Twisted Desires

27. Should I Stay Or Should I Go?

Note💌: Are we nearing justice, Or running from it? (Vote <3)

It feels like we've been detached from reality lately. Let's ground ourselves. These past three days can only be described in two words: fucking crazy. Heists, ransoms, assaults, hacking, and fake identities. I might not know the exact legal repercussions for all that, and I don't care to find out, but I can estimate that it's a LOT.

This all began with Hanni, or Bunny as she was often called, struggling to keep her aunt and herself afloat with their rundown corner shop. They were barely making ends meet, and it seemed like the weight of the world was on Hanni's shoulders.

Then came the fight club—a dark chapter that no one likes to discuss. It was a desperate move for quick money, filled with more bruises than victories.

Next, there was the masquerade ball, a glamorous event that spiraled into chaos. That night changed everything, pulling them deeper into a world of crime and deception.

Now, here they are, in the midst of this mess that Hanni reluctantly calls family. They're entangled in heists, ransoms, and fake identities, far removed from the simplicity of their corner shop days.

Amidst all this, Hanni has been ignoring her aunt's calls, unable to face the woman she's trying so hard to protect but continuously pulling further into danger.

When Hanni opened the door, she froze. Standing there was her aunt, her face a mask of worry and frustration.

"I've been calling you for three days straight," her aunt said, her voice raw from the effort.

"What are you doing here?" Hanni asked, her tone tinged with guilt and defensiveness.

"We need to talk," her aunt replied firmly.

"Okay," Hanni muttered, shutting the door behind her. She turned to face her aunt, who had already crossed her arms in a stance of impatience and concern.

"Where to begin?" her aunt said, her eyes scanning Hanni from head to toe. "With your constant absence or your unpresentable appearance?"

Hanni scoffed, trying to mask her anxiety with a veneer of nonchalance. "I got hurt one time, Auntie."

"One time is too many," her aunt retorted, the worry lines on her face deepening. She sighed heavily, her frustration evident. "You're someone to be worried about, Hanni."

When Hanni didn't respond, her aunt sighed and dug into her pocket.

Hanni's hands started to shake. Her aunt sighed and pulled out a piece of paper. "The first rule of Fight Club is to never talk about Fight Club," she recited.

Hanni looked up, confused.

"Is this yours?" her aunt asked.

"Huh?" Hanni said, trying to make sense of the situation.

"Pretend you're me. Make an adult decision. You find this—what would you do?" her aunt continued, her voice stern.

Hanni leaned against the doorframe, trying to steady herself. "Well, I gotta tell you. I'd be very, very careful who you talk to about that because the person who followed those rules? They're dangerous. And this pathetic working-class fool might just snap, start going door to door in this motel, looking for trouble because they like the pain. This might be someone you've known for years, someone very, very close to you."

She snatched the paper from her aunt's hand. "Or maybe you shouldn't bring me every little piece of trash you happen to pick up on the street," she finished, her voice trembling with anger.