Charlotte's POV
The hotel door clicked shut, leaving me in the muted light of the corridor, my suitcase a heavy weight in my hand. A storm raged within me. I knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that I was making a mistake. Walking away, especially after that night – a night etched in my memory, a night when Kimi had given me everything, her virginity a sacred trust – felt like a betrayal. The sheer weight of it pressed down on me, a physical ache in my chest. I was leaving her heartbroken, a truth that twisted like a knife.
This is life, I tried to convince myself, but the phrase felt hollow, cold. Kimi had to understand that I, in her life, would only be a source of pain. Each step I took down the corridor resonated with the echo of our laughter, the soft whispers of morning, the lingering warmth of her touch. My suitcase dragged behind me, mirroring the heavy guilt that clung to my every move. The image of Kimi, vulnerable and alone, threatened to buckle my knees.
I sank to the floor, clutching my suitcase as if it could anchor me to something solid. Imagining her tears, the devastation in her eyes, shattered my heart into a million pieces. Yet, I saw no other way. I had to protect her from the darkness consuming me. Staying with her would only condemn her to more suffering, more anguish, and I couldn't bear to be the cause of her pain.
She was light, full of hope; I was a shadow, threatening to drag her down into my abyss. Every memory, every echo of her joy, pierced me like a shard of glass. I couldn't let her become entangled in my broken life. So, with a breath as heavy as my heart, I turned away from what could have been and stepped onto the uncertain path ahead, praying that one day, she might understand.
"I guess you do listen after all," a grating voice sliced through the silence, dripping with a condescension that made my skin crawl. It was the tone of someone who believed me inherently flawed.
"I left her, what more do you want, Mom?" My voice was raw, the pain a visible wound. The words hung in the air, heavy with unshed tears. I knew she wouldn't let it go, hoping for a response that would somehow justify her ceaseless criticism.
"You're a good girl after all. Now, like a good girl, take your luggage and put it in the trunk," she instructed, her voice devoid of warmth, more command than suggestion. Any semblance of compassion had vanished. Reluctantly, I gathered my belongings, feeling the weight of a world I couldn't understand settling on my shoulders.
The trunk's metallic click was a harsh counterpoint to the turmoil inside me. I climbed into the back seat, my eyes glued to the blurry landscape passing by. Everything felt surreal. The familiar world outside the window was morphing into an unfocused collage of memories and emotions I couldn't reconcile.
My mother slipped into the driver's seat, the engine roaring to life. As we pulled away, I watched my childhood home shrink into the distance, fading behind the trees and storm clouds. My heart ached, tears threatening to spill, each drop a tiny ember burning my eyelids.
"You've become weak," she stated, her voice a cold blade through the silence. I couldn't respond. I kept staring out the window, a whirlpool of emotions churning within me. I felt trapped, suffocated by expectations and judgments that were not mine. The world outside kept moving forward, while inside, I was frozen, a ghost haunting my own life.