My Enemy's Daughter (Edited)

Chapter 37

 Fiona's POV

I sprinted towards my car, the sound of my footsteps echoing against the pavement like the ticking of a relentless clock. Each step felt like it was dragging me further into the abyss of despair, the tears forming in my eyes threatening to blur my vision completely. I could hear Samuel's frantic footsteps behind me, his voice cutting through the night air with a raw intensity that seemed to amplify my sense of impending doom.

"Fiona!" Samuel's voice was like a whip cracking through the silence. "What the hell was that in there? Why didn't you say anything? Why did you just stand there?"

His words hit me like a physical blow, making my pace falter for a moment. I forced myself to keep moving, my heart pounding so violently it felt like it might burst through my chest. The keys trembled in my hand as I fumbled to unlock the car door, my fingers slick with sweat and tears.

"It's none of your business, Samuel!" I yelled back, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. "Just leave me alone!"

"Like hell it's not my business!" he shouted, catching up to me and grabbing my shoulder with a grip that was both firm and desperate. "You're supposed to be the sweet, innocent soul. And now? Now I find out you're just like the rest of them? What did you think you were doing in there, running away like a coward?"

I felt a surge of anger rise up, mingling with my already overwhelming grief. I twisted away from his touch, my breath coming in ragged gasps. "You don't know anything about me!" I screamed, my voice cracking under the strain. "You think you can just barge in here and judge me like you know everything?"

Samuel's face was a mask of fury and confusion, his eyes darting over mine as if searching for answers he couldn't find. "So what was it, Fiona? Were you deceiving me all along? Acting all high and mighty while keeping your secrets hidden? All those times you wouldn't even let me kiss you—was it all just an act? I cannot believe you had something with that swine!"

His words stung, each one hitting its mark with precision. "And you?" I retorted, my voice a mix of bitterness and hurt. "What about you and Clara? You're having your fun with her while you keep me around as some kind of side piece. Why should I even care what you think about me?"

His eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and guilt, but he didn't back down. "I'm not involved with Clara like that," he said, though his denial seemed weak and unconvincing. "But maybe she's better than you. At least she's honest about who she is. Unlike you who I'm just getting to find out is a slu-"

He stopped abruptly, as if realizing the magnitude of his own words. His face fell, the anger melting into something softer, a tinge of regret. "Fiona, I didn't mean that," he started, but his apology came too late, drowned out by the intensity of my own hurt.

I felt a surge of rage, an uncontrollable urge to lash out. "You're right," I said, my voice dripping with venom. "I'm a slut, a whore. I've enjoyed selling my body to make my father's business thrive. I would've done the same for you if you'd asked. But you're a fool. You've been settling for scraps thinking I'm pure. When I'm nothing but a cheap whore"

Samuel's face went pale, his mouth opening and closing as if he was trying to find words that would make sense of the mess we were both in. The shock in his eyes was like a physical slap, making me stagger back, as if his gaze had delivered a blow to my very core.

"Stop it," he said, his voice shaking. "You don't mean that."

But I was past the point of caring. The words spilled out of me like a torrent, each one meant to hurt as much as it hurt me to say them. "Yes, I do mean it," I snapped. "I've sold myself for money. I've done things that would make your skin crawl. And you know what? You're just like the other old fools. Believe whatever you want about me. I'm beyond saving. I've told you the truth now, so just go and believe it."

Samuel's eyes hardened, a mixture of fury and sorrow etched into his features. "You're a liar," he spat. "I've been a fool, believing in your purity, your faith. I thought you were different. But you're just like the rest of them. I hate you. I never want to see you again." he ends in a cold whisper

With those words, he turned on his heel and stormed towards his car. The fury in his movements was almost palpable, each step a testament to his rage. He slammed the door behind him and sped off, the screech of his tires a harsh reminder of how quickly everything had unraveled.

I wanted to call out to him, to beg him to stay, to take back every hurtful word I had just thrown at him. But my voice caught in my throat, and I could only watch helplessly as his car disappeared down the road.

The emptiness that settled over me was overwhelming. I wiped at my tears, the anger still burning hot in my chest, mingling with the deep sense of regret that was beginning to settle in. I sank into my car, the seat feeling like an unforgiving confessional. I sobbed uncontrollably, my body wracked with grief. I felt like a fool, a liar, someone who had only managed to destroy everything good in her life.

When I finally pulled into my driveway, my mind was a storm of anguish and confusion. I stormed into the house, my heart pounding with the intensity of my emotions. The silence inside was oppressive, the emptiness of the space echoing my own feelings of desolation.

I slammed the door shut behind me, the force of it reverberating through the house. The walls seemed to close in, the silence pressing heavily on my shoulders. I needed to release this pent-up fury, this unbearable pain. I grabbed the nearest object—a decorative vase—and hurled it against the wall. It shattered into a million fragments, each piece a symbol of my fractured spirit.

Still not satisfied, I picked up a photo frame and threw it as well. The sound of glass breaking was a small comfort, a brief distraction from the intense pain I felt. I screamed into the empty room, my voice cracking with each word. "Why, God? Why did you promise me redemption only to give me this torment? Haven't I suffered enough?"

I could feel my anger and despair blending together, a volatile mix that made it hard to think clearly. My mind screamed at me to reach out to someone, anyone—Pastor Simeon, a friend, anyone who might offer comfort or perspective. But I was too consumed by my own rage and heartbreak to consider it.

My breath came in ragged gasps as I continued to destroy small items around the house, each crash a release of my pent-up emotions. When the fury finally began to subside, I was left with a profound emptiness. My heart felt like it was made of lead, heavy and unmoving. I knew that reaching out to Pastor Simeon or praying might help, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. The anger had drained me of any will to find solace or comfort.

I sank to the floor, curling up into a tight ball, my tears soaking into the carpet. My body shook with silent sobs as I tried to find some semblance of peace in the cold, hard reality of the floor. The pain was all-consuming, a deep, relentless ache that seemed to echo the emotional devastation I felt.

I lay there, feeling every bit of the despair that had taken over me. I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the memories of the argument, the harsh words, the broken promises. Believing that I deserved this pain, I allowed myself to drift into a restless sleep, my dreams filled with shadows of guilt and sorrow.

As sleep overtook me, I clung to the belief that I had somehow earned this suffering, that it was a fitting punishment for all my wrongs. The pain was all that remained, a harsh reminder of everything I had lost. And in that bleak darkness, I found a bitter sense of acceptance, my only companion in the quiet, empty hours of the night.