Inna's POV
I was awake.
I was sitting on the bench of the piano room looking at the moon. It was something fascinating. The moon always fascinated me, even if I couldn't understand how it was so small yet so far, I was still in love with it.
But most of all, I am awake because it was because everyone was sleeping at night in the Serenity House.
"What are you doing here?" A small voice said making me turn to the source. "Shhh, talk slowly so we don't let her hear us or she will wake up"
"You are afraid of Miss Santa?" The boy asked frowning.
"Everyone is. The strip leather she uses it's the reason"
"I know, I took the whipping many times, it's two feet long and three inches wide and she whips us with it for bad behavior." My gaze softened, empathizing with the boy's plight. "I remember one time when I accidentally spilled my plate on the floor. The floorboards were crooked and broken, and I got my leg stuck, causing me to fall. It was a mess, but I didn't mean for it to happen. you?"
"I did many things," he said before asking again." What are you doing here?"
I hesitated for a moment, my gaze shifting uneasily. "Nothing. I just... I like this room." Although my response seemed mysterious, the boy knew better. He had caught glimpses of my sneaking into the room night after night, seeking solace before the break of dawn. I think It was also his favorite room, a sanctuary from the harsh reality of our lives.
A mischievous glint sparkled in the boy's eyes as he glanced towards the piano. "Wanna play?" he suggested, gesturing towards the instrument. My eyes dropped with a tinge of shame. "I don't know how," I admitted softly.
The boy's face softened with understanding. "That's alright. You're still little anyway. I'll play, and you can listen." With confidence, he settled onto the piano seat, his small fingers gently pressing against the keys. The room filled with melodic notes, and for a while, we both lost ourselves in the enchanting music, forgetting the clandestine nature of our meeting.
However, as the sound of approaching footsteps grew nearer, our reverie was abruptly interrupted. The boy looked at me with a worried expression. We exchanged worried glances, knowing that we needed to hide before we were discovered. The boy quickly gestured towards a couch near the window.
"Hide here," he whispered urgently to me. "Don't speak."
My instinct was to protest, to insist that he hide as well, but the doors swung open, and Miss Santa appeared, her stern expression sending shivers down our spines. "So, you're looking for a whipping session, boy!" she hissed with venom in her voice. "I'm sorry," the boy stammered.
But Miss Santa was unmoved by his apology. "Your apology means nothing," she retorted coldly, seizing him and dragging him away for a painful session of punishment. I could only listen, my heart heavy with helplessness, as they made their way out of the room.
As the echoes of their departure faded, I was left alone, contemplating the harsh reality of our world.
Sun streamed in through an opening of the thick curtains over the art room's large windows. I squinted at the light, rubbed my nose, and looked around the no-longer-foreign room.
As I stretched, I felt a twinge of soreness in my eyes.
Like every time.
In the ten hours, I'd been on the couch, I must have woken up six times. Not for that long each time, but enough to break my sleep into un-refreshing chunks. With every disturbancee, there is a new nightmare.
