Midnight Secrets

Chapter 1

I saw him again last night.

I didn't even know his name.

And half of the time, he didn't even speak to me.

Yet I've long since stopped trying to justify my strange infatuation with this man. The simple fact is that, however ephemeral it may have been, he roused something in me. But as it grew, all sense started to seem illogical.

But nearly every day for the previous year, at one minute after midnight, I would find him waiting on the same curved bench, shadowed by the surrounding trees. He was waiting for me with his elbows resting on his knees and all of his hair covered by a dark beanie.

I used to convince myself every night that it was the last time. But I discovered that I was nearly always donning my trainers and sneaking out my back door at night, like a moth destined to dance in this blazing flame. There were moments when my resolve overcame my unreasonable thoughts and kept me at home. Such occurrences are now rare, though.

My eyes rolled up to my bedroom's high ceilings as I exhaled deeply. Here, I hated it. The constant sense of being watched, coupled with the unnerving silence that can only come from living in a mansion three times the size required, never ceased to seem forceful. There was a persistent stench of old mould that was heavily overpowered by a disinfectant odour.

The bedroom was pristine. Nothing was out of place, including the books on the bookcase, which were arranged neatly by colour, the folded clothing at the foot of the made queen bed, and the enormous white fur rug on the floor, which seemed to have never been walked on. I was sitting at my desk with my notebook open and a pen hanging from my fingers. My own bedroom was missing in individuality. Simply put, I did not see the purpose of decorating my room when the next morning I would find it neutrally decorated.

After several attentive knocks, the door to my bedroom creaked open. I tensed up from head to toe and straightened my back. The key was posture. I was spared through appearances. It hurt less the more put together I appeared to be.

In this household, no one waited to be granted permission to enter my room. That is why the whole of my life I have learned to change in my bathroom, where I could lock myself in and bask in that temporary privacy.

When Lorna entered, she rapidly glanced over my body with her gaze. She shook her head, sadness clouding her torn features. Her dark brown hair was braided down her back, with her simple navy uniform looking neat on her. " You're not prepared?"

I calmly retorted, "No," whilst adjusting the hem of my blouse.

"Do you not want to go?" she asked me once more as she moved deeper into my bedroom and shut the door behind her. She always made me feel better because she made me think back to a period when I didn't know about all the evils in the world around me.  A period when I was constantly filled with the love, warmth, and delight of my mother.

Occasionally, it was devastating to realise how disastrous everything was.

I gave her a headshake. We both understood that my attendance was required, so there was no point in trying. With a Degree I had no business ever utilising, my father took great satisfaction in showcasing his daughter, a recent graduate of a top university. I often liked to think about how dad would respond if I told him I had no interest in ever pursuing the professional routes he had suggested.

Lorna remarked in a low voice, "You have no choice," and she started to stomp across my room toward my closet. Her frustration was not directed at me, but instead at her knowledge of how my night would go.

"Is my uncle here?" I asked hesitantly, as I got up to start the torment that is getting dressed. Slipping on an expensive dress with killer heels was never an issue. What was truly awful was what happened next. Sneers, stares down my sternum, wandering hands—all of this has started to feel rather routine to me.