He knows that he wants her, and he will get her...
Emrys Lennox had it all, academic validation, wit and charm all wrapped up in a thin layer of lethal beauty. His family name provided him all the attention and spotlights he desired, and what his mo...
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I wake in the night, I pace like a ghost
The room is on fire, invisible smoke
And all of my heroes die all alone
Help me hold onto you
The Archer - Taylor Swift
There are some people that I'd rather never see or talk about again, ones that I'd rather cut off from my life and burn down every chapter I've written with them in my existence, and among this limited group of people, the most outstanding one of them is my very own mother. It is mostly a gathered layer of unspoken grudges I held against her for years, for the things she did and the ones she didn't do, one that I tried my best to get rid of several times, only to face the rage of my bad memories and trauma.
Growing up as Serafina Ryder Santos's daughter has never been easy, I was expected to be perfect, down to the very least mundane detail, from the way I stand up to the way I walk, talk and think, I have been hers to mold and sculpture for over fifteen years, a puppet in her strings, an actor in her great scheme of things. I never believed I'd have the misfortune to see her again, not after what she did, the way she broke our family to ashes, but here I am, feeling numb, curled up on my bed, hiding under my covers like a cowering mouse hiding from a cat.
'I wish I could feel things, numbness suffocates me.'
I stared at her in a dumbfounded stare, my jaw dropped dangerously from her sudden reappearance in our lives, two years after she shattered us, after she ripped our home apart with her selfishness.
She hasn't changed in the slightest, her elegant skinny figure is covered by one of those expensive dresses she always took pride in owning, wrapped in a coat, both clothes black like the depths of my hatred toward her. Her face is as youthful as ever, there is no trace of the small wrinkles that are expected to be seen on a forty year old woman. Her warm brown eyes, twins to mine, were holding a warmth that made a part of me ache terribly, sharpened by a black eyeliner while her lips are coated in dark red lipstick, Her golden brown hair was gathered in a perfect bun, the very image of perfection she has always loved to be.
She stared at me, her eyes lingering on my now thin body. I have gained weight since we moved here, but I never thought she'd notice it straight away. Her lips formed a thin line, visibly not liking what she saw, before her sight traveled to glance at whatever dwells behind my back. I wished I'd let papa get the door himself, to pretend that this interaction is just a bad dream. "Sierra, goodness, I missed you so much, Mi Cielo..."
