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And what had I done?
Run away from my problems, same as ever. Opted to not deal with them.
I bailed. On him. On us.
Maybe if I’d given him a chance, he would’ve risen to the occasion of being a dad. It’s hard to imagine he would stop taking care of me.
And then I’m suddenly bone tired.
I scrub my hands over my cheeks and stand. “I don’t think I can stay for dinner, Mom,” I say. “Please don’t tell Dad about what’s going on with me yet. I need to figure stuff out.”
My mom glances toward the living room and gives me a noncommittal shrug. “He may have already heard enough, but I’ll leave it for you to share.” She wraps me in another hug. “I love you, baby girl. Nothing’s insurmountable. Remember that.”
I nod. “Love you, Mom.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Armando
The evening sky is painted with hues of orange and pink as I trudge up the steps to my apartment, the weight of a long day pressing down on me like a heavy cloak. As soon as I unlock the door and step inside, my thoughts drift towards Hannah. Her laughter echoes in my mind like a melody, her presence soothing my weary soul. But the danger lurking beneath the surface–the darkness that threatens to consume us both–casts an unshakeable shadow over my heart.
I collapse onto the bed, not bothering to change out of my clothes and allow sleep to claim me. But instead of finding refuge in the warmth of slumber, I'm thrust into a nightmare that chills me to the core.
I'm standing in the middle of an abandoned warehouse, the air thick with tension and fear. The walls loom high above me, like ancient guardians of some forsaken realm, while shadows dance across the cracked concrete floor. My heart races, each beat pounding against my chest as if trying to break free from its cage.
“Where am I?” I whisper, my voice barely audible above the eerie silence.
A sudden gust of wind sends shivers down my spine, and I wrap my arms around myself for comfort, but it's no use. I can't shake the feeling that something isn't right, that some malevolent force has trapped me here in this desolate place.
“Armando,” a familiar voice calls out, echoing through the vast emptiness.
Hannah. The sound of her voice sets off a flare of panic within me, igniting every protective instinct I possess. I need to find her, to make sure she's safe from the dangers that have haunted my past and now threaten our future.
“Where are you?” I call out desperately, my voice cracking with the strain of emotion.
“Help me, Armando,” she pleads, her voice distant and muffled by the oppressive darkness.
I grit my teeth, my resolve hardening like steel. No matter what it takes, I will find her and protect her from the shadows of my past that have come to claim us both. With each step I take, determination courses through my veins, fueling my need to save the woman who has captured my heart and awakened a fierce love within me.
Hannah's muffled cries grow louder, guiding me through the darkness. My heart hammers against my chest, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I navigate the maze-like structure of this forsaken warehouse. The air hangs heavy and oppressive around me, a tangible weight on my shoulders that I struggle to shake off.
“Armando!” she calls out again, her voice wavering with fear.
“Keep talking, Hannah,” I shout back, my words dripping with desperation. “I'm coming for you.”
“Please... hurry,” she whispers, the sound barely reaching my ears.
I push myself harder, sprinting through the labyrinth of shadows and echoes, each turn revealing another dead end or empty corridor. But I refuse to give up, driven by the knowledge that Hannah's life depends on me finding her.
“Armando... I'm so scared,” she admits, her voice cracking under the weight of her terror.
“Stay strong, Hannah,” I plead, my own fear seeping into my words. “I'll find you. I promise.”
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, I reach a dimly lit room at the heart of the warehouse. And there, tied to a chair in the center of the space, is Hannah. Naked, vulnerable, and trembling with fear, her eyes lock onto mine, wide and pleading.
“Armando,” she gasps, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You found me.”
“I'm here,” I say, my voice strained with relief and determination. “I won't let anything happen to you.”
As I move closer, I can see the ropes biting into her skin, leaving angry red welts across her wrists and ankles. My fingers fumble with the knots, my urgency making the task more difficult than it should be.
“Who did this to you?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady as I work to free her.
“I don't know,” she admits, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for answers. “They kept their faces hidden.”
