It's been four days since the incident. But still I cried all the nights.
I didn't even get to know when I fall asleep in between my cries.
My eyes opened and the first thought came to my mind every morny is, He slapped me.
He slapped me just because I called him a stalker. I touch my cheek, Oh! My cheek is still hurting.
I stood up from the bed and looked at my reflection, in the mirror. There are no finger prints or anything but there is a red mark, a dark red mark.
I wander my fingers over it. Ouch! It hurts to even touch.
I stayed there for a while, in front of the mirror. Looking at myself.
I don't know what I am feeling right now. Well, I never know, what I ever feel. It's not my first slap but it hurts like the first one.
My parents used to punish me. I still remember for just running away from the man they were introducing me they scolded and slapped me.
But this time it hurts a lot.
Just by remembering those incidents I start crying. For first two days I wasn't able to think properly because I was so scared to even see him.
But, wait, that day he said that the letters which he had, were given him by Brooks?
No no no, this can't happen. He must be lying. Right? He can't do this to me? It can't be true?
But what if it's true? What if all this was a lie? I have to talk to him about this. This can't be a lie.
I was already lost in my thoughts, just then I saw a note slides down through the door.
I went for it. I was scared. But I opened it.
It was a note from Charles. I opened it. It was written in red ink. I smelled it.
It was..... BLOOD. I know the smell of blood. It was kind of a reflex. I smell every note I receive or the books I read.
But right now, the question was, whose blood could it be?
With these questions I opened the note.
The note was,
My Dear Snowflake,
Please don't throw it. Please.
I know I don't deserve a forgiveness. But My Snowdrop I am really really sorry. I didn't mean to do it. I don't know how or why, but I just did it. I am sorry dear. If you want you can hit me. Or even kill me. I won't question it. But dear, your silence is a torture. It will kill me inch by inch. I would prefer a death by your soft hands rather than your silence.
Please Snowflake, do anything or everything but just don't hate me.
My Sleeping Beauty,
YOU ARE READING
The Vintage Style
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