Torn between Dreams and Reality

Chapter 18

A storm, different from any that I had ever seen before, was brewing in a hasty speed in his steel eyes. Shoving his hand through his hair, his eyes trailed at the narrow cut on my arm from the glass piece that I couldn't escape. A nurse had treated it already and we were even moved to a different room.

The doctor came and checked on me again, checking my wound and vitals only to find out that my heart beat was slightly faster than usual, then saying that I was allowed to leave now. But I needed to relax myself before I saw more faces, before I had to face the people and their questioning looks at me, knowing that I was the locked-up girl.

Every second later, my eyes moved to the glass pane that was still intact to the window, expecting it to burst and fall out. To that thought, I flinched.

"Okay, that's enough time to let you relax, especially since you're not doing that at all," Conrad spoke up as he stood and motioned me to follow him out of the room.

I slowly got up, my legs too weak to support me but I still pushed them to keep me standing as my legs dragged me. I didn't meet his eyes as I crossed the door, walking through the hospital's halls and finding my way to the entrance. I walked out quietly, knowing Conrad was right behind me when he grabbed my hand and took me to where his car was parked.

"Do you need anything? You haven't eaten since . . . quite some time. We can stop by a drive-through if you want to."

I shook my head heavily. "If you're hungry, you can stop at the drive-through, but I'm not. I just want to go home."

I was fed up with everything, wanting to lock myself in a room and cry and stay away from everyone. I wanted to cry myself to sleep but now, even that thought felt dreadful because I was scared to face what I'd see. Maybe I'd jump off the roof again or slice my wrist or kill someone else. My heart tightened in my chest, the feeling of hopelessness washing over me like a wave as I realized that I was truly trapped with no way out.

How could I run away from my nightmares when then become real when I wake up?

"I'll take you home and then grab something to eat, okay? By the way, I think its high time you give me your number," he said with a smirk, his still glued on the road ahead.

"I don't have a phone," I replied, "but if you want the landline number, I'll give it to you."

"Sure, that's fine—wait a minute, why don't you have a phone?"

I shrugged, looking forward. "Never needed it. I had no one to call."

"But now you do, we'll get you a phone next time."

I shook my head. "No need, the landline works just fine, Conrad."

"But what if you're out and I have to call? You can't carry that everywhere."

"I don't go out at all, maybe to buy groceries or something I need. And when I go to school, but never otherwise."

He nodded in understanding, letting the silence settle in the car until he spoke up again, "I hope you don't mind me asking, you don't have a job or anything, and your family wasn't that rich. How have you been managing everything since your mom died."

I sighed and rubbed my temple. "When my parents separated, my mom bought a house and wanted to move into it to get over dad. It was unfurnished and smaller than the one we had with dad. But we never moved into it. My mom started wasting money and her job didn't support the budgets and bills that came."

I inhaled deeply. "So, she put the new house on rent and got monthly cash. The house still stands and the family that lives in it gives their money to me after my mom's death. I don't have a lot to spent on, just monthly groceries and bills, nothing else. So, even if the family moves out, I'll have enough money to last me two years tops."

"That's surprisingly very smart of your mom."

I smiled. "Surprisingly."

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The car stopped in front of the house and we both got out.

Walking towards my house door, we bid our farewells after I gave him my number and he gave me his.

"Call me if you need anything okay? And come visit my place sometimes. Mom's going to be relieved when she sees you doing well."

I smiled at him forcibly because I knew I'd never be doing well with anything.

"I'll see you around then. Maybe tomorrow at school when—"

He cut off my words when he grabbed my shoulders and pulled my slightly closer and then a little aside.

I was about to ask him what he was doing when I noticed him looking at something with his lips parted. I turned around to see what he saw, only to find a shadow moving from behind the door inside of my house. I listened closer and heard movement, making the hair on the back of my neck stand.

Conrad nudged me behind him, and put his finger on his lips, indicating me to be quiet as he went over to the door. Ever so silently, he unlocked the door with the keys and turned the knob. Then he swung the door open, making it hit the wall behind it.

We both stiffened as I took a step closer to my house's entrance, scanning it from the outside. Everything in my house must have been moved since my wardrobe stood right in the center of the hallway rather than in my room upstairs.

The kitchen stools were stacked up at the kitchen's door while the sofa in the living room was standing diagonally against the wall.

And the most eerie part was that a string of thread was attached with every object that was moved, crossing from one corner to another, and into the other rooms. Colorful as they were, varying from blue to pink to purple with a slight tint of gold in them, shining like silk from the afternoon Sun's light that seeped in from the window, making it look like a shining web above us.

My breaths were uneven and thoughts were hazy as I jumped over a few objects, making my way upstairs to my room. Knowing that Conrad was right behind me comforted me as I opened the door to the dark room.

Not even the Sunlight made its way into the room as I switched on the lights. My eyes were met by a similar web of threads that I had seen downstairs, cascading on the ceiling. The only difference was that the colour of the threads were black and the deepest, darkest shade of blue with only a few silver threads, barely three or four weaved into them.

There were at least a dozen of butterflies sitting on them as if it was their home, their black wings showing silver veins running across them.

And in between the whole webs of horror and beauty was loomed a piece of me that I had lost and had just found—my diary.