Dahlia's Lucky Charm

Dahlia's Lucky Charm

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WpMetadataReadMatureOngoing32m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Thu, May 23, 2019
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Fiction
Romance
Suddenly I felt something connect with my head and I immediately spot a paper rolling from my body. I stiffened at the impact. Should I just pretend that this didn't happen? Then came another one. "What is your problem?", I yelled as I faced the back of the class . My eyes suddenly locked with Rameesh.. "Who the hell did that?", I asked. Everyone was silent and pretend to not know what happened. Angrily I got up from my desk.... He was still smirking. A smirk that says 'you wouldn't dare do anything about it" and that's when I slapped him across his face. Everyone face dropped almost drooling. I don't know where this boldness is coming from but it seems to appear whenever he is around. ====================== Dahlia, that's what my mom named me at birth. She said it means "luck" but fate has proven otherwise. In life some persons are more susceptible to abuse and getting hurt. Imagine being fifteen years old and living with your aunt, not as a princess but instead, playing the role of a maid. She thought things couldn't get any worst ...... until she met Rameesh. Will she be saved? or did her luck ran out?
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Enver Williams is leading on a normal life but that is all ripped away from her when she is taken from her home town. When Enver comes to realize that there are others like her in more ways than one, she is determined to free herself and her newfound friends from the physiological torment of her closely supervised enclosure. ••• "Do I make you nervous, Enver?" Another idiotic question. "Wouldn't the man who kidnapped you and threatened to kill you make you nervous?" I snap at him. He only smiles an odd, crooked grin. I can make that disappear. "Wouldn't a murder make you nervous?" Now it's my turn to pull the strings. He looks at me with hurt in his eyes. "How many times do I have to say it?" He pauses, I guess hoping for some sort of mercy in my eyes, "I didn't kill her." "Liar!" I shout. "Why won't you believe me?!" "Would you believe yourself?" "It wasn't me who shot her," he sits on a stool, resting his elbows on his knees. "Then how do you know she was shot?" "I saw it. I saw him kill her," his voice was riddled with such pure vulnerability and pain it begged me to believe him. "Who?" I try to sound sympathetic, but it comes out as scared. Maybe, subconsciously, I am scared.

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