A Love Restored

The patter on the windshield turned into a mournful lament as I pulled onto the driveway. My house, dimly lit by the streetlight, its windows as dark and unwelcoming as my father’s mood. A shiver went down my spine, a familiar mixture of dread and resignation stirring in my gut.

It made me physically sick to walk inside.

Inside, the stench of burning cigarettes and cheap beer clawed at my throat. Dad sprawled on the threadbare couch, barely registering my arrival with a single glance, his vacant gaze glued to the night game show flickering on the screen.

“You’re

back.” He acknowledged, “Make me a sandwich,” he grunted, not bothering to tear his gaze from the fake laughter erupting from the television.

My anger simmered, a low, dangerous heat. Arguing with him was like kicking a hornet’s nest – pointless and painful. And I didn’t have it in me. There had been too much confrontation these past few days to last me the whole month. I peeked into the fridge, its shelves laughably bare except for condiments and a wilted lettuce head. But nestled in the bread bin, like a cruel joke, were three lonely slice. I looked at the time. I could have drove out to buy some bread. But I was so tired.

Three. Two for him, one for me. The unspoken equation of my life. Two for the king, one for the peasant. My throat tightened, my stomach grumbled. I put my bag on the counter with a thud. With a sigh that tasted like sadness, I assembled a meager sandwich for him. If I had some poison, I’d lace the mustard with it.

I felt bad after thinking that. I shook my head.

My slice, adorned with butter and a few sad slices of tomato, was a pathetic excuse for dinner. But I savored it slowly, I ate very slowly, one small nibble at a time, so that I could trick my brain into thinking I was full.

I cleaned up the kitchen and changed my clothes.

I walked slowly to the living room.

“Move,” I said to Dad, my voice barely a whisper, “I need to sleep

Silence swallowed my request, punctuated only by the synthetic laughter of the television.

“Dad, please.” I said again.

Then, a hand, heavy and reeking of stale tobacco, slammed across my face. The world spun, stars exploding behind my closed eyelids. The metallic tang of blood filled my mouth. Pain bloomed in my skin.

n pain.

I clutched my cheek in

Dad let out a short laugh.

I ran to the bathroom and spit out the blood in my mouth. My ears were ringing. I looked at myself. Good and hard. Now, both sides of my face were marred with bruises. On one, the mark of a punch. On the other, bright red, angry handprints.

The shrill cry of the doorbell sliced through the suffocating silence.

I stumbled towards the door, my throbbing jaw forgotten. I slowly opened the door. There, framed by the rain–streaked glass, stood Felix.

His jaw was set, a determined look on his face, All rights © NôvelDrama.Org.

“Felix?” I breathed softly.

He pushed his way inside. “I don’t care what you want.” He said. “You’re coming with me.”

He took two steps inside, and looked to his left. His eyes widened, taking in the mess of the house, the spilled bread.

When he saw my father sprawled on the couch, he looked back at me. A thousand questions in his eyes poured out. When he noticed the crimson blooming on my cheek, in a heartbeat, understanding flared in his green eyes, burning away the confusion.

“Who is it?” Dad rung out.

My throat felt dry. I couldn’t say anything.

Dad turned around. When he saw Felix, he stood up slowly. He trembled. For the first time in my life, I saw him truly, truly afraid.

Felix

had

Kwa

n into a big man. He could take my father in a heartbeat. And more than anything else, he was a Corsino.

“Corsino.” Dad’s voice shook as he spoke. He dropped his cigarette on the floor.

Felix looked at me. His face held an impossible anger.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he said, his voice a low growl that left nothing to question.

I hesitated. The weight of fear and uncertainty threatened to anchor me to this crumbling cage. But as I looked into Felix’s eyes, saw the unwavering strength and fierce protectiveness, I knew I had nothing left to lose.

He grabbed my wrist tightly. Take me to your room.”

“This…this is my room.”

“Where is your stuff?”

1 began to lead him to the bedroom my father slept in that had both of our things.

The rain pummeled the world outside, a symphony of chaos mirroring the storm within the house. It was loud, so loud. My Dad didn’t follow us. I knew he wouldn’t.

Felix was a whirlwind in the room, a turbulent force tearing through the fragile tapestry of my life. Clothes tumbled from hangers, dresses were shoved into overflowing suitcases, each item yanked from its familiar place like a nail ripped from a wall. The room felt violated, its very air thick with the acrid traces of his anger,

His movements were harsh, punctuated by muttered curses and the angry hiss of zippers. His face, usually stoic as granite, was contorted with a barely contained fury. I knew it wasn’t directed at me entirely, not the white–hot core of it. This was the rage of a protector. The growl of a lion confronting a poacher in his territory. This was my Felix, angered and enraged by the dangers that threatened me.

I felt afraid for my father..

But it stung. His anger, though born of concern, felt like another blow to my already reeling sense of autonomy. This wasn’t escape, not the way I craved. This was a siege. He was laying claim. He was taking away.

Oh, but was it so bad?

Something inside me was so relieved. Even with force, I was going to get out of this shithole. For the first time in the three years in this house, I hadn’t felt afraid within the four walls. Because now Felix was here. How could anything happen to me now?

“Just… take what we need for tonight,” I finally managed, my voice raspy from unshed tears. I can sort the rest later.”

He froze mid–gesture, a half–folded sweater clutched in his hands. His gaze met mine, green eyes swirling with a whirl of emotions. Anger, yes, but beneath it, a flicker of something softer, something akin to… fear?

d, his voice rough. “There won’t be a fucking later, Flora. Not in this place. You are never stepping foot here again.”

“Later?” he echoed, his

His words tasted like ash on my tongue. Yes, I knew. I knew the shadows that lurked in the corners of our cramped, smoke–stained home, the dangers that my father posed, and shadows with fists,

“I can handle it, Felix,” I insisted, my voice gaining strength with each syllable. “I have for years.”

“And look where that’s gotten you!” he snapped, gesturing towards the red handprint blooming on my cheek, a cruel souvenir from my father’s earlier wrath.

He took a deep breath.

He nodded toward the foot of the bed. “Sit down.” He ordered.

I sat down

le took a few steps toward me. He stood in front of me, inches between us. I had to crane my neck to meet his eyes. He stared down at me, the rage in is body palpable, bleeding into the air around us.

You’re going to sit here.” He ordered. “Silently. While I get your stuff. I began to say something, but he silenced me with a raised hand. “Not one ucking word, Flora. Not one word.”

y heart thumped in my chest so hard I felt it would jump right out.

His expression softened, the fierceness in his eyes melting into a tenderness that made my breath catch. I saw, in that moment, not my new gruff quardian, but the boy who’d shared stolen cookies and whispered secrets under the old oak tree.

But the past, however comforting, couldn’t rewrite the present. My life wasn’t a fairy tale, where a knight in shining armor whisked me away to a appily ever after. It was a tangled mess of obligations, responsibilities, and unspoken secrets.

I can’t just leave,” I whispered, my voice thick with guilt. “There’s… my rent, my… obligations. My father.”

“Forget about all that,” he growled, his hands were clutched into fists at his side. “Rent? For a place you won’t see again. And your father? That disgusting fuck of a man.” He paused. “I’m going to take care of him, Flora.” The way he said, the sinister look on his face, I knew he didn’t mean to take any good care of him. “You just… come with me.” He lightly touched my cheek, the backs of his fingers drew a pattern on the wounded skin.

His expression changed, He closed his eyes in pain.

His touch, gentle yet insistent, sent a jolt through me. The familiar pull of Felix, the magnetic allure of a love I’d both cherished and denied, threatened to drown out the voice of reason. With him, there was escape, a refuge from the storm.

“Felix,” I began, my voice trembling, “we can’t just

“We don’t have time for this,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “Come on, Flora. Just trust me.

He grabbed my hand, his grip firm but gentle. My feet, heavy with doubt, followed his pull. We exited the room, the echo of packing chaos fading behind us. As we crossed the threshold, I stole one last glance at my room, a battlefield littered with the remnants of my old life.

My Dad watched as we left. Our eyes met for what seemed like the last time. His didn’t have any regret in them. But he didn’t even watch me for more than a second. He watched Felix. Afraid. Frightened. Shivering.

Chapter Comments

Valen Burnet Lautetta

she better have a good reason f

Roberta M. Kemp

for hiding from Felix for 5 years

I think it was her dad’s idea to hide from Felix on his family not hers

VIEW ALL 2 S)

POST