I don't own anything to do with Split Unbreakable or Glass
Prologue
She focuses on the rain battering her window. The drops splatter randomly and if she concentrated hard enough they start to form a familiar pattern which slowly forms a face she knows and yet doesn't. Because yes she has seen it in dreams awake and sleeping but never real and alive.
He always appears at times like these. When this beast of a man enters her room and takes her over and over again. She doesn't scream. If she does it will use tools of men to burn and cut her fragile shell. This she focuses once more on the rain formed face.
She used to wish that one day it would be the face of her savior. She knows the truth, how could she not throughout all these painful years. Saviors do not exist. This man whose face she has conjured since the beginning of her trauma was nothing but her mind's pathetic attempt of coping with her harsh reality. He was never going to come for her. She was not worth saving anymore. However, inside her was the last shred of innocence that still clung to him. She indulges it and embraces the distraction of the face. Twenty minutes later the sky darkens and welcomes the night. The beast lifts himself off her sore body and leaves. The stench of sweat and alcohol linger but the pain is over for now.
_._
Shaking I stand and walk to the window. Gently I begin to trace the watery edges of the face. I watch as it blooms into a flower under the golden glow of the back porch light. A new feeling hums in my veins. My heart beats louder and harder than I had thought possible. Breathing now rapid desperate gasps for air. A panic attack? It is painful.
When I start to believe my heart will at last, give out just like daddy. I hear a voice. A voice deep and powerful. It does not belong to the beast of a man that I loathe to call my uncle nor is it the warm steady voice of my deceased father. Unknown but captivating it only says "Rejoice, Rejoice!"
My body stills and my breathing evens out. This is different. Never before had any of my hallucinations been auditory in nature. The small innocence within sings it is him, the voice of the face, it is him. I decide then to block out the melodic voice echoing through my skull. Do not be foolish. He is not real. You are simply succumbing to your own madness. Promptly I close the curtains effectively blocking the window and rain from view.
In the now silent bedroom I pull on the previously discarded clothes on the chair in the corner. Warm yellow plaid sleeping pants, black wool socks, white camisole, and over that my fathers brown long sleeved shirt. Now with my frail barriers in place do I allow exhaustion to overcome my senses and fall to sleep. My last thought of the curious new smell of Paprika and cleaning solution.