Golden Melody (Editing)

Chapter 36

Chapter 36- Mama's boy

Zatariel Wov Pov

When I opened my eyes and saw my clean, white, mold-free ceiling, I nearly cried. Because for a solid five seconds, I thought it had all been a fever dream.

The DSDWD facility.
The cockroach orgies.
The snake in the kitchen.
The nursery of lizards.
The frogs stared at me.

It was just a nightmare... right?

Wrong.

I turned my head and saw a box on my bedside table. Innocent. Brown. Sitting there like it held cupcakes or something good.

I opened it. Letters.

Dozens of them.

"Thank you, Sir Zatariel."
"You inspired me to take a bath again."
"You made the comfort room... actually comfortable."

From the staff.
From the warden.
From the detainees.

All handwritten. All horrifyingly real.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"

I screamed and yeeted the box across the room like it was possessed.

Because it was real. It actually happened.

The door exploded open.

"Zatariel?!" my mom shouted, rushing in, still wearing her silk robe.

Behind her came my little sister carrying her doll, and even my older sister, who had her nose buried in her medical textbook like a nerdy ghost.

They all stood there staring at me as I'd just found a corpse under my bed.

I sat up trembling.

"It wasn't a dream," I whispered. "I really cleaned a government facility. I really scrubbed slime off a wall. I can still smell that kitchen."

My mom looked at me like she needed holy water.

"I scraped a worm off a tile," I continued, clutching my chest like I'd been stabbed. "I saw cockroaches mating on a sink faucet. I named the frog Gerald. There was a snake in the kitchen, and it winked at me."

"Are you okay?" my older sister asked, half concerned, half laughing.

"It was gross. Slimy. Disgusting." I flopped back onto the pillow in defeat. "I need therapy.  And a new high school experience."

I couldn't stop talking. My brain had disconnected from my mouth, and my mouth had PTSD.

"I never want to see another worm again. Ever. Please."

Mom sat beside me and gently patted my back as I had just returned from war.

Which, emotionally speaking, I had.

"You did so well, anak," she whispered, kissing my temple.
"I'm so proud of you. Thank you for surviving."

I whimpered. Because yes.

That was exactly the kind of validation I needed to keep existing.

Then came the tiny hug of salvation. My four-year-old sister, Zadriana, climbed onto the bed and latched onto my waist.

"I will bully everyone who made you cry," she declared with her usual adorable wrath.

And honestly? I believed her. She once bit a priest for interrupting her nap during her baptism.

"I don't think the worms meant any harm," I muttered weakly.

"Then I'll step on them politely," she replied.