Midnight Secrets

Chapter 29

I felt a sudden, intense sensation—a pinch, as if a needle had pricked my heart. But that momentary pinch was swiftly replaced by a searing pain, so sharp and deep that it seemed to cut through every layer of my being. It sliced through my skin, my flesh, and reached down into the depths of my soul. How could something so cold, so seemingly innocuous, carry the burning weight of molten iron as it tore through me?

In that moment, waves of agony surged through my entire being, each one more relentless than the last. The pain was so consuming, so overwhelming, that I couldn't help but release a scream. It erupted from my throat, raw and unfiltered, a desperate plea for release from the torment that threatened to engulf me. It echoed through the empty space around me, carrying with it every ounce of anguish and despair that had taken root within me.

With each scream, I expelled a fragment of my shattered self. It was as if I screamed for every lost hope, every shattered dream, every ounce of innocence that had been cruelly stripped away. My voice carried the weight of my despair, my longing to escape from the unrelenting pain that engulfed me.

Every fiber of my being cried out, pleading for respite, yearning to escape the clutches of this unendurable agony.

As if a switch had been flipped, my mind went blank and I became numb. Behind my father, I saw Lorna break free from the men holding her back. She leaped onto my father, clawing at his head. I think that made him drop the knife—it clattered to the floor. But the pain still lingered, or at least I think it did. I couldn't be sure anymore.

I stared ahead, my gaze fixated on a small section of my dressing table mirror. It held my attention, though there was nothing particularly special about it. It was a temporary distraction from the chaos and overwhelming emotions around me.

In that moment, time seemed to freeze. The outside world faded away as I sank into a state of detachment. Numbness enveloped me, shielding me from the full weight of the lingering pain—or whatever I perceived it to be. I wasn't certain anymore.

I allowed myself a brief respite, focusing on the ordinary details of the mirror as if they held some hidden meaning. It was a momentary escape, a pause to gather the strength I needed to continue to breathe.

Amidst the commotion unfolding in the other corner of the room, muffled sounds of tumbles and shuffling, I found myself unable to tear my gaze away from the mirror. The longer I stared, the stranger things appeared, as if reality itself were warping under my unwavering gaze.

But suddenly, a sensation broke through my detached state. Something warm and wet fell onto my arm, jolting me out of my trance. Startled, I shifted my focus downward and discovered a vivid trail of bright red liquid, like a ribbon, cascading down my arm and pooling on the floor below. It was a stark reminder, an undeniable symbol of the rawness and violence that had consumed the room.

In that moment, a surge of longing and anguish coursed through me, intertwining with the confusion and numbness that had taken hold. The sight of my own blood, a stark reminder of the brutality and chaos surrounding me, amplified my yearning for the one person who could provide comfort and reassurance—my mother.

Her presence, her soothing voice and gentle touch, were what I craved in that harrowing moment. I wanted her by my side, to shield me from the horrors that unfolded and to help me make sense of the senseless. It was an instinctual cry, an unspoken plea for her love and guidance.

But in that fractured moment, all I could do was take a deep breath and steady myself. Though my mother's physical presence eluded me, I would draw strength from her memory, her resilience, and the love she had instilled within me. With that resolve, I turned my gaze away from the mirror, away from the unsettling reflections, and prepared myself to face the grim reality that awaited.