sick in the head?" My voice is loud and filled with rage. It's not aimed at Courtney but this entire situation. "Because I've only met evil ones!""Really?""Yes!" I'm shaking, tired of being at this place already. "Ever since I was kidnapped, all I've seen is blood, crazy men, and their stupid agendas. I might have lived under a rock my entire life, and yes, I don't know what's going on anymore, but I do not want to stay here if it means having to suck someone's cock,"Courtney witness the tears already gathering in my eyes. I'm pacing the room, clenching my teeth, and walking around with blinding fury rattling my bones. In an attempt to calm down, I sit down in the rocking chair, only to find myself unable to sit
I never thought it would be this hard to milk a cow—Courtney makes it look so easy. She is squeezing her fingers and sliding down weirdly, filling her bucket with ease while I'm struggling to sit straight on my chair. My back is already sore, and the three girls leaning over me, snickering at my technique, aren't making the situation better. "She is doing it all wrong," One of the girls complains and sighs in a frustrated manner that makes it sound as if she wants to step in and take over my job. "The bucket won't be filled until midnight..." There is a snicker. "I've heard the girl has been spoiled her entire life and had servants serve her dinner on a silver platter; I don't understand why Ryan has taken a liking to her," "Yeah, she is nothing special, and she isn't even pretty. So why is she allowed to live inside the luxurious cabin?" When I raise my head with a deadpan expression, the three girls freeze into their spots. They are leaning over the