Kimi's Perspective
"Please," I choked out, my voice a ragged plea, "Can I use the bathroom?" My bladder throbbed, a sharp counterpoint to the rising panic in my chest.
The masked man's reply was a curt, dismissive drawl that made my skin crawl. "No, little one. You can hold it." The finality in his tone sent a shiver down my spine – not from cold, but from a primal fear I couldn't name.
"It's an emergency!" I insisted, my voice cracking. Perhaps if I sounded desperate enough, he'd understand. The anxiety clawed at my throat, threatening to suffocate me.
A beat of silence hung in the air, then, a grudging, "Fine. Liam, take her to the bathroom." He waved his hand, a gesture that was both impatient and strangely unsettling.
"Thank you," I whispered, the words a small, fragile offering of gratitude in this terrifying situation.
As Liam approached, the masked man seized my face, his grip surprisingly gentle, but his gaze was an icy drill, boring into me. "Don't even think about escaping," he said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. It was like a rehearsed threat, spoken a thousand times.
"I won't," I promised, the sincerity in my voice a sharp contrast to the terror gnawing at my insides.
He released me, and I was led down a dimly lit hallway, each step feeling heavy and deliberate. Relief washed over me when I finally slipped into the small bathroom and slammed the door shut. The lock clicked, a temporary barrier against the chaos outside.
In the cramped space, I reached into my pocket, retrieving a piece of paper, worn thin from countless touches. The words, memorized long ago, swam before my eyes: "Hacer que los recuerdos olvidados resurjan." I repeated the phrase in my head, willing it to work. But the only response was a heavy fog, blurring my thoughts and leaving me desperately confused. Nothing.
Despair tightened its grip. Who was I? How had I ended up here? I fumbled for something, anything to anchor me, and my fingers brushed against the necklace I wore. I clutched it tightly, its cool metal a small source of comfort against the rising tide of fear. Then, the weight of the unknown crashed down, and I collapsed onto the cold tile, tears streaming down my face.
I tried the phrase again, each repetition fueled by desperate hope, but still nothing. Frustration became a burning rage. Why couldn't I remember? Then my eyes fell on the necklace and noticed an almost imperceptible engraving: Charlotte.
The name was a key, unlocking a floodgate of memories, overwhelming and vivid—too vivid. I wasn't just anyone. I was a vampire. The realization hit me like a physical blow, bringing clarity laced with horror. Images flashed before my eyes, of heartbreak and a terrible act of violence—a baby and its mother, gone by my hand. The weight of my actions pushed me against the cold bathroom floor, and I wiped my tears away, trying to ignore the revulsion I felt towards myself.
I couldn't stay here, trapped in a past I didn't fully understand. Gathering what little strength I could muster, I stood up, my heart hammering against my ribs, and unlocked the door. The hallway stretched before me, dark and uncertain, but I had no other choice. I would face whatever lay ahead, reclaim my life, no matter how dark the path might be.