Chapter 21
Yara
Acircle of mirrors. Each image reflected endlessly, showcasing my flaws. A bright light above, spotlighted me.
This is a nightmare.
My body ached, my head was filled with cotton balls, but this couldn’t be real. This was taken straight out of my worst fears. Standing uneasily to my feet, I stumbled forward. My head bounced painfully off the mirror, but it didn’t break. I didn’t wake up.
Rubbing my forehead, I shut my eyes.
What is this?
“My doll.” The familiar voice bounced around me.
No, this isn’t real. He isn’t here. It’s a recording.
“You’ve been a very bad girl. Forgotten your lessons. You were taught to be seen, not heard. Taught to be a perfect doll. But here you are, disgusting. Fat cheeks. Greasy hair. You never did grow into your knees either.”
No. No. No. This isn’t real.
Covering my ears, I rocked in place, attempting to dispel this voice. It was taken straight from my darkest hours. A ghost. A monster.
The devil himself.
“You’re dead. You’re dead. You’re dead.” Blindly, I made my way to my feet. Stumbling forward this time, I fell straight into the mirror.
It shattered around me, but I didn’t open my eyes.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk.”
A kick landed on my stomach and I huddled in on myself, doing all I could to protect that area, but still, I refused to look at the perpetrator.
It would make this too real.
A hand tangled into my hair, using their hold to drag me across the broken mirror on my back. The shards digging painfully into my skin, but still, I didn’t acknowledge it.
This isn’t real. I’m going to wake up, and he’s going to be gone.
“Sweetheart, aren’t you going to speak to me? You’re going to hurt my feelings.” The tone was calm, level.
Just as it was so many times in the past.
Just as it had been when he shackled me to the floor and left me to starve for days. Just as it had been when he would return and hit me mirthlessly. With his hands, his belt. Just like when he was stabbing my mother in front of my eyes.
And it was that tone that finally broke through my denial. That cracked the very foundation of myself. My sarcasm was a coping mechanism, my confidence was stolen, my stability was a mirage.
My eyes opened.
And there he was, lit eerily by a line of fluorescent bulbs.
“There you are.” He paused, offering a toothily terrifying smile.
My father.