The Pact

05. you're one to talk, ladykiller

When I opened my eyes, it took me a few moments to orient myself. Slowly sitting up, I surveyed the dimly lit room, and a familiar scent of rosemary and lavender wafted through the air, triggering a rush of memories. It suddenly dawned on me that I was in my childhood bedroom. My stomach tightened, and I held my breath as the door creaked open.

"Emily?" a deep voice called out from nearby.

My heart pounded in my chest at the sound of his voice. I instinctively shuffled backward, pressing my back against the cool wall as his shadowy figure paused in the doorway. As he moved closer, his silhouette became more distinguishable under the soft glow of the moonlight. I couldn't help but notice the cigarette between his fingers. "You think you can leave me, girl?" he growled, his voice low and menacing. Another step brought him to the edge of my bed. "You dare to abandon your poor, old daddy?"

Tears welled up in my eyes as I shook my head, barely able to form words. "No," I whispered hoarsely.

A low growl reverberated in his chest as he advanced toward me, his movements deliberate and threatening. "Then what's this?" He held up an acceptance letter from USF, and my heart sank. "You believe you can amount to anything without me?" He loomed over my bed now.

I pushed myself further away, my back pressed firmly against the wall, as if I could just slip through. "Daddy," I whimpered, my voice barely audible.

He roughly gripped my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. Tears streamed down my cheeks, but I refused to show any sign of weakness. "I've taken care of you since the day you were born, and you think you can survive without me? You believe you can just go off to college?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, anticipating the sting of his hand against my cheek. But it never came. Instead, the room filled with the sizzling sound of my own skin as my father pressed his cigarette against the spot behind my ear.

"Daddy, please," I pleaded, tears streaming down my face. "Stop. Please."

His grip tightened on my jaw as he pressed the burning tip of the cigarette against my skin once again. "You think you're all grown up now?" he sneered, shaking me slightly.

"Yes!" I cried out in desperation, struggling to break free as he dragged the searing cigarette across my skin.

He released me as he exhaled heavily, and I crumpled to the floor. Curled into a ball, I pressed my face against the carpet, attempting to quell the pain radiating from my neck.

"Get some rest, baby girl," he whispered with an eerie calmness. "I'll see you in the morning."

I jolted upright in bed, gasping for air as sweat drenched my clothes. Frantically scanning my surroundings, I reassured myself of the safety within the walls of my new home. "Safe," I whispered shakily. "I'm safe," I repeated, clutching my knees to my chest.

Rubbing my eyes, I peeled the damp clothes from my body. Glancing at the clock, I groaned upon realizing it was only five o'clock. Sliding down the wall, I leaned against it and buried my face in my trembling hands.

The realism of that dream was haunting. It wasn't just a nightmare—it was a memory, an experience I had endured. I reached up to touch my neck, tracing the faint scars left from that horrifying night.

Shaking my head, I turned to look at the small bathroom adjacent to my room. "Safe," I muttered to myself, taking tentative steps toward the sink.

I splashed cold water on my face, attempting to rid myself of the lingering smell of smoke and burnt flesh that seemed to permeate the air. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I noticed a bottle of liquid soap sitting on the counter. Curiosity piqued, I cautiously sniffed it before turning back to the mirror.