Cold Hearts - Mark Tuan fanfic

7 - Crumbling

"Peniel, thanks for driving me home. I'll take it from here," You tell him before he turns to the driveway. 

"Are you gonna be ok?" 

Of course you're not. But, you just need to be alone. "Yes."

"Call me, ok?"

"Sure, thanks."

Once he gets out of the car, you rev the car forward. You don't want to go to your confined room. The first thing you think of is home...your real home....back in the mansion. 

You look at the rearview mirror and see Peniel running after the car. You step on the gas even harder. 

You pass by your old home and see policemen patrolling the front. You go around it and park by the hedge at the far side of the house. As a kid, you remember hiding in a small hole around this place. The bushes have grown thicker, but the hole is still visible. You crawl into the hole and see that the other side is clear. Sneaking in, you pass through the basement door. 

The first floor is quiet. You walk up to your mom's old room and lay on the dusty bed, instantly you cry. "Mom, what should I do now? I'm all alone. Please help me." It's as if the whole world is against you. You don't have anybody to turn to. All the fear, disappointments, frustrations, anger - they all come out with your tears. You try not to scream out as you curl yourself up in the soft mattress. 

You're only turning eighteen next month, how can you possibly handle all these? As you close your eyes, you see eyes staring angrily at you, mouths laughing, fingers pointing. What have I done to deserve this?

YOUR DAD. That old man caused all this. He's the one to blame. If it weren't for him, you'd still be in school, having the time of your life. 

I HATE YOU! You scream at him inside your head. You walk to his room, your tears still running, but your face taut. 

The neatly fixed bed becomes a pile of ruined mattresses, feathers flying around. His pictures on the wall scatter in pieces on the floor. His expensive clothes in his closet, lay in piles of shredded fabric at your feet. 

You see a half empty bottle of whiskey on his desk. The bitter liquid flows in your mouth and burns your throat. 

Taking the bottle with you, you go out the way you came in. Once in the car, you tip the bottle up into your mouth again. It's tasting a little better now. 

Not knowing where to go, you drive. The street lights slowly turn on as the sun hides below the horizon. You continue driving until the road becomes unfamiliar. You don't care. 

Using one of the cards your dad gave you, you stop for gas and some more booze. Luckily, the lady in the counter is too sleepy to ask for an ID. 

You drive again until you reach the coast. You park your car down the beach. 

The wind hits you, the waves wet you, but you don't care. 

You plug your earphones, lay on the sand and let the rushing water wet your back. The bottle of tequila beside you is almost empty, you down the last few drops. 

"Just let me die, now!" You shout to the star-filled sky above. "Why do you have to torture me like this? I didn't do anything to you. Take me! Take me, now." 

"Hey! Are you ok?"

"She's still breathing."

"Miss, wake up!"

You hear voices. Your body is shaking. You slowly open your eyes and there are three people looking down at you. The sun hits your face and you squint. 

"Are you ok?" One man asks, helping you to sit down. 

The heat of the sun touches your skin but you're shivering. 

Then you remember what happened last night. 

"I'm ok." You stand up and walk to your car. 

As you near your car, you hear your phone ringing from inside. 

"Elysa, sweetie," the sobs of your aunt can be heard. "Where are you?" 

"I'm ok. I'm fine." Your head is throbbing and you feel your eyes burning. 

"Thank God. Where are you? Why did you not come home last night? You made me worried. I was about to call the police if you still haven't answered."

Police....you've had it with them. 

"Aunt Mary. I'm on my way home. Just don't worry about me."

"Sweetie, I'll leave food for you in the oven. Call me when you get home." 

"Yes. Thanks."

Although you still don't want to go home, the thought of your aunt calling the police scares you. 

You're trembling as you drive the long stretch home. Your eyes are burning and it's hard to concentrate on the road. But you manage to get into your town.

With the familiar streets up ahead you speed faster. Your body feels like collapsing, but you shake off the desire to faint. 

You park the car beside the street in front of your aunt's home. You don't notice the red car parked across the street. 

You stumble out the car and stagger to the porch. The door in front of you is getting smaller and smaller, the light - although it's morning - is dimming. You feel your legs give way.

Instead of hitting the wooden floor, you feel hands under you. You try to see the face of the man looking down on you, but it's blurry. 

"Elysa, babe. Hey...Shit..." You hear him, but your brain can't pinpoint who's voice it is. 

The air becomes warmer as the arms carry you inside the house. You feel your back touch warm, soft fabric. The footsteps fade to the kitchen and come back. 

"Drink this," those hands help you sit up and put a glass on your lips. The warm water feels good on your sore throat.  You finish the whole glass and you lay back down. "Wait here," the voice says. 

You feel a quilt wrap around you, and your body becomes warmer. You hear the footsteps going to the kitchen again. They stay there longer. When they come back, the hands help you sit up. Warm food touch your lips and you welcome it, opening your mouth as the hands feed you. 

You feel the arms carry you again. This time it takes you to a warmer place, you think it's your room because you can smell the familiar scent. The arms put you down on the soft bed. 

"Rest for now, Baby." 

You try to sleep but it evades you. You have too much on your mind. Tears flow down again. Quiet but painful tears. You curl up again, trying to suppress the emotions inside you. Your heart seems like it's going to explode as it contracts. The four walls of your room start to close down on you. You feel yourself pulling your knees closer.

The hands touch you once again, stroking your hair and going down to the side of your arms to do the same. "Shh..." the voice sounds. 

It does little to comfort you. 

What do I do now? Would they lock me up in jail, like my father? Would they find me guilty? But I'm not. How can I get this fixed? Who can help me?