𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐇

XLIV

— RORI —

As i wake, i startle at the sight of an imposing figure standing in the doorway of my room, only their shadow visible against the glow projected by the dim lights in the corridor.

I say nothing, and the figure emerges from its shadow.

My mouth parts as i realise who is standing before me. I take in a sharp breath.

"Papa?" i say, fearful. "You're—you're alive?"

The corner of my father's lips curve upwards to form a malicious smirk as he huffs in amusement at my bewilderedness, his vacant eyes gazing down at me.

"You pitiful girl," he remarks. "Of course i am not alive. You know i am not alive. When are you going to wake up and stop pretending?"

I frown at his words, gulping with uncertainty as i continue to look up at him, my eyes never once leaving his.

"I don't know what you mean," i say, in a defeated half-whisper.

His eyes darken, and he raises his chin, peering down at me.

"You never did," he responds, cryptically, in a voice that is deceptively soft.

Suddenly, he reaches for my chin, his rough hand cold to the bone as he forces it to tilt upwards.

"My darling daughter," he says to himself in a scornful tone. "An actress. Fuelled by deluded fantasies. Just like her mother. Tell me, does it help you to sleep at night? Pretending that the past didn't happen? Kidding yourself on that you can run from it and start anew?"

My bewilderedness grows at his words.

"What do you want from me, Father?" i ask him, once again in a hushed voice that exposes my fear.

"Listen to you," he scoffs in a derisive manner. "You have grown so defiant — so outspoken — and yet you are still that cowardly little girl from all those years ago."

I don't respond to him, because i do not know what to say. Every belittling insult that has left my father's mouth may as well be a tender kiss on the forehead.

I refuse to let the words of a man who is dead cut deep, let alone graze me. Especially one who has always been soulless.

Still gripping my chin between his thumb and forefinger, my father leans closer.

"What i want for you, Rori, is that you wake up. Because if you don't, you'll be that cowardly little girl forevermore, cowering behind her brothers instead of wisening up and fighting her own battles. So the choice is yours, keep playing at being none the wiser, or wake up."

I jolt awake, hyperventilating before i have even regained consciousness.

My dead father in dream form felt no less real than if he had actually risen from the dead to pay me a visit. His voice, his touch, even the faint scent of alcohol and tobacco...all of it.

Felt. So. Real.

And yet it was just a dream. A mere exaggeration of the man he was. Even my father, in his true form, never spoke words so cruel to me.

My own subconscious had him do so though.

I drink from the glass on my bedside table until it is empty. I reluctantly get back under the plush covers, only to toss and turn until i throw them over me. I turn on some of the lamps and pace around my room for a couple of minutes. I do some yoga for five. I return to bed.

Half an hour later, i am sick of staring at the same spot on the ceiling. I throw the covers over me once more. I fiddle with the perfume bottles on the dresser. Then the trinkets on the bookshelves.