Phases Eight

Phase 7 Wicked Destiny

If you dare to make a mistake, dare to face its consequences.

5 DAYS LATER

Amelia rose up from the bathroom sink, throwing up her entire intestine. Rinsing her mouth, she felt a burning sensation traveling down her throat. Her own reflection intimidated her. The dark circles below Amelia's eyes were dark like that of Nick and her face was paler than usual, giving her the appearance of a ghoul. She made a mental note not to look at the mirror for the rest of the day. She pressed her palms against her temples to gain steadiness from vertigo.

It was the worst hangover Amelia have ever had. Being allergic to ethanol, alcohol was the first in the list of things she despised, but she stayed drunk most of the time, credits to Leo and Barbara. They both were heavy drinkers but they evaded its after effects, hangover. That's when they become obedient to give Amelia some leisure time. She was the scapegoat to clean up their mess, which wasn't finite.

Hangovers weren't much of a big deal. Till now Amelia's hangovers were just headaches that vanished after taking a pill or two. Recovering this hangover, seemed to take a lifetime. And just then she threw up the pills which were meant to heal her.

As per her assumption, Leo or Barbara must've drunk at least a gallon of liquor to end up in such a devastating state. Amy's indirect decision to end her life should've hurt the alters. All this happened because of Amelia's generosity to give up her life and save a stupid dumb ass from Nick.

Pills were of no use Amelia . Her disease belonged to the category, no medicine invented so live through it or die. But she formed a hypothesis that believing on recovery could at least form an illusion that she was recovering. This explains Amelia. She was a person who lived on sweet illusions. The horrible reality was taken care by her alters.

Amelia's trait of refusal to accept reality was first titled as Schizophrenia. She attended counseling on being happy with what you have, share and care, and meditation session with temperamental youths. Wrong diagnosis just aggravated her condition.

She built a unbreakable wall around herself, which was made of money. If not for the money she had, she would've been sent to a mental asylum. Even if Amelia had proven that she was mentally sane, she would've been sent to prison for attempt murder. Money, and the people who were willing to shut their mouths for it, were the sole reason for her existence.

With shuffling steps, Amy walked towards the kitchen to fetch a lemonade for her hangover. Morning in Manhattan beach was silent except for the whirling wind, chirping of the birds and croaking of the insects. Amelia froze on her tracks as she heard a loud music breaking the silence. Amy convinced herself that she was just imagining sounds, which happened whenever she wasn't sentient.

She heard it again. She confirmed that the music heard wasn't her imagination. The sound was more like a ringtone of a mobile. The hairs at the back of her neck stood erect on observing that the sound was originated from the east wing of the mansion. There was only one mobile used in the entire household, which was inside the pocket of her shorts. It couldn't be Hayden's as he called just ten minutes before to inquire about her health. In pin drop silence, she tiptoed back to her room in the west wing.

Amelia's room was the biggest in the mansion. Since she shared a room with one of her alters, they made a gentleman agreement to allocate the suite room for herself and the other rooms for the other alters.In literal sense she was the one using all the rooms, but her alters were strong on the demand for privacy.

A stun gun lay naked on Amelia's bed. Having it while sleeping made her fell at ease.

Never did she have the need of using it, so it would be the first day of groundwork for the gun. Snagging the stun gun, she left to the east wing.