BOOK 1
Veronica Garcia, a smart and beautiful fifteen-year-old, had endured enough of her stepfather's abuse. One fateful night, during his drunken rage, she seized her chance to escape, fleeing to her abuelo's mansion for solace. However, her newfo...
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Veronica's POV
Sometimes, in the quiet moments when the chaos subsides, I find myself drifting into thoughts of what could have been. If only Mother were still here, perhaps Ricardo's love would have been different, more like that of any caring stepfather. Maybe then, our home wouldn't be a battleground of pain and resentment. Maybe then, I wouldn't have to navigate this world feeling so utterly alone. In these fleeting moments of reflection, I allow myself to entertain the possibility of a different reality, one where love outweighs the darkness and where hope blossoms in the shadows of despair. But reality always snaps me back, reminding me that some wounds never truly heal, and some dreams remain forever out of reach.
I'm currently cleaning the kitchen after what happened earlier
I don't recognise myself anymore these days.
FLASHBACK : 1 hour ago
Ricardo's sudden aggression sends me reeling as he shoves my face away with force. In a swift, brutal motion, his hand connects with my cheek, leaving behind a searing pain that radiates through my entire being. The sting of his slap echoes in the room, a harsh reminder of his power and my vulnerability in his presence.
The sound of Ricardo undoing his belt fills the room, sending a chill down my spine. With trembling hands, I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, willing the tears to stay at bay. But as the threat of what might come next looms over me, fear overwhelms my senses. In a desperate bid for escape, I make a dash for the kitchen where the house phone awaits, my heart pounding in my chest with each step.
Step by step, I can hear Ricardo's enraged shouts drawing closer, each footfall a thunderous reminder of the danger behind me. My heart races with adrenaline as I finally reach the sanctuary of the kitchen, gasping for breath. Frantically, I search for the phone, my hands shaking with panic.
"Where is it?!" I exclaim in desperation, my eyes scanning the chaos of torn wires and shattered pieces.
And then I see it, the phone ripped off the wall, wires strewn about in a tangled mess of red, blue, and yellow.
"FUCK!" I cry out, my hopes of escape are dashed.
Suddenly, Ricardo is upon me, his presence looming like a dark cloud over my trembling form.
"No, please no!" I plead, my voice quivering with fear as I brace myself for whatever com
With a heavy heart and a sinking feeling of resignation, I brace myself for the inevitable. This isn't new; it's become a sickening routine whenever Ricardo indulges in alcohol. The anticipation hangs thick in the air, a grim reminder of the violence lurking just around the corner.
I wait, every nerve on edge, for the sharp sting of his belt against my skin. It's a painful familiarity, a cruel ritual I've come to expect in these moments of darkness. And as the seconds tick by, each one laden with dread, I prepare myself for the pain that is sure to follow.
As the stinging pain shoots through me, I collapse to my knees with a stifled cry, the force of the blow sending shockwaves of agony through my body. Ricardo's grip tightens around my upper arm as he yanks me back up, his breath reeking of beer and other potent liquors. My heart races with fear as he folds the belt once more, his intentions clear in the tightening of his hold.
Desperately searching for an escape, my eyes lock onto the glint of multiple long knives protruding from their scabbard. With trembling hands, I begin to inch my way towards them, my heart pounding in my chest with each cautious movement. Finally, I reach out, fingers trembling as I grasp the handle of one of the knives, my back turned to Ricardo as I prepare for whatever comes next.
Ricardo's furious scream pierces the air like a dagger, sending shivers down my spine. The adrenaline coursing through my veins heights my senses as I realise the gravity of the situation. With a quick, desperate prayer for strength, I steel myself for what comes next.
Ignoring his raging voice, I take a deep breath and tighten my grip on the knife, my fingers inches away from freedom. Every fibre of my being screams for escape, for survival, as I push through the fear and doubt. Almost there. Just a little farther.
With my heart pounding in my chest, I can almost taste the sweet release of freedom as I reach out for the knife. Just a fraction of a second more, and—
Suddenly, Ricardo grabs me by the shoulders and whirls me around, his rage evident in the wild fury of his eyes. My breath catches in my throat as I brace myself for another blow, but this time, something shifts within me.
In that split second of chaos, I seize the opportunity. With a surge of adrenaline-fueled determination, I snatch the knife from its resting place, clutching it tightly in my trembling hand. Victory floods through me, tempered by the realisation that my fight for survival has only just begun.
With a swift and decisive motion, I plunge the sharp blade of the knife into Ricardo's chest before he can react, a primal scream of pain escaping his lips as he crumples to the ground. But I don't stop there. Gripping the knife tighter in my trembling hand, I unleash a torrent of pent-up fury, driving the blade into his flesh again and again.
The sickening sound of flesh tearing fills the air as I stab him eighteen times in the chest, each blow fueled by a mixture of fear, anger, and desperation. With each stab, I'm consumed by a relentless need to ensure that he's truly dead, that this has finally come to an end.
Breathless and trembling, I finally pause, the weight of what I've done settling heavily upon me. With trembling hands, I reach out to check his pulse, praying for the reassurance that he's gone for good.
He's dead.
I'm free.
~~~
☑☑ EDITED
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