Darker And Devastated

6.

IVA FAITH

The waves of cold air gushing through the window, flying away the curtains from their way, entered the lounge–freezing my body. I was shivering uncontrollably and had nothing to cover myself with. I kept rubbing my arms and hands to generate some heat to keep myself warm, but it only gave me muscle ache.

Sighing, I stood up from the couch but stumbled due to a head rush. Composing myself quickly, I went to search for anywhere less cold than this to sleep. I have had a very long day, and I want nothing more than a single comfortable bed to sleep on and never wake up.

Emma would be fine. Her father is here now.

I strolled around the house to find the ideal spot but there was nothing. I only saw rooms and rooms and many of them. This seems more like a hotel than a house. Why would someone like to live in a place like that? There is nothing here that feels like home.

I think I can sleep in one of the rooms. It shouldn't be a big deal even if the room is dirty. I have been to worse places before.

As I was walking in the hallway, I heard someone sobbing. It made me freeze in my spot. I stopped and leaned on the door from where the sound was coming. It felt like a kid was sobbing. My brain instantly suggested Juan and I couldn't keep stop myself and opened the door. I became so anxious that I forgot to knock before barging in.

The door was opened and I found a boy sobbing in the corner of the room with his head buried in his knees. He raised his head and the fear in his eyes became visible. A brief sigh came out of my mouth as I looked at those innocent eyes. Juan has grown up and he looks like a mini version of his father. He is around nine years old now and I can't believe a kid of his age bearing so much pain in his eyes.

"Who are you?" He asked in between his sobs.

I closed the door behind me and walked to him. I kneeled in front of him. He looked a little scared, but the way he looked at my face, I concluded that he was trying to recognize me. Does he remember me? That's not possible. He was only three at that time.

"I'm your mother, Juan," I said, and my conscience shook me with a mocking laugh.

You, a mother? Worst joke in the history of mankind.

He stayed quiet and I saw his expressions transitioning. He looked confused and then slowly his eyes started growing big as if he recalled something he was trying to and then finally his eyes opened to the maximum size possible and he pointed his finger in my direction.

"You are that witch!" He said, and it shattered my heart and soul into a zillion pieces. I was shocked to hear the words coming out of his mouth, and the way he said them was even more hurting.

He spat them out like poison.

"You sent my dad to jail and grandpa died because of you." He said, looking at me with disgust. How can a kid be familiar with all these kinds of emotions at this young age? It's like they were carved into his soul.

I couldn't say a word in front of him. He was saying the truth and what was I supposed to say in return?

More truth?

"I'm sorry, my baby, I didn't do any of these on purpose. I made a mistake and it–..."

"Don't call me your baby." He spat, not letting me finish. "You would have never left me alone if I were your baby. You are the worst stepmother ever."

I choked on my tears. His every word is sending me deep into the ocean of guilt, and I'm losing hope of finding my way back to the surface to see the light.