Unconditional Love Under Editing

(3) ANASTASIA

If people are trying to bring down it only means that you are above them

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We both exchanged numbers. He was a good friend, well-known at the university. I could see girls admiring him, sending glares my way, but he paid them no mind, engrossed in our conversation. Some tried to join us, but he ignored them. It brought a sense of happiness, a rarity for me in this university.

He opened up about his family - a businessman father and a full-time housewife mother. There was a brother, a subject he preferred not to delve into. I didn't press, respecting it as a sensitive matter due to their strained relationship.

After class, we headed back. The bell signalled the end of lectures, and I caught a bus home.

Aunt had returned and was changing table covers herself, an unusual initiative. It hinted at important guests.

“Ana, Ana, prepare dinner fast; guests will be arriving shortly, and also change your torn clothes," she instructed sharply. "It smells awful; just change it fast!"

"Yes, aunt," I replied.

I swiftly prepared dinner and a chocolate cake for dessert, following her specified menu. Setting up the dining table, I replaced wilted flowers with fresh ones before quickly changing into my dress.

Layla never gave me anything too revealing; if she did, adjustments were in order. I wasn't one for baring much skin.

Downstairs, the guests were already seated on the sofa. I whispered, "The dinner is ready," before making my way back to the kitchen. They moved to the dining table, and I served the meal.
An older man, in his late fifties, gestured towards me, asking, "Who is she?" I kept my eyes on the floor, avoiding any reason for my aunt to reprimand me.

My aunt explained, "She is a servant, and we all provide respect to our servants, so come sit with us, Ana."
Seated beside a young man in his early twenties, his gaze remained fixed on me. I felt a twinge of self-consciousness.

“We've decided that Layla should get married to this young man. They are also my business partners and Layla's future in-laws," announced my aunt. Layla blushed, an unfamiliar shyness about her.

I focused on my dinner, but suddenly felt a hand on my thigh. I chose to ignore it, until it persisted. I clenched my hands and stood up. "Don't dare touch me," I warned. He feigned innocence, winking at me.

"I never touched girls like you. You try to seduce me with your hands," he falsely accused.

I looked at my aunt, but she remained silent. "Disgusting! Shame on you, servant. Dad, see this girl; she is a slutty bitch!" he shouted, glancing at the old man. My aunt's eyes held a fire.

"I know, son, something is off with this girl; she was continuously looking at my son," the old man remarked. My aunt believed an outsider over her own niece.

"Servants are always servants," he affirmed, placing his hands on his son's shoulder.

Layla stepped forward, looking at me. "Didn't I tell you to stay away from us?" she demanded. "She wants my future husband; she wants him. If she dares to seduce him, I will cut her fingers," she threatened.

"You bitch, I will chop your fingers, so you will never be able to roll your hands on someone's thighs," she vowed, slapping me. I tried to explain, but she continued to curse me.

The young man behind her smiled, mocking me. I approached my aunt, attempting to explain, but received another slap.

"Leave my house!" she roared, pointing towards the door. "Aunt," I whimpered, in pain, covering my face.

I fell to my knees. "He is not like you; he belongs to a great family, unlike you; first your mother seduced my brother, now you, Anastasia, get out of my house before I lose my temper and do something to you," she thundered.

"Madam, don't lose your calm on the servants," the man coaxed my aunt, smirking at me.

"Get out of my house, Anastasia!" she shouted. I cried hard. "No, I won't leave my house; this is my house, my family's house; I won't leave it; you both should leave my house," I interjected.

"What did you just say?" She asked. "This is your house." She came closer and threw punches at my stomach. It hurt.

She can hit me with the stick, but I will not leave my house. The house belongs to my family.

At last, when I was lying on the floor, she kicked me out of my own house. "Do not dare to come here, or else I will throw all your mother's belongings out; do you love them or not?" She laughed, and I didn't object.

Those things belong to my mother; she kept them in a safe. I don't want to lose them. I didn't object and went out.

I have no place to live—no place to stay. I went to the nearby park and sat on the bench, looking at the sky. "Mother, Father, please, I beg you to take me with you; I can't live anymore; I can't; I am broken; I am weak; I can't fight against her," I murmured.

The chilly air hit my bloody face. I took out my phone and called Samar. He is my only friend that can help me now.
Restlessness consumed me. I couldn't bear to wait for my aunt's door to swing open; deep down, I knew it never would. The home that cradled my memories for eighteen years now felt like a stranger's abode.

Summoning what was left of my courage, I called Samar. "Can you meet me at the park near my house, please?" I asked. A reassuring "yes" was his reply.

Words felt inadequate; the pain reverberated through every inch of me.
Minutes stretched into eternity.

Finally, a car glided to a stop before the garden gate. Samar rushed towards me, and I quickly hid my face with a muffler.

"Hey, sweetie, what brings you to this chilly place?" He settled beside me.
"Just enjoying the night view," I lied.

He chuckled softly. "You're not the world's best liar, Anastasia."
I sighed. "I know. I need to ask you something." The words hung in the air, heavy with their weight. Samar was my lifeline.

"Today, can I stay at your house, please?" My voice trembled, tears streaming down my face. My bruised visage throbbed, my heart a mosaic of shattered pieces.

"Of course, sweetie, my home is your place. But what happened?" His gaze honed in on my bruised face. I tried to shield it, but it was futile; he'd already seen.

"What happened to your face?" He raised his voice, concern etched in his features. His touch sent a jolt of pain through me. "How did you get these bruises?" Anger simmered in his eyes, yet I couldn't bear to stir more trouble for myself.

"Who dared to hurt you?"
"I'll tell you everything, but please, let me stay for just one day," I implored. Samar nodded, gently holding my hands. I buried my face in his shoulder, and together, we left.

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