CRIMSON SHADOWS

𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝟑: 𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋

𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐀:

I wake with a heavy sigh, the remnants of a restless night's sleep clinging to me. The dread of my first day back at school settles like a lead weight in the pit of my stomach as I blink the sleep from my eyes. Gone is the faint smile that had previously tugged at the corners of my lips, replaced by a somber expression.

Forcing myself out of bed, I make my way to the bathroom, mechanically going through the motions of my skincare routine. Once in the shower, I close my eyes, and the memories come flooding back.

"Ellie, you should have seen the way he was looking at you in the cafeteria yesterday!" I recall saying, a mischievous grin on my face.

Eleanor's cheeks flushed as she playfully shoved my shoulder. "Shut up, Amara! He was not. Besides, you know I only have eyes for Jake."

We dissolved into a fit of giggles, the kind that left our stomachs aching and tears in our eyes. Those moments, filled with pure joy and unbridled friendship, seem like a lifetime ago.

But as quickly as the memory surfaces, it's replaced by the image of Mr. Moretti, my former history teacher.

It was my birthday, and my parents had once again failed to show up. I was devastated, feeling alone and unimportant. As I sat in the empty classroom, trying to hold back my tears, Mr. Moretti had walked in, a small gift in his hand.

"Amara, I couldn't help but notice you were a little down today. I wanted to wish you a happy birthday," he said, his voice gentle and his eyes filled with love (at that time i thought it was).

I was surprised by his gesture, and the kindness he showed touched me deeply. In a moment of vulnerability, I found myself flirting with him, my gaze lingering a little too long, my laughter a little too girlish.

"Thank you, Mr. Moretti. That's so thoughtful of you," I said, my fingers brushing against his as I took the gift.

The air between us crackled with a subtle tension, and before I knew it, I had leaned in, my lips meeting his in a passionate kiss. The moment felt both exhilarating and terrifying, as if I had stepped into a forbidden realm.

But now, as I relive that memory, the guilt and shame weigh heavily on my heart. I had allowed myself to be vulnerable, to seek comfort in the arms of a man who was in a position of power over me. And the consequences of that decision have shattered the very foundation of my life.

Blinking back the tears, I turn off the shower and step out, carefully drying myself off. Instead of styling my curls into a sleek look, I let them fall naturally around my face, leaving them in a soft, puffy state. The familiar ritual of taming my hair feels too much today, and I find comfort in the way the curls frame my features, providing a sense of concealment.

With a gentle touch, I add volume to my curls, letting them spring back with a life of their own. These unruly locks, once a source of frustration, now serve as a shield, hiding the pain and vulnerability that lurks beneath the surface.

Moving on to my makeup, I apply a light BB cream, concealer, and a touch of blush - just enough to look presentable, but not enough to draw unwanted attention, though I know 'the return of Amara Torres' calls for attention already.

After slipping into my uniform, I make my way downstairs, car keys in hand. Today, I'll be driving the black G63 - a powerful, imposing vehicle that feels like a necessary armor.

As I gather my belongings, the memory of my last interaction with Mr. Moretti resurfaces, and I can't help but relive the painful exchange.

"Amara, we need to talk, about us." he had said, his voice laced with a mixture of concern and guilt.