Richard
I stared at my phone, heart pounding as the line went dead. I heard a man's voice before Selena dropped the call. Not hers, definitely not hers. My chest tightened.
Did Selena have a boyfriend?
The man sounded older, but in this day and age, who could tell? A sugar daddy? The thought made my stomach churn. My mind raced with scenarios I didn't want to entertain, but curiosity burned too hot to ignore. My grandfather was still taking forever in the restroom, so I dialed the number again, my fingers trembling slightly.
No response.
Frustration prickled under my skin. I couldn't let it go. I dialed again, gripping the phone like it might give me answers if I squeezed hard enough.
This time, the line clicked, and her voice came through, sharp and annoyed.
"Who gave you my number?" she demanded, her words slicing through my growing unease.
The tone was different, familiar but not the mimicked voice from earlier. I hesitated, then asked, "Am I speaking to Selena?"
"Of course, you are!" she snapped. "And if you don't have anything useful to say, I'm hanging up."
Her sharpness hit me like a slap. I wasn't used to this kind of rejection, and instinctively, I fought back.
"Wait, why are you being like this? I was just trying to check..."
"Check what?" she interrupted. "If I have a life outside of answering your random calls?"
"You don't have to be so rude," I shot back, my voice rising.
"Well, you don't have to be so annoying!" she retorted, her words laced with venom, "Who gave you my number?"
Before I could respond, another voice, a thunderous, male voice, boomed in the background, making my blood run cold.
"You're grounded from today, Selena!"
There was a beat of silence, and then Selena screamed back, her voice breaking with fury.
"I'm not a kid anymore! You can't ground me!"
I froze, caught between shock and intrigue. Who was that? Her father? The older man from earlier? My curiosity bubbled over, and I asked, "Selena, who was that?"
"None of your business!" she snapped. "And stop calling me!"
"Why?" I pressed, unwilling to let her dismiss me like this.
Her voice faltered for a moment before she answered. "Because you're trouble, Richard," she said almost bitterly, "Please don't call this number again. I need to avoid your kind."
The words stung more than I cared to admit. Before I could respond, the line went dead with a sharp click.
I lowered the phone slowly, the weight of her words sinking in. Was I trouble? And what is it about my kind? The phrases looped in my mind, chipping away at my confidence.
Suddenly, I felt the heat of a gaze behind me. Turning, I saw my grandfather standing in the hallway, his arms crossed, staring at me with a mix of disapproval and curiosity.
I gulped.
I had no idea how long he'd been standing there, but his expression said enough.
"Let's go." Was all he said in a low tone.
As I pocketed my phone, Selena's words echoed in my head. The image of her in that fitted pair of jeans and the cardigan she'd been wearing earlier flashed vividly in my mind.
Had I ruined my only chance with her? I thought to myself as we walked to the elevator.
*****
Selena
I was about to go to bed hungry, my stomach growling in protest, but I refused to open the door. My mother's voice came muffled through the wood, sharp and insistent.
"Selena, open this door! Now!" she said, her tone both pleading and commanding.
"No!" I shouted back, my voice hoarse from crying earlier.
"You need to apologize to your father," my mother raved.
"Stop calling him my father!" I yelled, "And I'm not apologizing to him!"
"Selena," my mother began, her voice softening, but I could still hear the frustration beneath it, "You were rude to Victor. He deserves an apology."
"Why?" I demanded, sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at the locked door. "Why do I always have to apologize? He's the one who's rude to me!"
There was silence for a moment, but I knew she hadn't walked away. Then, she sighed heavily. "Selena, he's trying. Why can't you meet him halfway?"
My jaw clenched. "Because you always take his side," I muttered, more to myself than to her.
"What did you say?" she snapped, her patience clearly fraying.
I didn't answer. Instead, I grabbed my pillow and shoved it over my head, blocking out her voice and the storm of emotions raging inside me.
Tears pricked at my eyes as I held the pillow tighter, as if that could keep everything—the anger, the frustration, the sadness—at bay.
Minutes passed, maybe hours. I sobbed quietly, my body curling into itself as the weight of it all bore down on me. Eventually, exhaustion overtook my tears, pulling me into an uneasy sleep.
The nightmare came swiftly, without warning.
I was back in that moment, Clara's accident replaying in vivid, harrowing detail. The sound of the ambulance siren screamed in my ears, blending with my stepfather's angry voice. His words were sharp, biting, filling me with the same terror I felt that day.
'It's all your fault,' he'd said.
The scene shifted. I was suddenly in a dingy motel room, my mother standing by the door. Her face was cold, devoid of the warmth I once relied on.
"Don't let anyone in until I get back," she said, her voice sharp and final.
"Mom, please," I begged, my hands trembling. "I didn't do anything! I didn't even touch her!"
Her eyes, usually so kind, were icy and unrelenting. She shook her head sharply, the motion a dismissal, and slammed the door behind her. The sound echoed like a gunshot, leaving me frozen in place.
I curled up on the bed, clutching my doll, the one thing that brought me comfort in this suffocating void and the same one Clara coveted. Fresh tears streamed down my cheeks as I buried my face in its fabric, its familiar scent grounding me.
Then the door flew open, and my mother reappeared. Her face was dark with anger, her movements sharp and purposeful. "What the hell is that godforsaken toy doing here?" she hissed.
I barely had time to react before she snatched the doll from my arms. With one vicious jerk, the doll's head snapped off, and its lifeless eyes stared up at me from the floor.
"No!" I gasped, my voice breaking. "Mom, please don't!"
Her mouth twisted into a snarl, and she hurled the doll's remains aside. "That's why your sister almost died!" she screamed, her voice thunderous and filled with venom.
"Mom, it wasn't supposed to happen!" I wailed, clutching at the shattered pieces of my doll. "I didn't know she'd get hurt!"
Her eyes blazed with fury. "No more toys. You need to grow up! You hear me?" my mother screamed, "You're a burden, Selena, and you need to realize that!"
Her words cut deeper than any knife. My sobs turned to wails as I trembled under the weight of her rage. "But I was just playing, Mom! I didn't know..."
"Enough!" she barked, silencing me with the force of her voice. "This is real life, Selena. People get hurt, and this time, it's all your fault!"
I woke with a hideous gasp, sitting bolt upright in bed. My chest heaved, and my heart thundered as I clutched the soaked fabric of my nightgown. The fan hummed softly in the background, but it did nothing to cool the fire that burned through me.
It was all a dream.
But this dream would haunt me for the rest of my life.