She raises her chin, as if she knows I am lying then moves her eyes to the bottle of red wine, lifting it and pouring some into a glass.
When she is finished, she lifts it and offers it to me, “Here is some of my anti-depressant.”
A small smile plays on her lips, and it makes me grin slightly as I lean over, taking it from her hand. I bring it to my lips as I sit back in the chair, taking a big gulp. Once the alcohol hits the pit of my stomach, I sigh, relishing the warmth it brings.
“Are you staying with Hell now?” She asks curiously and I look at her before giving a small nod in response. “For now.”
I see another smirk on her lips as she takes a long sip of wine. “It’s nice to see him happy,” she says, lowering the glass.
“Happy?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.
Her eyes swing to mine before she smiles widely. “That’s probably the wrong word,” she admits with a soft chuckle. “You know what I mean.”
I give her a slow nod before I stand from the chair, leaning over to place my half-empty glass of wine on the desk. “Well, I better get going,” I say, turning to leave.
“Noir…” I stop in my stride when she says my name and glance over my shoulder at her.
She stands and walks toward me, speaking with genuine concern. “I hired you because you’re not only an amazing dancer, but you radiate a darkness that fits in perfectly here. I know that may feel like a curse rather than a blessing, but here, it’s not. We accept you for all that you are. Inside and out.”
Her words make me turn around, facing her fully and she continues, “We may not know each other well yet, but we are one big crazy family. All of us. And if you ever need me, I am here. I care about every single one of you, even with what we do here.”
I lower my eyes, pondering because what she said strikes a chord deep within my soul. When I have finished processing her words, I lift my head, my eyes finding hers.
“Thank you,” I say gently, showing my gratitude.
She gives a small nod in return, then I turn to leave, feeling a strange sense of belonging that I haven’t felt in a long time. As I walk away, her words echo in my mind, making me realise that even in the darkest places, there can be light and acceptance.
Not feeling ready to go back to the trailer, I head to the silent carnival. The dim surroundings of this terrifying place bring a strange sense of calm to my chaotic mind. The eerie stillness blurs out all the intrusive thoughts as I focus on the possibility of something jumping out at me. After some time of aimless strolling through the vast, deserted area, I find myself stopping a short distance away from the carousel with a sign saying, “Ride closed.” I tilt my head to the side, gazing at it before taking gentle paces forward.
I step up to the platform, my hand grasping one of the cold poles attached to a skeleton horse. I lightly graze my fingers over the bones, lost in thought. Vague memories of my mom bringing me to places like this surface, though they were, of course, not horror-themed.
When she was alive, it was her ultimate goal to give me everything. She wanted to fill my head with beautiful memoriesand ensure I had a childhood I could reflect on and smile about. She wanted me to have the best. She pushed me to bring my talents to life, entering me into contests, and when I won, she would shower me with love and tell me how proud she was. She was the perfect mother.
Her laughter, her encouragement, the way she made me feel like I could conquer the world, the way her love seeped into my bones—those memories are bittersweet now and they are the total opposite of the darkness that envelops me, both in this carnival and in my life.
When my mom and I were in that car crash, I lost her, and my life spiralled into a living nightmare. I ended up being nothing but a slave to my stepfather. When she was alive, he wasn't the cruel man he became, that I knew of anyway. We didn't exactly have a father-and-daughter relationship, but he also didn't treat me like he did the moment she wasn’t here. Every word, every touch was so full of hatred, and I couldn't understand why. What had I done that was so wrong? I didn't cause that crash, and he never blamed me for it either. I used to scream at him, begging for answers, but he would just respond with meaningless phrases that confused me. They didn't explain shit to my innocent mind. The only thing I knew from his words was that he despised me and my mom suddenly. He said I was going to be trained to be the perfect little whore and be sold to a man or men as brutal as he was so I could suffer for the rest of my life.
Over the years, I realized everyone who knew me, and my mom thought I had died in that crash as well. He did something to convince the world that we were both dead, but in the shadows, he was killing me himself—physically and mentally. Before I left, I was months away from being “perfect” for my next abuser. Around one year before I escaped, I realized someone was in the room beside me, another girl, and I would speak toher through the thin walls. She told me she was my half-sister on my dad’s side that I never knew about. I was initially shocked because I never really knew my father, but deep down, it didn't surprise me. From the moment my mom passed, I realized there were so many secrets being held; I was presumed dead, I had a secret sister, and I am sure there is a lot more.
That crash had devastated my entire world, but it was the aftermath that truly broke me. My stepfather's change into an evil bastard was swift and brutal. He became a man I didn't recognize. His cruelty was endless, the physical abuse horrific, but it was the mental suffering that left the deepest wounds. He would whisper vile things in my ear, breaking down my soul piece by piece. I was isolated, cut off from the world, and forced to accept his twisted form of “training.”
The discovery of my half-sister was a spark of light in the darkness. She was a mirror of my own suffering, and our conversations through the walls became a lifeline.
I wish I could find her. The day she got me out of there is all a blur. I can only remember the bedroom door swinging open, the sudden rush of freedom as the fresh air touched my skin for the first time in years. I remember running through the dark woods, the branches clawing at my clothes and skin, his dogs barking in the background. She screamed at me to go the other way from a distance, and I regret listening to her because I escaped that night, but I don't know if she ever did.
I never got the chance to hug her, to touch her, to thank her for saving my life. Everything happened so fucking fast. One moment we were prisoners, and the next, we were running for our lives. I can still hear her voice, urgent and desperate in my ears, urging me to keep going, to not look back. But I did look back, and the image of her fading into the night still haunts me.
I wish there were some way to know if he still has her, if she’s still suffering under his control. I owe her my freedom, and the guilt of leaving her behind is a heavy burden to bear.
If I were strong enough, and if it weren’t just me, I would fight him. I would do anything in my power to take him down, but I just don't hold that power. He will always be above me, someone I can't escape. He was always stronger than me, both physically and mentally. There is no fucking comparison. The thought of confronting him fills me with a mix of rage and helplessness. I can only imagine how furious he was when he discovered I had escaped.
As I walk around the carousel, I take in the vintage-looking painted decor, the way they peel and crack, revealing the aged wood beneath with every slow step I take. Suddenly, I feel the ride dip on the other side as if someone has stepped on it as well, and I freeze. My heart pounds in my chest as everything goes still. Tiptoeing, I begin to creep around it, peeking around the corners, but when I don't find anything, I stop, letting out a tense breath.
The moment I turn, a figure stands in front of me, and I scream. His hand slaps over my mouth, pinning me against the carousel, and my eyes swing upward to see Hell's spiraling orbs. My body relaxes instantly, and he removes his hand only to grab my throat with a firm grip.
He tilts my head back, dipping down to bring his lips close to mine. “Hello, my pretty girl. What are you doing here all alone?” he asks with a deep murmur.
My eyes ease, my stomach fluttering and I whisper in response, “I just needed to clear my head.”
