A slow burn romance story illustrating the collision of two different worlds.
In the enchanting world of "Midnight Muse," bubbly and innocent Aurelia, a talented painter with an affinity for pastel dreams, finds herself colliding with the rugged an...
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Tw: abuse
AURELIA
The day has barely started and a light gasp escapes my lips as I try to shuffle my way out of bed.
How much longer can I bear this?
You're strong, Aurelia. Strong girl.
The past few weeks have been painful and dreadful, although I try my best not to dwell in the feeling. I like distracting myself, reminding myself that my circumstances do not define me.
Papa had left for work earlier this morning, leaving me a grocery list to tend to during his departure.
I collected my items which didn't consist of much, However, they were my prized possessions: my black tote that held my plush bunny, some cash I had saved over the years, a credit card that was only allowed to be spent on groceries, a butter knife, old receipts, and a thoroughly loved copy of Dante's inferno in the original Italian.
I carefully made my way outside, appreciating the fresh air and the sunny rays that kissed my skin.
Today is a good day.
Atticus ;-; Hello, Aurelia. It has been weeks since you have left your clothes in my house. May I have them delivered to you or do you wish for me to toss them?
My heart drops to the ground and completely exits m body at the sight of a text from the man who made my hands shake and my cheeks darken.
The ones on my face...
Papa would murder me if Atticus delivered my clothes to my house! I began to feel hot and erratic at the thought of punishment.
Aurelia Hi Atticus :ooo may I please pick them up instead? Pretty please...
Atticus ;-; Yes.
☁️
The ground seems pretty imbalanced and gravity seems to fail me as I stand outside the door of Atticus' house. I could barely remember my own name... oh dear.. how will I speak to him?
Get it together.
"Aurelia," his voice greets— authoritative yet calm.
"I will just take my clothes and go! I did not mean to burden you with them for so long, I have been... busy." My phrasing sounded more like a question rather than a statement, the blunt lie making me feel awful. I couldn't tell him that I could barely move out of bed, my body decorated with bruises that anyone would find unpleasant.
