My senses, still shrouded in disorientation, attempted to wade through the murkiness of my mind. The words I strained to hear were laced with an undeniable hostility, their tone and inflection carrying a weight that caused me to instinctively wince. They seemed to be discussing me, their remarks laden with judgments and assumptions, their syllables like daggers that cut through the fog of my consciousness.
Despite my discomfort, a sense of curiosity stirred within me. The language they spoke was foreign, strange to my ears, yet intriguing in its unfamiliarity. I fought against the tendrils of confusion, summoning every ounce of focus to decipher their words. But as hard as I strained, their language remained unintelligible, a puzzle I couldn't quite solve.
As my consciousness flickered back into existence, I found myself surrounded by the comforting embrace of my own home. The transition from the abyss of darkness to the familiar sights of my surroundings was disorienting, like emerging from a dream into reality. My eyelids fluttered, and the sound of English words reached my ears, pulling me further into awareness.
The voice that resonated in the air was not just any voice, but the unmistakable tone of my dear grandmother. It carried a touch of sternness, as if she had been worried or perhaps even upset. As my senses fully reawakened, I turned my attention towards her, meeting her gaze with an attempt at sweetness and innocence that I hoped would dissipate any concern she held.
"Hello, grandmother," I greeted her, my voice soft and warm, an attempt to convey my well-being and gratitude for her presence.
However, her response wasn't as gentle as I had hoped. "It's obvious she's fine already," she snapped, her irritation directed at someone who stood beside her, an unintended target of her frustration. Her words were tinged with impatience, as if the worry that had consumed her had now turned into annoyance.
The scene before me began to settle into clarity. The room, the familiar furniture, the presence of my grandmother – all of it grounded me in a reality that felt tangible and reassuring. And yet, the mysteries that had unraveled in the recesses of my mind still lingered.
A throbbing pain pulsed through my head, eliciting a groan from me. "Where am I?" I mumbled, my fingers instinctively reaching to rub my temples, as if trying to soothe the ache.
"Where else would you be, you idiot!" My grandmother's retort was sharp, her annoyance evident in her tone.
The confusion in my mind deepened. "Why does my head feel like it was hit by Adonis? And why does my body feel like it was hit by a bus?" I questioned, a sense of bewilderment coloring my voice.
"Adonis did hit you," she admitted matter-of-factly, as if confirming a known fact.
"But why?" I protested, my voice tinged with both concern and frustration.
"Because you were on the street, acting like a lunatic in broad daylight. What is wrong with you? Where are you getting all this rebellious behavior from?" My grandmother's scolding words were punctuated with palpable anger.
"Acting crazy is not a rebellious act, grandmother. I have my image to protect too," I replied sulkily, my hand still massaging my forehead in an attempt to alleviate the persistent ache. "I don't remember anything. I don't remember doing all that you claimed."
My grandmother's eyes rolled in exasperation, her irritation plain to see. "Of course, you wouldn't remember a thing, you rebellious child. I have nothing to say to you anymore. For some reason, the only man who decided to marry you is now in a mental ward after being involved in an accident."
My brows furrowed in confusion. "But the injured belongs in the hospital, not a mental ward."
"The poor boy obviously went crazy. Claims to have seen the devil himself." She fell into a momentary silence, lost in her own thoughts.
"Adonis is here; I have some important things to attend to." With that, she dismissed me without a second glance, leaving me standing there with a mixture of confusion and an unexpected indifference to the news of Jeremiah's plight.
As I took in the scene around me, my attention was drawn to a man whose gaze was fixed intently upon me. Irritated by the intrusion, I turned to face him, my words curt. "What?"
"You fell off," he replied, his tone calm.
Rolling my eyes, I scoffed, "You always say weird things, Adonis. What do you mean by I 'fell off'? You creep me out."
His expression shifted, his brows furrowing apologetically. "I didn't mean to scare you, Miss. I'm sorry."
I felt a pang of guilt for my earlier harshness. "Why are you apologizing?" I snapped, attempting to regain my composure.
Silence stretched between us, and he remained rooted in place, his head slightly bowed.
"Do you have anything else to say?" I pressed, impatience tinging my words.
"Not exactly, but Mrs. Smith instructed me, commanded me to watch over you like a hawk and not let you out of my sight, even if you have to go to the bathroom," he explained, his words carrying a sense of duty.
I stared at him, a mixture of astonishment and disbelief playing across my features. "So, you're going to watch me while I do what girls do in the bathroom?"
His face flushed red, his embarrassment evident. "N-no, I just repeated what I was told.
"See why I said you creep me out?" I asked, and he dutifully apologized. I shook my head, still wary of his presence.
"Can I ask a question?" he inquired tentatively.
"Are you trying to initiate conversation?" I replied skeptically.
"No, I sincerely do have a question," he clarified.
"Go ahead, ask away," I granted him permission.
He hesitated for a moment before speaking. "I didn't mention this to Mrs. Smith because I didn't want her to worry unnecessarily, but you disappeared for a while."
Confusion swept over me. "What do you mean I disappeared for a while?"
He furrowed his brow and continued, "I was initially following you when you left the office and even when you were with the fortune teller. But then, you took a corner that led to a dead end, and you were nowhere in sight."
I stared at him in disbelief and muttered angrily, "What do you mean disappeared? And what fortune teller? I only remember walking down the street and feeling like I was going crazy before you knocked me out cold in public!"
"But that's not how it was. You..." he started to explain.
"Enough now, I've had enough of your weird talk. Please leave. I want to sleep," I interrupted, my frustration getting the better of me. "You can stay outside the door if you like. Besides, I'm in no position to start acting rebellious."
Turning my back to him, I faced the wall, hoping to find solace in sleep.
He stood there, staring at me for a moment, before nodding silently and exiting the room.
Frowning, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss, like I was repeatedly losing my memory. The gaps in my recollection gnawed at me, and the idea that my mind was playing tricks on me was deeply unsettling. But the thought of being sick or mentally unstable frightened me even more, so I chose to deny it. I pushed the concerns to the back of my mind, hoping they would somehow resolve themselves. With a heavy sigh, I longed for a return to normalcy. I yearned for a life where I could go about my days without the constant unease, where the mundane routine of work and leisure was the extent of my worries. These recent, perplexing occurrences had shattered that sense of normalcy, and I craved it more than ever.
I glanced at the clock on the wall, realizing that time was slipping away as I lingered in my thoughts. With a determined shake of my head, I decided to focus on what I could control.
Hours later, I drifted off to sleep, only to be abruptly awakened by a presence in my room. My heart raced as I scanned the area, ensuring no one was lurking in the shadows. The once-familiar corners of my room now seemed like potential hiding spots for something—or someone—unknown. I swallowed hard, my throat dry, and a thousand scenarios raced through my mind. The fear of the unknown mingled with a fierce determination to confront whatever was causing this unease. The thought of a potential intruder, someone violating the sanctity of my space, sent shudders through me.
And then, just as I was about to give in to panic, a calming realization washed over me. I was alone in the room—physically, at least. But the sensation of a presence, the awareness of being under scrutiny, persisted.
"Adonis is at the door, and no one can enter here without passing through the door first," I reassured myself, desperately clinging to the illusion of safety. With a deep breath, I settled back down, but an overwhelming sense of malevolence lingered in the air. Ignoring it as best I could, I allowed sleep to claim me, wondering how much longer I could live in blissful ignorance.