Once, my paranoid love

The air in the room grew tense, suffocating the laughter that had just filled it moments ago. My dad’s perplexed expression mirrored the confusion in the room, as if he’d been slapped with a cold dose of reality. I stood there, a reluctant silence hanging heavy between us.

“Elena,” he stammered, searching for words that could bridge the chasm of misunderstanding that had suddenly opened up.

I smiled as I stopped laughing and replied, “Yeah, he truly took care of me by hitting me and forcing me to sleep with him.”

“What?” my dad asked, surprised.

“Raping has become a common thing for me. I’m used to it,” I said cheerfully, just because, at that point, my emotions were not working truthfully. It was a facade, a well-practiced act I had mastered over time. Deep down, I wasn’t feeling bad, but I also didn’t have the feeling that I was going to leave my old self behind, along with all the memories, my so-called dad, and the haunting love I had held for Paul.

As I stood on the precipice of change, a bittersweet cocktail of emotions swirled within me. The past had clung to me like an unshakable shadow, and now, as I contemplated the unknown future, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of what I was leaving behind.

My memories, both beautiful and painful, danced before my mind’s eye. The laughter shared with mom, the whispered secrets in the dead of night, and the tears shed during heartbreak-all were fragments of my past self. I couldn’t deny that I would miss them. Each memory, a thread in the tapestry of my life, was about to be woven into something new.

Then there was my so-called dad, a man who had been a constant presence in my life. Our relationship was complicated, to say the least. He had provided for me, but the emotional connection was always strained. I had clung to the idea of a father figure, and now I had to face a world without it.

And then there was Paul, the one who had been both the sweetest dream and the darkest nightmare of my life. The love I held for him had been like a thorny vine, beautiful yet painful to hold. It had consumed me and defined me, and now it was time to let it go.

With a forced cheerfulness, I bid farewell to the past, to the old me, as if putting on a mask to hide my inner turmoil. The uncertainty of what lay ahead loomed like an ominous cloud, but I couldn’t allow it to dampen my spirit.

The bowl of soup clattered to the floor, its contents splattering in all directions, as if mirroring the sudden chaos that had just erupted within my room. My dad’s grip had faltered, his eyes widening in shock and disbelief.

“What?” he stammered, his voice quivering with an undercurrent of surprise and confusion. It was a reaction I had anticipated, yet the satisfaction of finally revealing the truth sent a shiver down my spine.

I turned my gaze to the mirror mounted on the wall, meeting my own reflection with a seemingly pleasant smile that concealed a storm of emotions within. In that fleeting moment, I felt like a marionette, my every move choreographed by the unseen puppeteer of my own deception.

“Yes, dad,” I replied, my voice carrying an eerie calmness as I continued to brush my hair. The act of grooming myself became a means of maintaining a facade. “Paul was quite concerned about me.”

My dad’s hand instinctively shot up to cover his gaping mouth, as if to silence the words that had already escaped. His eyes darted around the room, desperately searching for answers in the mundane surroundings of our home. How could he reconcile the truth with the web of lies he had woven in his mind?

As he stood there, paralyzed by the revelation, a torrent of thoughts raced through his mind. How could Paul betray his trust? And here he was, believing that Paul’s concern was solely for his daughter.

My dad had been under the false impression that Paul’s affection and concern were directed solely at me. The realization that Paul’s intentions were more sinister than he had ever imagined was like a cold slap in the face, shattering the illusion he had so carefully maintained.

At that moment, the air in the room grew heavy with unspoken words, regrets, and the weight of the truth. I continued to brush my hair, maintaining the appearance of indifference, even as my heart raced with a mixture of satisfaction.

“Elena,” my dad called my name, his voice tinged with a mixture of uncertainty and longing.

“Dad,” I replied, acknowledging his presence but withholding any immediate response. The tension in the room was palpable; an unspoken barrier separated us. I could sense that he had something important to say-something he had been carrying like a heavy burden.

“I…” he began, the words catching in his throat. His gaze dropped to the floor, as if searching for the right way to express what was on his mind. But the weight of unspoken words hung heavy in the air.

I remained silent, my attention drifting to the countless tasks and responsibilities that loomed over me. My wedding was imminent, and the list of preparations seemed endless. It was a decision I had made for reasons I once believed were important, but now, in the midst of the chaos and uncertainty, those reasons seemed distant and insignificant.

I glanced at the wedding dress hanging in the corner of the room, an intricate and delicate creation that symbolized the impending commitment. It was beautiful, no doubt, but it also felt like a cage closing in around me. The choice I had made to agree to this marriage felt like a weight on my shoulders, one I couldn’t easily shrug off.

The truth was, whether I had agreed or not, this union was inevitable. The proposal had been hovering on the horizon for a long time, and the pressure to accept it had been relentless. So, I had acquiesced, hoping that perhaps there was some hidden wisdom in this arrangement that I couldn’t yet see.

“Dad, I need to prepare myself. Can you please leave?” I said, my voice trembling with a mixture of determination and vulnerability. At that moment, the weight of my impending marriage hung heavily in the air, and I needed a moment alone to collect my thoughts.Content held by NôvelDrama.Org.

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he slowly and reluctantly stepped out of my room. The sound of the door closing behind him marked the beginning of my solitude-a moment to confront the whirlwind of emotions that had taken hold of me.

I didn’t turn back to look at him as he left. What was there left to see or say? I had spoken my truth and voiced my needs, and the unspoken sentiments between us had already echoed through the room. Our strained relationship had reached a point where words often fell short of conveying the complexity of our feelings.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, I turned my attention to the mirror. My reflection stared back at me, a mask of composure concealing the inner turmoil that churned beneath the surface. With practiced ease, I began brushing my hair, the rhythmic motion providing a sense of order in a world where chaos threatened to overwhelm me.

A fake smile crept onto my lips, one that had become all too familiar. It was the smile I wore to shield myself and those around me from the storm of emotions that raged within. It was a facade, a carefully crafted veneer of confidence and control.

As I continued to brush my hair, I wondered about the path I had chosen. My impending wedding loomed large, a decision made for reasons that had once seemed valid but now felt distant and uncertain. I had agreed to it, not out of love or excitement, but because I believed it was the path of least resistance.

And I wanted to teach a good lesson to Paul. I wanted to hurt him.

**

Robert stepped out of Elena’s room and sank onto the couch, the weight of his thoughts etched upon his solemn face. The world around him continued its steady hum, oblivious to the turmoil that had taken root within him.

As he settled into the outdoor solitude, his mind churned with a torrent of questions and regrets. “What have I done?” he wondered aloud, though his voice was but a whisper carried away by the wind. He couldn’t help but question his own actions, second-guessing the decisions that had led them to this moment.

The ache in his heart deepened as he considered his role as a father. “How can I tell myself as her father?” he mused, a profound sense of guilt settling like a heavy stone in his chest. The bond between parent and child was sacred, and he felt he had failed in his duty to protect and understand his own flesh and blood.

The realization was a bitter pill to swallow. He had been oblivious to his daughter’s pain and her hidden struggles that had festered beneath the surface. In his unwitting ignorance, he had inadvertently invited the very torment into their home that he should have shielded her from.