HAPPY HOUR

She is Dead.

Taiga stood in stunned silence.

Following their meal, Kaail had maneuvered the ship closer to her home and assisted her onto the roof. Surveying the wreckage that now consumed her attic, she turned to him, finding him still and silent. Drawers lay scattered, their contents strewn haphazardly across the floor. The mattress bore gaping tears, exposing its inner layers, while her once-cherished vanity lay in ruins, makeup ruined beyond recognition. She had experienced disorder before, but this was different—a display of unrestrained violence and fury. In previous instances, she knew intruders sought valuables, but this destruction felt personal, leaving her shaken to the core.

A chilling silence enveloped her heart as her gaze fixated on the door. The numerous locks had vanished, and even the doorknob eluded her search. A haunting memory surfaced—her mother's voice urging her to abandon the habit of locking the door, claiming it was "not right." Mary Sue's words echoed ominously in her mind, and a shuddering breath betrayed the breaking of something inside her. This was a violation, a desecration of her sanctuary. The attic, her haven, now lay exposed in this hell-hole. Fists clenched, nails embedding into her palm, Taiga knelt, retrieving a torn dress from the floor. The realization of violation intensified as she examined the wreckage.

In a determined quest for solace, she reached her untouched backpack, a fortunate haven for her work clothes. Kneeling in a far corner, she meticulously inspected her hidden treasures. A gasp of relief escaped her as she confirmed the secrecy of the loose board—they had not uncovered this final refuge amidst the chaos.

A dizzying rotation seized her senses, weakness flooding through her. A sensation lodged in her throat threatened to overwhelm her, and the floor appeared to sway ominously. In the nick of time, strong hands intercepted her descent, preventing a calamitous fall. Leaning on Kaail for support, she struggled to draw in breaths, urgently needing to quell the rising panic.

"I'm okay," she managed to assert after a minute, determination replacing the momentary vulnerability.

"Tell me what to do," his worry resonating in his deep voice.

Taiga shook her head, attempting to regain focus. "Nothing. There's nothing you can do," she replied calmly, though beneath the surface, waves of anger surged through her. The question lingered in her mind like an unrelenting storm—was it Philip, one of his friends, or even her own mother who wrought this destruction?

A solitary dress, two shirts, a skirt, shorts, two pairs of socks, two bras, and four panties—this comprised Taiga's meager possessions. From the outset, she never had much, and what she owned was a testament to her relentless hard work.

Methodically arranging these few belongings into an old duffel bag alongside her cherished treasures and vanity bag, Taiga grappled with the elusive motive behind this cruel act. The destruction of her meager belongings left her bewildered, struggling to fathom the intent behind such heartless vandalism. The question lingered, stubbornly refusing to be unraveled.

"That's all," she murmured, clutching the bag tightly. Kaail, crouched to fit into her attic space, enveloped her in a comforting embrace. Despite the tears threatening to spill, Taiga willed herself to remain composed. "I will be okay," she whispered, reciprocating the hug, drawing strength from his presence. "I need to go downstairs. I need to say goodbye," she uttered, the words more of a self-assurance than a declaration to Kaail. "Coul you..." she faltered, grappling with how to articulate her request.

"I won't go anywhere."

She nodded stepping away from him, and thought better. " Actually, can you please cloak?" She saw when he cocked his head. " I don't want them to be scared. If things get out of hand, just take me out of here." She explained.