The Witch's Toy ✔

26: telling the truth

Yu Rui's POV

When you've been quiet for a good chunk of your life, lying through part of it and keeping the secrets hidden deep away, it's hard to tell the truth. One day, you'll wake up to find yourself staring aimlessly at the ceiling, taking in that cream color blankly, and sighing to yourself. And at that point, you don't even know what's true in your life... if the face you put on each day is really yours or someone else's.

This was partially correct for me. It wasn't that I hid my true self away with a mask, but rather that I chose not to show my true self to the world. I was the granddaughter of Hong Kong's infamous shaman — the granddaughter of a woman who many people feared because of how potent her powers were said to be. You would think that people would revere her, but it was really just the opposite. They would only thank her for her work before paying their fee and dashing away, hoping they'd never have to see her again.

A witch, that's what they called her.

And as otherworldly powers are inherited by blood, I have also inherited that name.

Witch girl.

I could hear those new whispers in the hallways at school, the guarded expressions my teachers regarded me with, that smirk behind Mina's gaze when I looked at her with disbelief in my eyes, hands trembling in at my sides. I remembered it all too well to ever forget. That day was the first time I ever gave up hope that life was worth living.

Shaking the memory away, I paused at my front door, fingers wrapped around the knob of my apartment. I closed my eyes, letting out an inaudible breath of air before entering.

My mother was sitting on the couch when I came in, a pensive expression on her face. Her legs were crossed at the ankles, her fingers drumming on her thigh. I wasn't sure how much time had passed since I sat in the car alone to gather myself, but I assumed it had been a while.

I made an effort to close the door behind me a little louder, sneakers purposely scuffing against the doormat.

My mother sat up straight when she heard the noise, her eyes immediately coming to me. Satisfied that she had heard me through her daydream, I slipped my sneakers off, then set my bag to the side before shrugging off my blazer and laying it across the front counter to hang up later.

"Feeling better?" The question was a hesitant one; my mother still didn't really know how to approach me.

I only nodded, taking a seat on the couch across from her. I pulled my legs up, propping my elbow on the arm of the couch. My eyes met hers briefly before wandering away. "You wanted to know everything, didn't you? Where do you want me to start?"

She thought for a moment. "From the moment I left you at your grandmother's house those ten years ago."

My eyes flickered up to hers. "Only my time with Raphael, or..." I trailed off, wondering how I should've phrased it. Everything, everything?

"Yu Rui." My mother leaned forward a bit, almost as if to beg. "I want to know everything about you — everything that I missed. Even if you would rather not tell me, I want to know it all."

Letting out a puff of air, I shifted in my seat uncomfortably. I'd already agreed to this so it wasn't like I could even back out of it in the first place, but the whole thing just seemed a little too... daunting.

My mother sighed, as if she'd read my mind. "Yu, this shouldn't be hard at all. The Yu Rui I knew when I left those years ago couldn't face ghosts, let alone any kind of otherworldly creature at all. This Yu Rui is different."

Her words were supposed to be words of encouragement, but I felt stifled — like I was wrapped up in chains with the weight of all my faults stacking up onto my shoulders. I wondered if that weight would be lighter if I truly told her everything that happened to me while she was gone — related to the otherworldly or not — but that part of me that was afraid of people finding out just how vulnerable and weak I was told me to wrap up all those memories and stuff them at the back of my brain. After all the pain, some people could force themselves to literally forget. But... I was one who couldn't.