Entrusted
Chapter Four- Distraction
John lie awake on his mattress, confused and bewildered. He didn't know what to make of this strange occasion the had happened between his daughter and himself. He stared at the ceiling, reminiscing of the yers past when Cassandra was a child, an infant even, when John had held her tiny body in has arms, when he rocked her to sleep, watched his wife Vivian smile whenever the baby cooed or laughed. He can even remember himself how he laughed when she squirmed like a caterpillar when he gave her a bath. Now, it seems, she was an adult in her short years of adolescence. John rolled over onto his side and kept on remembering of Cassandra's younger years, when he heard a soft whisper.
"John?"
He turned over quickly, and to his surprise, saw the dark outline of Cassandra at his doorway.
"Yes?"
"Can I talk to you?"
"About what?", John replied, trying to keep up his stiff exterior.
"This afternoon."
"Sure." John sat up on his mattress.
Cassandra walked over to the empty mattress next to him and sat down with one leg tucked under her.
"I. . . I cannot accurately depict what happened without telling you this. I. . . have been." Her voice trailed off.
"What is it?" John's voice held a small amount of sympathy.
"I have been refusing my interval for the past few years." Cassandra burst into tears, and began to quietly sob to herself. The words stung at John not hurtfully, but with relief.
" I know that you will kill me for this, John, so I have already made prepartations and am at your mercy. You can do what you must."
"You've. . . been feeling?"
"Yes. I have no remorse, but then again I feel as though I have failed you and theat I have btrayed you as well."
John sat motionless. He was speechless, and at the same time, there was so much he wanted to tell her. He got up from the mattress, and put on a t- shirt. Cassandra followed him around the room with her eyes.
"What are you doing?", asked Cassandra, her voice fragile and cracking. John did not reply. John grabbed her by the wrist and led her out of the house. She did not fight, it was no use. She was headed to her doom. A doom brought upon herself. Her doom carried out by the only person she truly cared for. Her father.
John lie awake on his mattress, confused and bewildered. He didn't know what to make of this strange occasion the had happened between his daughter and himself. He stared at the ceiling, reminiscing of the yers past when Cassandra was a child, an infant even, when John had held her tiny body in has arms, when he rocked her to sleep, watched his wife Vivian smile whenever the baby cooed or laughed. He can even remember himself how he laughed when she squirmed like a caterpillar when he gave her a bath. Now, it seems, she was an adult in her short years of adolescence. John rolled over onto his side and kept on remembering of Cassandra's younger years, when he heard a soft whisper.
"John?"
He turned over quickly, and to his surprise, saw the dark outline of Cassandra at his doorway.
"Yes?"
"Can I talk to you?"
"About what?", John replied, trying to keep up his stiff exterior.
"This afternoon."
"Sure." John sat up on his mattress.
Cassandra walked over to the empty mattress next to him and sat down with one leg tucked under her.
"I. . . I cannot accurately depict what happened without telling you this. I. . . have been." Her voice trailed off.
"What is it?" John's voice held a small amount of sympathy.
"I have been refusing my interval for the past few years." Cassandra burst into tears, and began to quietly sob to herself. The words stung at John not hurtfully, but with relief.
" I know that you will kill me for this, John, so I have already made prepartations and am at your mercy. You can do what you must."
"You've. . . been feeling?"
"Yes. I have no remorse, but then again I feel as though I have failed you and theat I have btrayed you as well."
John sat motionless. He was speechless, and at the same time, there was so much he wanted to tell her. He got up from the mattress, and put on a t- shirt. Cassandra followed him around the room with her eyes.
"What are you doing?", asked Cassandra, her voice fragile and cracking. John did not reply. John grabbed her by the wrist and led her out of the house. She did not fight, it was no use. She was headed to her doom. A doom brought upon herself. Her doom carried out by the only person she truly cared for. Her father.