Chapter 4
My father rarely spoke to me.
Most days, he passed through the house like a shadow—present but untouchable, his eyes sliding past me as if I were part of the wallpaper.As if I didn't exist.
Today was different.
I was dusting the mantel when the feather duster knocked over a photo frame. It didn't break, but the sound drew him into the room. His gaze dropped to the frame at my feet, then rose to me.
"You can't do anything right," he said flatly.
"I'm sorry," I murmured, bending to pick it up.
"Sorry doesn't fix clumsiness." His voice had an edge I hadn't heard in years, sharp and cold. He stepped closer, the smell of whiskey clinging to him.
When I straightened, the back of his hand caught my cheekbone. The blow was so sudden that I barely had time to gasp. Pain bloomed white-hot, and the room tilted.
"You make this family look pathetic," he said, his eyes flat and unfeeling. "If you can't manage the smallest tasks, maybe you shouldn't be here at all."
I stood frozen, every instinct screaming to get small, invisible. He watched me for another long, hateful moment before turning away, muttering something about "useless mouths to feed."
I could take any blow from my step-mom or step-siblings ,but when it came to my dad,it hurts more than I would love to admit.
I slid down the wall and rested my head on my knees whilst I cried my heart out.What did I do to deserve this kind of pain.
How could my mom just leave me in this cruel world?How does a father not protect his own?Am I really that disgraceful?That unworthy?That unlovable?
"You're worth more than you know ,"a voice whispered.
I quickly lifted my head to see who's in the room with me, but I saw no one.
"I must have imagined it. Yes, I probably did,"
I sat there on the floor for a few minutes before getting up and continuing with my chores.
I finished dusting with my hands trembling. My cheek throbbed with each heartbeat.
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That night, the dream came faster than usual, as if he had been waiting.
The guy stood before me, closer than he'd ever been. I could see the subtle flecks of darker amber swirling in his golden eyes, the faint curve of a smile that wasn't kind at all.
His gaze swept over me, pausing on my cheek. His hand lifted—warm, strong—and he cupped my face. The pain dissolved under his touch, replaced by a deep heat that spread through my skin.
"Who hit you?" His voice was silk over steel.
I shook my head. "It doesn't matter."He can't do anything to them,to him.He is just in my dreams, nothing else.So I chose silence over speaking because that's the only thing I can do.
"It matters to me." The smile was gone now. His thumb brushed over my cheekbone in slow, deliberate strokes.
The air between us felt charged, humming. My pulse skipped as his fingers slid down to rest lightly at my jaw, his proximity intoxicating.I could feel sparks lighting my skin where he touched .
Making me super aware of his presence ,of his warmth, of the proximity between us ,they way his scent intoxicated and over rode my senses.
"You don't belong there," he said, his voice low enough to make my breath hitch. "Say the word, and I will end them."
I wanted to look away. Instead, I found myself staring at his mouth—at the way it curved when he spoke, the way his lower lip caught the faintest glint of light.
My heart pounded, but I said nothing ,His eyes darkened, like a shadow passing over molten metal. "Soon, Selene," he murmured. "You'll beg me for it."
When I woke, the pain in my cheek was gone.
But the echo of his touch lingered, warm and loving .I could n't help but wonder if what he said was true.
Will I really beg for it?
No, not really. That's me being silly,there is no escaping this.
This is my life, and he is just my dream ,an escape that I conjured to help me deal better with my reality.