DISCLAIMER:
This book contains mature subject matter and triggering topics that may not be suitable for every reader.
• • •
"What is it that I always tell you, Winona? You'll always come back to me. A bird never forgets its home."
Winona Horton ha...
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July 2010 • • •
As she drifted in a nostalgic reverie of her youth, Winona was suddenly jolted back to the present by the gentle touch of a finger on her damp cheek. She felt it glide across the path her tears had carved in the night, stirring her senses to life. The source of the touch was no mystery, yet it took great effort to pry open her eyes, as though they were sealed shut by an invisible force. When she finally succeeded, she was greeted by a pair of sapphire jewels, so deep and bright they seemed to radiate like the morning sun illuminating a darkened basement.
Her body felt as heavy as lead, immobilized and powerless, while her gaze wandered listlessly over Harry's rugged features, every curve and line of his face infused with worry. Yet, despite his exterior, his touch was feather-soft and gentle, like the caress of a dove's wing.
"Did you cry yourself to sleep, Winona?"
The silence between them was heavy with unspoken words. Harry's eyes bore into hers, like a predator examining its prey. She felt trapped, helpless, and the urge to flee consumed her. But she knew that wasn't an option, not when she was at his mercy.
"No, I didn't. I'm fine. I'm okay." She had cried herself to sleep, her tears a silent testament to the torment he had inflicted on her. But she couldn't tell him that, not when she feared his wrath. She knew deep down that he could see right through her. He always did.
"Don't lie to me." The softness in his voice was almost mocking, and his smile only added to her unease. "Were you crying?"
With a trembling voice, she forced out a lie, hoping it would be enough to placate him. "No, Mr. Meyer."
"There are consequences for everything, Winona. Remember that." With a solemn expression, Harry placed a gentle hand on Winona's trembling shoulder, coaxing her to sit up from the couch. He delicately smoothed out the fabric of her loose t-shirt, his fingers lingering on her skin for a moment longer than necessary. "Let's go."
As she rose to her feet, she couldn't shake the feeling of dread that enveloped her, as if a storm was brewing inside her chest. "Are you still upset with me? I know that you don't appreciate what I did yesterday, but I don't want you to hate me for it."
"Today's a new day, birdie. We move on, understood?"
She couldn't help but wonder why Harry never confronted her about her misdeeds. Throughout her childhood, discipline was the norm, but Harry never held grudges. He would become angry, lash out, and then it was as if nothing had ever happened. Her mother, on the other hand, was quite different. She paid attention to the smallest details and never forgot any transgressions. Winona remembered a time when she had stolen five dollars from her mother's purse to buy herself an ice cream on a sweltering day. Her mother had noticed the missing money and responded with a swift slap to Winona's face, leaving her without dinner that night. From then on, her mother kept her purse hidden in a place that Winona could never discover.
