Bambina

46. Darkness unfolds

"I guess we should get going," he says, bags in hand.

I nod. "Do I have to sleep on the plane again?"

"No. You slept good tonight."

I glance around the room one last time, taking in the sterile walls and the big bed that has been my home for the past few days. It's strange how quickly a place can start to feel familiar, even when you know you'll never truly stay there.

We make our way out of the room and down the corridor, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like a persistent mosquito. The world outside is waking up, stretching its limbs after a night of slumber.

As we step outside, the cold morning air hits me like a slap in the face. I pull my jacket tighter around me, trying to ward off the chill. It's early, too early for most people to be up and about, but for him, there's no time to waste. He have places to go, people to see, and no room for delay.

I'm surprised he even had time for this weekend in his schedule.

We climb into the waiting car, the engine roaring to life as we pull out onto the deserted streets. The city is still half asleep, the only signs of life coming from the occasional early riser making their way to work. I stare out the window, watching the buildings blur past in a haze of whites.

"Are you okay?" he asks, breaking the silence.

I nod, even though I'm not sure if I am. There's a heaviness in my chest, a sense of unease that I can't shake. It's still there, whatever I sensed yesterday.

"There's nothing to worry about," he says, as if he can read my thoughts. "Daddy's got you."

I smile, though it's with half a heart.

The car ride seems to stretch on forever, the minutes ticking by like hours. I fidget in my seat, unable to sit still, unable to escape the thoughts swirling around in my head. I feel like I'm drowning, like I'm being pulled under by a current too strong to fight against.

Finally, we reach the airport. We climb out of the car and make our way to the plane. It's a familiar smell, one that I've come to associate with long days.

I watch the hustle and bustle of the airport with a sense of detachment, like I'm an outsider looking in on a world that's moving too fast for me to keep up. People rush past, their faces blurred, their voices a distant hum in my ears. I feel like I'm stuck in slow motion, while the rest of the world races ahead.

We board the plane, and I take my seat by the window, staring out at the tarmac below. The engines roar to life, and the plane begins to taxi down the runway. I feel a sense of relief wash over me as we lift off into the sky, leaving the ground behind.

But as we climb higher and higher, the unease returns, gnawing at the pit of my stomach like a hungry beast. I try to focus on the view outside, the endless expanse of blue stretching out before me, but it's no use. My mind is consumed with thoughts of what awaits us when we come home. I know for sure that something bad is going on.

I glance over at daddy, sitting beside me with his eyes closed, lost in his own thoughts. He looks so calm, so composed, as if he doesn't have a care in the world. But I know as soon as those eyes open, the truth will reveal itself again. He does have a care in the world. His eyes, they make him vulnerable.

I close my eyes and try to block out the noise, to find some semblance of peace in the chaos. But it's no use. The fear is too strong, too overpowering. It consumes me, body and soul, until I'm nothing but a trembling mess.

He opens his eyes, "woah, woah, woah, shhh, babydoll, breathe."

His voice is soft, soothing. It cuts through the noise. I focus on his words, let them guide me back to the present. "Breathe," he repeats, and I try to obey. Inhale. Exhale. Slow and steady. The trembling eases, just a little.