Beautiful Ruins

I 》 A million dreams...

A/N:

Hey guys! What's up?
Here's chapter one! I hope you like it, enjoyyy😇
Ouh, it's Sekani in the media.
Now, enjoy!💜

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A million dreams for the world

we gonna make...

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⚮Toviella⚮

I woke up in cold sweat, immediately cursing myself for not being able to withhold the shriek that sprung past my lips.

Inhaling a lungful of air, I sat up in my bed noting how my tense muscles relaxed a bit as I did so.

This was yet another one of my episodes and though I've gone through this countless times, it still seemed as if every nightmare was worse than the last. Much scarier and heartbreaking than the last.

Sometimes I'd wake up writhing in pain and other times, I'd be panting profusely as if I had ran a thousand miles in my sleep but the dreadful feeling that followed afterwards always remained the same.

The feeling of emptiness for all I'd lost.

The horrible event that left me scarred for life took place years ago yet, I relived it over and over again in my dreams with each passing night.

I developed PTSD a year after Mum's passing and because of how serious it was, I was still undergoing medication and therapy up till date.

Yes, I was dependent on pills for a good sleep though they weren't effective on most nights like today and that was the reason I was currently awake in the middle of the night.

They say time is supposed to heal wounds but all it had ever done was open fresh, wider ones and now, I was gaping, bleeding all over and no one ever noticed or maybe I was just too good at hiding them.

I lost both my parents that day. Mum's death killed Dad and the sweet, caring and down to earth version of him we knew all our lives was buried along with her corpse leaving this despicable, sick creature behind.

It took a while for I and my sister to notice it and the day he decided to show this new version of himself to us was also the day my fragile cheeks had received a hard, thunderous slap. The first slap I had gotten in my whole life and the very first time I had gotten abused physically.

I couldn't tell which part was worse, the fact that it was the man who birthed me that had done something so terrible or the fact that it still continued after that day and the days that followed.

I could remember how relieved I was when it was proven that he had no intentions of hurting my sister. I thought it was the small part of him that was still human that prevented it considering how little she was back then but even as she got older, he never laid a hand on her.

It was like there was some kind of restraint, holding him back and I couldn't be more grateful for that.

He also never failed to remind me that I was 'cursed' because we had lost Mum on my birthday and soon enough, that word became a belief once I was forced to start agreeing.

However, he still kept on with his role as a father and continued providing for all out needs and wants and I couldn't help thinking that it was just a cover up for his despicable acts.