Silent Scars

CHAPTER 8

Aria sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers gripping the hem of her dress as if it were the only thing anchoring her to reality. The room was quiet, almost eerily so, unlike the constant background noise she had grown used to, the muffled arguments from her stepfather, the rattling of old windows in their creaky house. Here, everything was too clean, too new.

She looked around the space, her gaze flitting from the large, uncurtained windows to the soft white bedding she hadn't dared touch. It felt like a stranger's room, not a place she could ever belong. The sunlight streamed in, painting the walls with a gentle warmth she couldn't feel. Her chest felt tight, like there wasn't enough air in this house, this home that wasn't hers. Her fingers found the scars on her arms, tracing them unconsciously.

𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦?

Her mind still reeling from the events of the day. It all felt like a blur, the police station, the cold, unfamiliar stares of strangers who knew nothing about her. And now, she was here, in a mansion far grander than anything she'd ever seen, surrounded by people who were supposed to be her family.

𝘍𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺.

The word tasted foreign.

Aria's heart pounded in her chest as she replayed the moment she had seen Leonardo's face.

He hadn't looked at her with kindness or warmth, but with something she recognized all too well: suspicion.

She'd seen that look before, from the adults who questioned her, the ones who never truly listened. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, but she swallowed them back, pressing her lips together.

Crying was a luxury she couldn't afford. It was something her mother had warned her about from a young age: "No one likes a crying girl. Keep your head down and don't make a sound."

She hunched over slightly, making herself smaller, her hands clasping each other in her lap. It was a habit she hadn't broken, curling into herself, trying to become invisible. Even now, when she was alone, she couldn't stop the ingrained instinct. Her body still followed the rules, the ones her stepfather and mother had drilled into her, the ones she'd obeyed without question for fear of what would happen if she didn't.

A soft knock at the door made her flinch violently, her breath hitching. She squeezed her eyes shut, every muscle in her body tensing, waiting for the door to swing open. But it didn't. The knock came again, softer this time, almost hesitant.

𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

𝘐𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

She reminded herself, but her pulse was racing all the same. She forced herself to open her eyes and stare at the door. It remained closed. Whoever was on the other side didn't push further, as if they understood that she wasn't ready. She could hear muffled voices, hushed and distant, fading away as quickly as they came. She released a shaky breath, realizing she had been holding it.

Aria turned her head back to the window, watching as the golden light of the setting sun began to fade into twilight. Shadows crept across the floor, swallowing up the brightness, and she welcomed it. Darkness was familiar. It hid the cracks, the mess she didn't want anyone to see.

Slowly, she stood and moved to the window, her steps silent against the plush carpet. She pressed her fingertips to the cool glass, looking out at the expanse of the garden below. It was beautiful, sprawling with trees and flowers she couldn't name, all vibrant and full of life. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen something so serene, so untouched by pain. It felt like a place from a dream, and that scared her more than anything. It was too perfect, too much like a fairytale she knew she wasn't a part of.

𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸?

She wondered, picturing her new brothers in another room, probably talking about her. She could almost hear their voices in her head.

𝘞𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘦? 𝘞𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦?

A part of her already knew the answer.

The thought twisted something deep inside her, a tight, aching knot of fear and shame. She had been unwanted before, and the memory of it still stung like a fresh wound. She had seen the look on Leonardo's face, the way his jaw clenched when he spoke about her. He didn't believe she was his sister, not really. And why would he? She was a stranger, an intruder in their perfect world. She couldn't even speak to defend herself, to tell them she wasn't here to hurt anyone.

Aria felt her throat constrict, the familiar sensation of words trapped inside her, pushing against the barrier she couldn't break. She tried to swallow it down, but it stayed, thick and painful. She hadn't spoken in so long, the idea of forming words felt impossible.

Her mother's voice echoed in her mind, cold and commanding: "Silence is safer, honey. If you don't speak, they can't use your words against you."

𝘏𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘺.

The nickname made her shiver, her fingers curling into fists against the windowpane. She hated that word. It wasn't endearing, it was a reminder of every harsh touch, every cruel whisper. She felt dirty just thinking about it.

The emptiness of the room felt overwhelming, swallowing her whole. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out everything, the voices, the fear, the unknown future that stretched out before her like a dark, endless road.

𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.

She thought, a tear slipping down her cheek before she could stop it. She quickly wiped it away, scolding herself for the weakness. She had to stay strong, to keep her walls up. If she didn't, she knew she would shatter.

But as the silence pressed down on her, as the shadows grew deeper, Aria realized something she hadn't expected to feel, she was scared, yes, but she was also exhausted. Tired of the pretending, the hiding, the constant terror that had been her companion for as long as she could remember. For the first time, she allowed herself a tiny spark of hope, a dangerous, fragile thing, that maybe, just maybe, this place could be different.

Maybe these brothers, this new family, wouldn't leave her like everyone else had.

𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦.

She thought as she squeezed her eyes shut. It was the only word she could cling to in the darkness, the only promise she dared not speak aloud.