Disclaimer: "Twilight" and its characters do not belong to me, except for the OC.
NORMAL
And I say things that I wouldn't
And I'm just part of the crowd
But I feel better now, so
Keep on playing that song that I don't like
I just wanna feel normal for the night
The night reverberated with palpable energy as lights flickered like shooting stars against the dark sky. Encircled by a throng of beaming faces and contagious laughter, I found myself amid a party that embodied the essence of fun. However, deep within, I sensed that something wasn't quite right.
Weekends held a distinct significance for Amber. She always hosted parties at her "mansion" and extended invitations to everyone. And yes, when I say everyone, I mean absolutely everyone: the popular kids, the less popular ones, and even the "weirdos" from the Cullens, although the latter rarely attended. I knew Amber invited them only to make them feel inferior to her, something that profoundly unsettled me.
The week had been a series of unpleasant episodes for me. I repeated the same routine over and over: enduring my father's insults, pretending to be a popular snob, facing Bella's enigmatic looks, and patiently waiting for the day to conclude.
The worst part was that the week's end heralded the arrival of these cursed Amber parties, where I became just another face in the "royalty zone." I had never fancied the notion of fitting into a group or being social, and I confess that initially, joining the popular crowd was a challenge. Not because it was inherently difficult, but due to my introverted nature. I'd prefer to stay home reading than be in an environment where I didn't feel at ease.
Following my group's example, I held my drink aloft as if it were an invisible shield isolating me from the rest of the world. Though I tried to blend in, I was fully aware that this wasn't genuinely my scene. My gaze wandered through the crowd, searching for something—anything—that could divert my attention from the unfamiliar faces that ebbed and flowed before me.
Every gesture I made seemed like a choreographed dance. The music was a blend of beats that didn't resonate with me, yet my body continued to sway to the rhythm, as if seeking a connection with the melody, with others, even with myself.
Neon lights bathed the surroundings in an unreal glow, as if I were trapped in an alternate reality, a realm where concerns and doubts hung suspended in the air. Amidst the superficial aura of joy, I grasped that I was acting in a play I hadn't chosen.
Conversations filled the air, a symphony of voices interweaving in a dance of words. "How are you?" "Did you see what the loser did in Chemistry class?" were shallow queries that masked the genuine desire to connect, to comprehend and be comprehended. I joined these exchanges, striving to find my footing, yet the words in my mind echoed hollowly, like the reverberations of an inner dialogue I couldn't disregard.
Each sip of my drink sought to dilute the unease gathering within my chest. I knew the elixir I needed wasn't in that glass, but it was simpler to play along than to confront reality.
The music persisted, a fusion of melodies not of my choosing, yet I couldn't refrain from moving along. I danced and smiled, in harmony with the rhythm, while within me, thoughts waged an internal struggle and time progressed sluggishly.
"Did you know that Jason Stuarts is crazy about fucking you?"
I spun around promptly at the sound of those words, as though catching a strange murmur. It was Amber, her customary mischievous expression in place.
"Huh?" I uttered, perplexed.
"I can't stand it when you're not paying attention," she declared with an irked countenance. That girl was prone to irritation.
I mustered a wry smile. "It's not like I care much."
"Lizzie," she growled, her tone assuming a more earnest edge. "I'm serious."
In reply to her assertion, I rolled my eyes before exhaling and asking, "What's so essential that I need to hear?"
"Jason Stuarts is interested in you," she exclaimed with the enthusiasm of a devoted fan of some celebrity.
"You mean Miller's imbecilic friend?" I inquired with revulsion, receiving a nod from Amber. I burst into laughter. "That's another fool with delusions of grandeur, who believes he's the new Leonardo DiCaprio. Thanks, but I'd rather steer clear and not involve myself with a sex-crazed loser."
"Lizzie!"
"Amber, if you want to behave like a promiscuous individual who beds any worthless person, that's your predicament, but don't attempt to entangle me in your world. I may be blunt, but at least I possess some refinement," I feigned pity in my tone.
"We're talking about Jason Stuarts," she retorted indignantly. "One of the hottest guys in school."
"One of the most unintelligent, you mean," I remarked disinterestedly, raising my glass to my lips and taking a sip. The conversation was becoming taxing.
"I've already told you, I'm not interested."
Finally, Amber pouted, her expression ultimately betraying her surrender on the matter.
"You're missing out on something good."
"I'm going to get another drink," I replied dully, then offered a composed smile and distanced myself from the irksome vicinity Amber occupied.
Not that my glass was empty—barely halfway, in fact—but I couldn't stand being around Amber. Conversing with her was akin to losing a brain cell.
As I distanced myself, I noticed Amber joining the cluster of girls from my team, who were chatting with Miller's foolish friends in the opposite corner. I averted my gaze as I observed Amber talking and eliciting laughter from some, foreshadowing the likelihood of another rumor that might implicate me. I could already anticipate a "Slater, the complex-to-fuck bitch" comment at any given moment.
Verily, I abhorred this environment.
I began distancing myself from the table holding bottles of alcohol and fried snacks. Amber's "mansion" was a place of enormous proportions, a site where anyone could easily get lost amidst the numerous rooms it encompassed. It had an extensive courtyard surrounding a gleaming pool, a spacious and modern kitchen, four luxurious bathrooms, two dining areas, a room designed for movie screenings, a staircase ascending to a series of rooms, and another flight of stairs leading to an elegant balcony. It was this latter spot that I decided to head for. I yearned for fresh air.
Moving away from the crowd, I ascended the steps to the balcony. The night air enveloped me, carrying away the agitation I had experienced below. From this elevated vantage point, the view was imposing. City lights blinked in the distance, and the buzz of the party seemed to dim, making space for relative silence.
Wrought iron railings framed the balcony, lending it an air of elegance. I leaned softly, allowing the cool breeze to caress my skin. I closed my eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply and attempting to calm my mind, to detach from the party's superficial façade.
Amber's mansion stretched magnificently across the landscape, a constant reminder of the opulence that surrounded certain people in my life. I wondered how many of those below truly knew Amber beyond her facade of popularity and extravagance.
None of these people had real knowledge of who I was either. They merely tolerated me due to my belonging to the popular group, or simply for being the cheerleading captain. Observing from a distance, the situation was profoundly sad and disheartening.
Without allowing my thoughts to surrender completely, I raised my right arm and tipped the glass, letting all the liquid spill into the abyss forming on the small balcony space.
"You're wasting your drink, you know?"
A familiar, exasperating female voice resonated behind me. I muttered a curse under my breath and decided not to turn around. It always seemed to be Isabella Swan who chose to appear and add more bitterness to my already routine misfortune.
"And you're a meddler of magnificent proportions, did you know?" I muttered with repressed anger.
Completely ignoring my insults, Isabella remained silent. Her approaching steps sounded like danger alarms in my ears.
"It would be wise not to take another step closer unless you want to experience what it's like to beg for mercy, Swan," I growled, with no intention whatsoever of turning to look at her. Her steps halted abruptly.
"Well, aren't you polite?" she finally said, dripping with irony.
"What the hell do you want? And what the hell are you doing here?"
"Firstly, I saw you heading here and got concerned," she responded slowly; her voice carried a level of kindness that I found unbearable. "Secondly, isn't your friend, sweet Amber, allowing everyone in? Moreover, it was my new friends who dragged me here."
"You're wrong; Amber just invites everyone over to show them she's above them," I replied with a certain delight as I toyed with the empty glass, spinning it repeatedly. "Although I must admit it's surprising to see you in this place; I thought you were a weird introvert," I continued, followed by a cynical laugh.
"That you think so doesn't make it true," she answered in the same unpleasantly kind tone. "It's similar to what happens with you; everyone sees you as shallow and heartless, but in reality, you're quite the opposite."
My eyes widened at those words, and everything around me seemed to come to a halt. I stopped playing with the glass and bit my lower lip. I wasn't used to people seeing anything good in me.
"You don't know me, Swan," I spat out with disgust, then leaned my arm on the railing, resting my chin on it. "You shouldn't think I'm a good person just because you saw me cry once. You must understand that no one in this world is good; they're all hypocrites who point out the same mistakes they commit. I'm no exception. I'm a nasty person, and everyone at school knows it. You matter to me as much as the idiot Miller does. If you know that, why do you insist on getting close to me?"
Isabella sighed, and despite my staunch denial, she remained silently by my side for a moment. I felt her gaze fixed on me, as if she were trying to scrutinize something beyond the words I had spoken with such disdain.
"You may think you know everything about yourself, but who doesn't hide a piece of their truth in this cruel tangle of appearances?" she whispered, a hint of sadness in her voice. "I'm not saying you're perfect or that all your actions are flawless, but don't you deserve a chance at redemption? Denying yourself the possibility of change only binds you more to the image you despise so much."
Bitterness and contempt intensified within me at her words. Who did she think she was to offer me a different perspective? Didn't she understand that I had already embraced the notion that my essence was tainted, that there was no escape from my own poison?
"You still don't get it, do you? It's not about deserving or not deserving, Swan," I replied, clenching my teeth firmly. "It's about surviving in this world, and if that means I have to wear the mask of desolation and indifference, then so be it. There's no room for change, for redemption. I've crossed lines that can't be uncrossed."
Isabella remained silent again, and the wind seemed to carry away her words like dry leaves. I shifted my gaze to the ground, struggling against the tide of emotions that threatened to overwhelm me.
"I won't deny that I've made mistakes, that I've hurt others with my attitude and words," I continued, my voice barely more than a whisper. "But that's the only way I've learned to protect myself. In this world, vulnerability is a luxury I can't afford."
A sigh echoed behind me, laden with resignation and sadness. "I may not fully understand you, but that doesn't mean I'm going to leave you alone in this. No matter how much you try to push me away, I know there's a part of your heart that longs for something more, something genuine."
My fists clenched so tightly that I felt my nails digging into my palms. Anger and pain intertwined in a tumultuous dance within me, and though I wanted to shred all her words, there was a small crack in my armor, a fissure through which doubt was beginning to seep.
"Don't make me laugh with your persistence," I replied, but this time, my voice lacked the same venom. "If you think you can rescue someone who's already steeped in darkness, you're fooling yourself."
"I got hit by a ball because of you, didn't I?" she responded slowly, her words stirring tumultuous confusion in my mind. "I saved you from a ball that was coming at you with force. Besides, I'm standing here, and you haven't pushed me away yet; that's progress, so I think I can extend a helping hand."
"It's different, Swan. You can't equate getting hit by a ball with this," I stated bitterly before letting out a sigh. "Besides, I never asked you to protect me that day."
An uncomfortable silence settled in, as if the words we had exchanged had left palpable tension in the air. My gaze remained fixed on the abyss that stretched beyond the balcony, but I could sense her persistent presence by my side, a reminder that I wasn't entirely alone in my hideaway of despair.
"I'm not trying to compare situations," Isabella murmured, her voice weaving threads of patience and empathy. "I know what you're feeling now is much deeper and more complex than just getting hit by a ball. But sometimes, even small actions can be a window into what someone is willing to do for another."
My eyes remained lost in the distance, struggling to contain the emotions that threatened to surface. Her words echoed in my mind, resonating like a persistent echo challenging my resistance.
"Protection doesn't always come in the form of a direct request," she continued gently. "Sometimes, people care without needing to be asked because they see something beyond the facades we show to the world."
Tears threatened to well up in my eyes, a whirlwind of emotions inside me battling for an outlet. I didn't want Swan to see me vulnerable; I didn't want to give her the satisfaction of thinking she was right. But her words found a crack in my armor, and despite all my efforts, I couldn't stop that crack from widening.
"Swan, you don't understand..." I began to say, but my voice broke before I could finish the sentence. Tears finally spilled over, betraying my struggle to remain composed.
Isabella took a step closer. "I'm not trying to understand everything, but I'm willing to be here for you."
I jerked away from the railing, angrily wiping away the tears, feeling vulnerable and powerless. "I don't need your pity or your empty words, Swan. So, please, leave me alone."
"It's not pity, and they're not empty words. It's just someone trying to show you that you're not alone in this."
The whirlwind of emotions that had trapped me forced me to turn, defeated by the situation. Despite my resistance, a part of me knew I couldn't afford to be authentic in this matter. When my eyes met those empathetic brown eyes, I wished to avoid the tightness in my chest that engulfed me in that moment.
"Throughout my life, I've always heard the same stupid promises, you know what? They all end up being lies," I expressed, struggling to articulate my words clearly, while maintaining my gaze firmly on Swan, who never stopped softening hers. "Saviors and those who stay just don't exist, there are only words and more words. It seems so irrational to me that someone who's just arrived in a place like Forks and barely knows of my existence would suddenly want to pull me out of the abyss I've been in for years. It even seems absurd to think about it."
The silence thickened between us like an uncomfortable veil, the tension palpable in the air as our gazes remained intertwined. I felt the weight of my words, as if my understanding reached the darkest depths of my being. Despite my efforts to keep any hint of vulnerability at bay, her persistence was starting to crack my defenses.
"I understand that you're tired of empty promises and meaningless words," Isabella started in a soft but firm tone. "But I'm not here to promise things I can't fulfill. I'm here to tell you that sometimes, genuine people can offer a hand, even when you least expect it."
My patience was wearing thin, my emotions oscillating in a disorderly dance. "How can you be so sure you're different from everyone else? What makes you think you can understand what I've been through?"
Isabella held my gaze, her expression understanding. "I don't claim to have all the answers or fully comprehend your circumstances. But I've met a lot of people in my life, and I can see beyond the facades we build. I'm not asking you to trust me right away, just to give me a chance to get to know you."
A shiver ran down my spine as her words echoed in my head. Part of me longed for the connection, the possibility of someone genuinely caring, but another part was tethered to years of distrust and disappointment.
"You can't expect everything to change in a week," I burst out, feeling frustration bubbling within me. "Do you think that just because you've been following me for a few days, you have the right to enter my world and fix everything? You don't know even a fraction of what I've lived through."
Isabella maintained her composure, though her eyes reflected a mixture of sadness and determination. "You're right, we've only known each other for a short time. But sometimes, a small spark of connection can be enough to start something meaningful. I'm only asking for the chance to show you that I can be someone to trust."
The words hung in the air like a persistent echo. I felt the anger and resistance draining from me, making room for doubt. But I also felt a surge of impatience, a desperate need to protect myself.
The glass in my hand turned into a useless object, and suddenly I felt the need to release my frustration. I threw it onto the ground with force, hearing the clash of glass against the marble floor. My eyes locked onto Isabella's, filled with a mixture of anger and bitterness.
"Enough already!" I exclaimed, my voice heavy with weariness and desperation. I didn't flinch at her startled surprise in response to my shout. "We've only known each other for a week, and you think you can come in here and change everything? You're not different from the others; you're just another nosy person trying to meddle in my life and fix it. Leave me alone!"
I left the place with long, brisk strides, leaving behind a trail of unspoken words and overwhelming emotions. I didn't want to confront the tumultuous mix of feelings that Isabella had stirred within me. As I distanced myself and descended the stairs, the sense of loneliness and confusion accompanied me like a silent shadow, reminding me that the cracks in my defenses were deeper than I had been willing to admit.
"Are you leaving so soon, Lizzie?" Kyle asked, appearing out of nowhere as I finished descending the stairs. Her feigned interest or the scent of alcohol did nothing more than make me nauseated.
"Next time, tell Amber not to invite the weirdos," I retorted dryly without hesitation or looking in her direction, then continued on my path to the exit, leaving her with her words hanging in the air.
I entered through the door, feeling the relief of distancing myself from that place and everything that had unfolded on that turbulent night. Every step I took distanced me from the confusion and emotions that had overwhelmed me, but I also felt trapped at an internal crossroads. Isabella's words echoed in my mind like a persistent echo, her intentions seemed genuine, but I wasn't sure if I could afford to trust someone again.
I walked along the dark streets of Forks, feeling the cold of the night seep into my skin. The silence around me mirrored the storm within me. My thoughts were a whirlwind of doubts and painful memories. Despite my resistance, I couldn't deny that Isabella's words had cracked my armor, and I wasn't sure if it was an opportunity or a danger.
I finally arrived at my house, greeted by darkness. I closed the door behind me, leaving the outside world behind for a moment. I sank into the couch, feeling the weight of physical and emotional exhaustion.
My thoughts became a whirlwind of unanswered questions. Could I truly open up to someone again after keeping myself at a distance for so long? Was there something genuine behind Isabella's words, or was it just another illusion that would fade over time? The temptation to lower my defenses was strong, but so was the fear of being hurt again.
In the midst of that internal struggle, my eyes landed on a photo on the coffee table. It was an old picture, taken when things were different, when innocence was still intact. I looked at the smiles on the faces in the photo, including mine, and wondered if I could ever reclaim a part of that.
The night stretched before me, full of unanswered questions. I knew I wouldn't find the solution in that moment, but I also knew I couldn't let Isabella Swan ruin my plans again. I closed my eyes, allowing exhaustion to envelop me as I faced the uncertainty of tomorrow.
[...]
Dawn filtered through the curtains, filling the room with gentle light. I got up with the sensation that the night had been only a tumultuous dream, but the emotional turmoil remained present, pulling my mind back to reality. I found myself at a crossroads, debating whether to step into the unknown or cling to my protective walls.
The memory of Isabella's words echoed in my mind, a persistence that clashed with my instinctive resistance. I had learned not to trust others, to keep my feelings safe behind a barrier that no one could breach. Every time I had allowed myself to be vulnerable, I had suffered the consequences. I wasn't willing to repeat that mistake.
I walked into the kitchen, longing for the comforting warmth of a cup of coffee. But even as I waited for the coffee maker to finish, my mind remained tormented by the same question: should I allow Isabella to get closer? The answer seemed clear: no. I couldn't risk letting her into my life, exposing myself to the possibility of more disappointments.
My mother's words, the ones she used to repeat when I was little, floated in my mind: "Don't close yourself off completely from the world, little princess. Sometimes, letting others into your life can bring wonderful surprises." But the lessons of distrust and self-defense were stronger, and I couldn't ignore the pain I had experienced every time I had opened up.
I sat at the kitchen table, gazing out the window as the day unfolded before me. I knew I couldn't make an impulsive decision; I needed to protect myself. Although Isabella seemed to have good intentions, I had learned not to be fooled by appearances.
I took a sip of coffee, feeling its warmth flow through my body. The comforting sensation only heightened my resolve. Despite the uncertainty around me, I was certain that my decision was the right one. I couldn't let Isabella Swan try to ruin my reputation again. I snorted in frustration before looking at the calendar on the wall. Sundays were the only days of mental rest for me. Only on those days were there no interruptions; there were no classes, my father worked full-time, and I could afford to go out and take a breath.
So, after finishing my cup, I went upstairs to change into more comfortable and loose-fitting clothes. In two minutes, I came back down, then left the house and began to walk around the neighborhood. The houses had that peculiar small-town air that was characteristic of Forks, as if time had stopped in this corner of the world.
As I walked, I passed by the local bookstore. I decided to enter, letting the scent of old books and fresh ink fill my senses. I felt at peace among the shelves, surrounded by stories and knowledge. My fingers brushed against the spines of the books as I walked through the aisles, exploring titles and covers.
However, my tranquility was interrupted when I collided with someone in a narrow aisle. A shiver ran through me as I saw that it was Alice Cullen, a figure I knew from the fame and stories of this peculiar town. But it wasn't my first time crossing paths with her, and the past history between us hadn't been friendly.
"I'm so sorry," Alice apologized with her musical voice, but her smile seemed to challenge my patience. "I didn't see you there."
I kept my gaze cold and stepped aside, not saying a word. My previous encounter with Alice had been uncomfortable and embarrassing. I still remembered when she had tried to start a conversation, and I, driven by my distrust and defensive attitude, ended up spilling my drink on her. Since then, I had decided to avoid her as much as possible.
"It seems you haven't changed much since the last time we met," Alice commented, her tone maintaining a strange mix of amusement and sincerity.
"I'm not interested in talking to you," I replied coldly. If my distrust with Bella was noticeable, with Alice Cullen, it was stronger than ever.
Alice seemed surprised by my response, but her smile didn't fade. "That's okay, I understand. If you change your mind, I'll be around."
I left her behind in the book aisle, keeping my path without looking back. Although I felt momentarily triumphant for maintaining my distance, I also felt a kind of emptiness. It was as if my firmness in staying away from others also kept me away from any possibility of genuine connection.
I continued my journey through the bookstore, lost in my thoughts as I continued exploring eye-catching titles. Each shelf was a world of possibilities, an opportunity to escape the routine and immerse myself in other lives and realities. The fragrance of the pages and the soft rustling as I flipped through the books were like a soothing melody that enveloped me.
In addition to music, books were my second refuge, a place where I could lose myself and find answers to the questions that filled my mind. Each written word was like comfort, inspiration, and a sense of connection to something greater than myself.
If I could, I would proudly call myself a "bookworm." It would be a title I would carry with honor, because I knew my love for books wasn't just a passing hobby, but a fundamental part of who I was.
As I let my fingers trace the covers and my eyes get lost in the printed letters, I finally found a book that caught my attention. The cover presented a dreamy landscape, with vibrant colors and a title promising excitement. The spine of the book had a worn feel, as if it had been there for a long time.
Holding the book in my hands, I felt an instant connection. It was as if the book had chosen me as much as I had chosen it.
Immediately, I grabbed the book and tucked it under my arm, feeling its comforting weight as I continued toward the checkout counter to make the purchase. The bookseller gave me a friendly smile as he scanned the barcode, and the soft beep sound resonated in the air.
"It's good to see you here again," he commented warmly, his voice carrying a touch of familiarity. "I thought I wouldn't see you carrying a book again. I know you love reading a lot, young lady."
His words made me feel somewhat vulnerable, as if I were being observed in some way. My love for books had always been something private. While I appreciated his kindness, I also wished the conversation wouldn't prolong more than necessary.
"Thank you, sir," I responded, attempting to conceal my discomfort behind a polite smile. "My school schedule has been quite tight, which is why I haven't been coming here frequently lately."
He nodded in understanding, as if he truly comprehended the reality behind that statement. "Well, you'll always be welcome here whenever you need an escape."
I silently appreciated his words, though I wasn't certain if I could indulge in escaping into the pages of books as much as before. My life was imbued with too much complexity, and every minor act of opening up seemed to bring a dose of uncertainty. I paid for my book, absentmindedly tucking the change into my pocket, and then made my way toward the exit.
The fresh air enveloped me as I stepped out of the bookstore. I felt the weight of the book in my arm, a fusion of anticipation and nostalgia filling me.
During my childhood, everything appeared normal and straightforward to me; I could retreat to my safe haven whenever I wished, pursue activities I enjoyed, and present myself as I was without fearing criticism. For a child, there aren't as many excuses or fears regarding these matters, but growing up signifies that life will hurl the stones of reality at you.
Being in this moment presented a challenge for me. The day I entered high school, I confronted the reality that being a part of something now entailed bearing a label that valued you based on that group's standards; if you were deemed a loser, you were treated with disdain, and if you were part of the popular clique, you almost automatically garnered presumed respect and admiration, as if you were royalty.
I didn't even pause before immersing myself in the test of fitting into the label. In that very moment, I resolved to reshape and adapt my personality to conform to the popular group. This wasn't for the sake of respect or admiration, but for the sensation of not being at the very bottom of the social hierarchy. Since I already felt despised at home, I wasn't willing to endure the same at school.
Days went by, and the transformation I initiated was astounding. I altered my clothing style, my manner of speech, and even the interests I pursued. I delved into the world I had previously observed from the outside, and gradually I secured a place within the popular circle. However, as I ascended that fictitious hierarchy, I also sensed myself drifting further away from my true self.
There were instances when I found myself encircled by laughter and conversations, yet I felt utterly isolated. Despite being in the midst of people, a sense of emptiness consumed me. Sometimes, I would gaze out of the window, observing fellow students interacting without inhibition, and I wondered if they too experienced the absence of authenticity that gnawed at me.
I couldn't help but juxtapose the present version of myself with the girl I used to be. In the past, I didn't concern myself with fitting into anyone's standards; I was free to be who I wanted. Now, I discovered myself ensnared in a labyrinth of expectations and pretenses. I realized that, even though I had attained superficial acceptance in the popular group, I had forfeited my true essence in the process.
That girl who once sought refuge in music, reading, and her own imagination appeared to be gradually fading. Nevertheless, I wasn't complaining. These were the repercussions of selecting this path.
Without bestowing it further thought, I continued my journey homeward.
[...]
"Don't ruin my existence," I muttered under my breath, feeling the intertwining hatred and incredulity in my voice.
My steps had become slow and heavy as I approached the door of my house, but with each step I took, the macabre sight became clearer and more horrifying. My mind struggled to comprehend what my eyes were seeing, but there was no doubt, no room for error.
Perhaps I shouldn't have made so many enemies at school, or maybe I should have insulted Miller a little less. The truth was that I couldn't believe what my eyes were witnessing.
The horrifying spectacle before me was real. A lifeless bird lay there, in the middle of my doorway, its tiny inert body seemed trapped in a rictus of agony. Two holes in its neck suggested it had fallen victim to a sinister cruelty. I couldn't help but feel a shiver run down my spine as I imagined who or what could have perpetrated such horror.
A knot of rage and disgust formed in my stomach. It was hard not to link this to Miller, given our recent disputes. I couldn't help but believe that he was behind this, a twisted revenge to take his game to the next level. It was the kind of sadistic act that aligned with his ruthless nature.
My fingers trembled with indignation as I gazed at the macabre scene. I couldn't help but feel a mixture of revulsion and fear realizing that someone had entered my personal space, my home, and left this disturbing message. The idea that Miller had crossed the line in such a repugnant way only fueled the flame of my fury.
With a furrowed brow, I stepped away from the grotesque scene and entered my house. My mind was a whirlwind of emotions: anger colliding with fear, incredulity mixing with the need to take action.
I closed the door behind me, trying to block the image of the dead bird from my mind. I left the book on the table by the entrance before heading to the kitchen for a glass of water. I needed to erase that scene that had been imprinted in my head. As soon as I opened the fridge and filled the glass, I started drinking its contents rapidly. Animals were my weak point, so putting a tortured animal on my doorstep was akin to getting shot.
The coldness of the water couldn't dissipate the rage that boiled within me. How dare Miller cross such atrocious boundaries? My fists clenched involuntarily as I put the glass in the sink with more force than necessary. My thoughts became a tangle of anger and distrust.
I returned to the living room and picked up the book I had left on the table, but my eyes couldn't focus on the words. The image of the bird continued to haunt me, as if it were engraved in the deepest part of my mind. My mind sought explanations, a twisted logic that could explain why someone would go to the trouble of committing such a macabre and personal act.
My fingers tightened on the book's pages as I struggled to maintain composure. I couldn't allow Miller to achieve what he surely intended: to affect me. But the reality was that he had succeeded, he had managed to penetrate under my skin and make me feel vulnerable, angry, powerless.
With a frustrated sigh, I set the book aside and paced around the room, feeling helplessness burn in my chest. The hatred I felt toward Miller was palpable, but there was also a trace of incredulity. What kind of person would do something like this? It was as if he was determined to shatter any remnants of peace I had left.
I stopped in front of the window, staring at the outside without really seeing it. Questions crowded my mind, but answers remained elusive. Was there someone else involved in this? Why did it have to be me, the target of his sadistic game?
A shiver ran down my spine, but this time it didn't come from the cold outside. It was as if I were on the edge of something bigger. To me, Miller was only the king of idiots, so it seemed strange and disgusting to think that a daddy's boy could do something like this, or even have the audacity to mess with me. I thought about the matter again, and unexpectedly, another chill ran through my body. Why did that bird have two holes in its neck?