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And, for a while, it worked. Our playroom wasn't just a room anymore, but a town square teeming with invisible people, a jungle dense with hidden surprises, whatever our wild imaginations dreamed up. Mid-chase, in my attempt to escape those terrifying yet adorable paper plate velociraptors Mike so vividly conjured, my arm knocked against a shelf.
One second, everything was a blur of laughter and movement. The next, a crash echoed through the air, followed by a silence so absolute it almost seemed to suck the air away with it. My whole body froze, eyes widening like they wanted to escape my head. Mike stood motionless amidst the broken pieces, his usual vibrancy drained in an instant.
It wasn't anger I saw in his eyes, but something far more devastating - an utter devastation. Not over a destroyed object, but over the memory it held. There was an almost mechanical motion as he bent down, gathering those jagged remains. "My mommy's vase..." he said, the words barely escaping his lips.Those hand-painted daisies she loved so much, now a mockery of what they once were.
Suddenly, my breath felt stuck in my chest. Mike's vase - with those bright floral swirls that always felt oddly out of place amidst the sleekness of the mansion. This small sliver of his childhood, of the mother he barely remembered, a fragile connection shattered irreparably. The teddy bear had always felt like a symbol. But this held something real, something of her touch ingrained within its delicate china curves.
"Oh, Mikey," My voice broke as the apology tumbled out, "I didn't see. It was an accident! Truly! We can..."
Words failed as I watched him gather those splintered memories, tears now falling fast as he shook his head. Not an angry shake, but the hopeless kind filled with a sorrow far deeper than a scraped knee or even a lost treasure. For me, a broken vase meant nothing. For him, it wasn't the thing itself, but a broken connection to something he desperately clung to.
"You broke it," he mumbled, then his usually playful tone took on a cruel sharpness that pierced my heart far worse than any shard could. "How could you do this to me?”
My frantic thoughts raced. Fix it! Apologize! Do something.
A whisper escaped me, laced with desperation. "We can fix it. It'll be like nothing happened! I know a guy. It's like he's a vase doctor! It'll be good as new.”
More silent tears cascaded down his face, and this time it was his words that broke.
"Fixing it?" he began softly, "It's not the same. It won’t bring her back. I hate you, Lina!"
My breath caught in my throat as a new tide of panic arose. This wasn't the playful fight we always had. This cut too deep, a reminder of a loneliness even I, newly initiated into grief, was only beginning to understand.
Before another breath could pass, something shifted, not within us, but outside. The door to the playroom burst open and there, at the entrance to our sanctuary, stood pure terror itself. My deranged ex, Finn. Not some distant past figure, but a nightmare in the present, with a twisted smile and the chilling gleam of a knife in his hand.
He was feral. Gone was the soft touch and feigned tenderness of a fake Daddy. Here stood something predatory, his grin contorted over a mask stitched from leather and some sick fantasy of rotting flesh. My voice died in my throat as I stared into those gleaming eyes – empty, filled with a manic energy that mirrored the shards of shattered vase strewn across the carpet. My skin crawled, every fiber of my being screaming ‘Danger!’ This wasn't Finn the man, but Finn the predator, who always lurked beneath waiting to unleash cruelty.
"Well, well, well." The familiar growl sent a shockwave through me. "Little princess finally came to her senses, I see. Decided playing house wasn't all it was cracked up to be, huh?"
In a single heartbeat, every lie I'd told myself about him disintegrated. That I was strong, that I had moved on, that his possessiveness was somehow care. He saw my happy home, my safe place, and all he saw was control lost, territory to be reclaimed. His fingers reached out, not for me, but for some random toy - then shattered it against the wall with a violence that made me flinch. He was enjoying this, our fear.
Before I could process what was happening, Mike stepped forward. “You wanna hurt her? You’ll have to go through me first.”
There was defiance in his voice, desperate bravery masking the tremble in his words. And yet, as the knife’s glint shifted towards Mike, the full gravity of it hit me. This wasn't a squabble at the sandbox. This was a primal beast smelling blood in the water.
I shoved Mike behind me when Finn took a step toward him. It was a futile protective instinct that still pulsed.
“This doesn’t involve him,” I hissed, trying to channel the defiant woman beneath the terrified surface. But how do you reason with a madman?
And then, it started.
Finn lunged, the knife nothing but a flash of silver. I wasn't brave, just driven by desperation. We collided against the bookshelf, knocking down dozens of treasures to buy seconds to move. I shoved Mike aside, knowing every second I bought for him was a second wasted on me. Mike scrambled on the floor, grabbing… an overturned Lego sword? Not much of a weapon, but all I saw in that moment was a a Little fighting back in the only way he knew how.
"Run!" I screamed, but Mike wasn't one to abandon others. My breath hitched as Finn swung the knife towards him, not even seeming to register me, but focused on ending Mike’s defiance. It happened so fast, I only had time for one thought – ‘He's innocent!’ – before a surge of desperate protectiveness washed over me.
Something changed. Maybe it was that raw desperation, maybe some old fight-or-flight reflex rewired long ago. And so, Idid the last thing Finn would ever expect. I charged. Not bravely, but with a blind panic that gave me a temporary advantage.
My lunge knocked Finn off-balance, a startled, animalistic roar escaping him. It wasn't planned, wasn't strategic, but it gave Mike his opening. As Finn tried to regain his footing, a blur of bright colors barreled into his legs.
"Stop hurting my friend!" Mike screamed, the Lego spaceship clutched in his fist transformed into a weapon of last resort. The attack seemed almost hilariously absurd, plastic pieces against a knife wielding maniac. And yet, in Finn's moment of surprise, it landed with a crack.
With a roar of fury, Finn stumbled, and I surged forward again. No thought, just one primal goal – keep him away from Mike. His eyes, once chillingly focused, seemed to flicker with confusion as two targets seemed to overwhelm him. He swung wildly, and my arm throbbed in protest as I deflected the blow, feeling the skin split. Pain surged, mixing with a sickening wave of adrenaline. This wasn't a nightmare, this was happening, here in this sanctuary turned hunting ground.
"This way!" Mike shouted, and instinctively I followed. In my blurred vision, the extravagant mansion transformed into a maze. Familiar paintings on the walls became blurs, and every ornate statue a potential stumbling block. Panic turned to a strange sort of focus. No escape – all we could do was keep moving, turning this weakness against him.
A table toppled with a crash as I yanked Mike into a narrow hallway, our pursuer hot on our heels. Finn's mask slipped ever so slightly, and the cold fury gleaming in his eyes sent a shiver down my spine. We couldn't keep this up, but all I could think of was buying time, even those precious few seconds before he cornered us.
Then came opportunity. Around the corner, a half-open balcony door beckoned. The late evening sun streamed in, promising not escape, but space. Without a word, I turned back towards Finn, who now stalked toward us, the knife raised high.
