This is not a love story.
It's about a girl, who no longer wants to shine in the spotlight.
A girl who no longer wants to be the villain.
A girl who no longer wants her husband.
A girl who finally took off her blindfold, and embrace her second chan...
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A V A
I've always pretended that an entirely different species replace the familiar people in front of me. They aren't the same people. They only have the same faces.
Perhaps, that's why it's so easy to talk to Eli, Ben, Logan, Mary, and Shelbie. Others who are not familiars.
Familiars are my parents, Trevon, Luke, Mina, Seth, and Mr.Nocella.
Sometimes, it felt difficult to talk to them. Every time I see their faces, a memory resurfaces. Each time, I would tell myself it's not true. How everything is a nightmare. How this is reality. But, something always reminds me of the truth.
Perhaps, that's the reason why Seth had always been particularly difficult to even breathe in the same room.
Mr.Nocella untangled my hands from the scrub, "Come on. You should eat," he said. I hate it—his tone. So, bittersweet.
I won't lie. Sometimes, I do wonder what would happen if Mr.Nocella did leave his wife. What would happen if I got over my obsession with Luke? What would happen if we never got caught by Mrs.Nash? What would happen between us if we could maintain the secret a bit longer?
Just a bit longer.
"Dad! Dad! We're out of soup!" Zach screams.
Mr.Nocella dropped my hand and stood up, "I'll get you another one." His eyes refused to meet mine.
Once he left the hallway, my body dropped to the ground. Maybe this is it. This is my limitation. How weak.
How could I babysit the man's children twice a week when I can hardly face him for a few hours?
Every time I see him. Hear his voice. The thoughts of his body pressed against mine only surfaces. The imagines of him sitting behind glass in an orange suit only strengthened.
Why does it affect me so much?
Of course, I know why.
Because I was the reason why he's behind the glass.
I was the reason why his reputation ran to the ground.
I was the reason why he lost his children.
And I'm the same person who got away scoot free.
Why?
Because I was the "victim."
In reality, my hands were as filthy as his.
I stared at the grey walls in front of me and exhaled roughly. I didn't notice it earlier because of all the trash, but now I do. At eye level, a specific portion of the wall color was lighter than the rest. With a closer look, I found them to be a particular spare - squares and rectangles. My fingers ran down the rough paint.
