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Aunt Mary winced as she took in the roadmap of bruises blossoming across my face. "You stubborn child," she scolded, her hand hovering over the swollen splotch on my chin. "Look at what he did! Your lip's practically purple!"
My usual swagger faltered for a beat. "It's not that bad," I mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant.
Her hand swooped down, a fingertip gently brushing the tender area. "Not that bad? Honey, tell me that again while I'm not pressing down on a bruise the size of Rhode Island."
Pain flickered, sharp and sudden, and I yelped, the sound ripping through the strained silence. My attempt at a smirk dissolved into a wince.
Aunt Mary chuckled, a warm sound that felt out of place amidst the aftermath of Dad's fury. "Should I test the durability of your other cheek?" she teased, her eyes twinkling with concern.
I swatted her hand away, a grin tugging at my lips. "Ow, alright, alright, I get it. It hurts."
Her touch lingered, her thumb brushing away a stray strand of hair that had fallen across my bruised forehead. "Let me clean you up," she insisted, her voice laced with a motherly worry I couldn't quite meet.
I hesitated, the urge to push her away warring with the ache in my body. I didn't need coddling, didn't deserve her concern. Besides, if she saw the storm brewing beneath the surface, the twisted satisfaction that mingled with the pain, it would only paint me in a darker light.
"I can do it myself," I mumbled, forcing the words out past a throat suddenly thick with unspoken emotions.
"Stop being stubborn, Dax, and let me help you," Aunt implored.
I shook my head firmly. "No. I believe I should be the one to face the consequences of my actions. That includes treating this bruised wound on my face by myself."
Aunt Mary searched for alternative solutions. "Then should I call the maids to assist you instead?"
I refused. "No, I will handle it on my own. Right now, all I need is some time to think and escape this suffocating house for once!"
Aunt Mary's growing concern was evident as she asked, "What does that mean? What do you mean?"
I met her gaze, determined. "It means I no longer wish to remain in my father's home."
"Don't say that. You know you still need him!"
I stood my ground, adamant. "I don't need him, and I never will." Aunt tried to reason with me, but I had already made up my mind.
Heartbroken, shattered, and torn, all I wanted was to be left alone. Aunt would always try to justify my father's actions because she's his older sister, but I could see through his façade. His heart and actions were irredeemable. He believed that getting remarried would miraculously fix everything, but he couldn't bear it when I mentioned Mom's name, knowing what he had done to her.
Well, whatever steps my father was attempting to take, I didn't care. He didn't care about me, and I certainly didn't care about him either.
Yet, what hurt the most was the inevitable consequence of my father's potential remarriage – Aunt Mary would have no choice but to leave the mansion, leaving me utterly defeated. Aunt Mary failed to see it from my perspective, but I understood all too well. I didn't want her to go; she was the only one I could stand, and the only one who could tolerate me. The world around me spun, threatening to engulf me, and if I wasn't careful, I would soon find myself succumbing to the darkness.
Chapter Twenty
Dax
In the depths of oblivion, darkness enshrouded me like a suffocating blanket, leaving me alone in a vast sea of inky nothingness. My hands instinctively clutched at myself, as if grasping for a lifeline in a storm. Abruptly, my dormant heart stirred, resurrecting fragments of memories I had long believed consigned to oblivion. Here I was, trapped in the abyss, consumed by the shadows of the past.
A younger version of myself emerged from the swirling darkness, his youthful voice plaintive and filled with a yearning that cut me to the core. "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!"
The plea echoed through my mind, haunting and insistent. I saw myself, a small child, abandoned in the cruel embrace of isolation, searching desperately for the light in the suffocating darkness. I ran, my tiny legs pumping furiously, my heart throbbing with desperation, to embrace my exhausted mother, who had been absent for an eternity - or so it had felt to a child's impatient heart. I had counted the days, my fears spiraling with each passing hour, convinced I would never see her again. In my anguish, I refused to eat, my body wasting away in silent protest.
Finally, she returned, her trembling hands reaching out to enfold me in a long-awaited embrace. Her face, etched with lines of weariness, reflected the toll of her absence. Her hair, once vibrant and full of life, now hung disheveled, like a wilted flower. With gentle fingers, she stroked my hair, attempting to soothe the storm raging within me. I clung to her tightly, refusing to release my hold, desperate to keep her close, to anchor myself to the one constant in my tumultuous existence.
In the corner of my eye, I noticed a row of suitcases lined up behind her - symbols of departure, harbingers of another abandonment. At the time, my tender mind could not comprehend their significance, but I was an inquisitive child, driven by an insatiable thirst for knowledge. Unable to contain my curiosity, I voiced the question that burned in my young heart. Mom knew that her little boy would relentlessly seek answers, that his inquiring mind would not rest until it unraveled the enigma before him.
With tear-filled eyes, I looked up at my mother, my little heart aching with a sense of abandonment. "Where have you been, Mommy?" I asked, my voice trembling.
She met my gaze with a weary smile, her eyes holding a distant look. "Far away, my sweet boy," she replied, her voice soft and evasive.
The answer was all too familiar, leaving me with more questions than answers. What did she mean by "far away"? Was it a place like the "far far away lands" she often read about in my bedtime stories? Or was it something else entirely?
