When Celeste opened the door to the library, she found Jordan Everhart seated behind a large wooden desk. A computer screen bathed his face in a cold, pale light, highlighting the deep lines carved by age and worry. Behind him, the full moon shone brightly in the night sky, surrounded by clusters of distant stars that felt so far away—just like the man sitting before her.
Celeste entered, fighting the urge to run and give him a big hug. This was her father. The only one who had ever cared enough to learn sign language for her. And just like now, the only one who ever smiled brightly upon seeing her.
"My daughter, you come at the right time. I am alone," he said.
"Orion told me you were here," Celeste said, her hands trembled slightly. "Father, I missed you. It's like I don't exist sometimes, and I don't know why," Celeste said, feeling the tension in her muscles from the lie she had told. She knew well why her father was cold and indifferent.
For a moment, Jordan's smile faltered, his eyes clouding with something unreadable. "It is all my fault. I know. Please, tell me what you want to say, Celeste. Before your stepmother comes looking for me," he said. His words brought a familiar ache to her chest—a dark, smoldering feeling she couldn't shake. But she couldn't dwell on it. Not now.
"This is about Tiel." Celeste started, her hands shaking even more. "You know I have agreed to marry him for the sake of this family. I cannot bear the thought of seeing everything you've ever worked for taken away because of something someone else did. It's not fair. So I agreed. But when I met Tiel, I realized I could not continue with this marriage because he had hurt my wrist and my arm!" Celeste exclaimed. By the time she finished, a tear fell from her cheek. It was as if a floodgate had opened in her chest, releasing all her worries at once.
Her father looked deeply concerned, his eyes lowered as he leaned back, deep in thought. Celeste waited, wondering what solution her father would come up with. But after a few minutes of silence, she felt her heart swell with desperation that quickly turned into pain. She wanted to explode at him, and scream her lungs out, but instead, she sat down in one of the chairs set in front of his desk.
"Your stepmother, she told me already about all of this," he said. Celeste's heart sank.
"She did? Please tell me you are going to do something about it. Maybe speak to Erickson?"
"I understand your concerns, but Tiel isn't going to go beyond what he has done. You will be the lady of the Brightwell residence. Tiel will have to treat you well. That much I know Erickson will expect of his son," Jordan explained, suddenly looking ten years older.
Celeste's lips tightened into a straight line as she stared at her father intently. *How can he be so sure? How can he not think it's something worth concern?* Celeste shook her head, her breath caught. "No! I did my research. Someone like him has the potential to escalate as time passes. He is easily angered. Just one wrong step, the wrong face—he hurts me, in daylight, in front of people. Even Stepmother noticed it. How can you say he won't escalate?" she said, her eyes wide, swelling with tears.
Jordan nodded. "I understand your concerns, and you're right, I can't say that because I don't know. But if you say something to Erickson now, I have a feeling it would make Tiel angry. It won't be good for you."
"So, what do I do? He's going to hurt me. I don't want to get hurt."
"I understand, Celeste. Just give me some time! I will save you, but I need time to pay Erickson back. Then I can ask him to just divorce you," Jordan said, sitting at the edge of his chair. His face was written with regret and pity.
"By then it might be too late! How long is that going to take? I might get pregnant by then. I heard it's going to get worse when someone gets pregnant!" Celeste exclaimed. She jolted from her seat when her father slammed both hands on the table.
"What exactly do you want me to do, Celeste!? Cancel the wedding? Tell Erickson he needs to tell off his son? There is nothing I can do. Just be good and don't make him angry. He's a workaholic. He won't even be home most of the time anyway!" Jordan yelled, his hands slicing through the air, as if he could dismiss her with one wave.
Celeste leaned back against the chair as if her father's sudden outburst had pushed her back. She looked at him in disbelief, her mouth open in surprise. She had expected many things, but not this.
"I'm scared!" Celeste wanted to scream, but nothing came out. Only the movement of her hands spoke, her lips mouthing the words. Tears streamed down her face. But Jordan didn't look at her; his eyes were glued to the screen of his computer as if she wasn't there.
Suddenly, Mina's voice pierced the silence. "What's this? Ah, ah, ah, what do we have here?" The older woman had slipped into the room without a sound. She placed one hand on the back of a chair and leaned forward, her eyes gleaming as she bowed to get a better look at Celeste's face.
Celeste turned away, the cold rush of rage swirling inside her. For the few minutes that Orion had led her to believe her father didn't know anything, Celeste had dared to hope. She had allowed herself to believe in the impossible. But now she realized how foolish she had been. Deep down, she knew her father was right. Everything he said—everything—was right
Celeste ignored Mina and left the library. Her face was stained with tears as she turned toward the dimly lit corridor where her room was. As she walked, a figure hidden by the pilaster stepped into her line of sight. Orion.
"So? What did he say?" she asked, a lingering smile on her face. Celeste looked at her, her hands moving in signs. "Do you think this is funny?" she asked. Celeste stepped back as if pushed when Orion's smile widened.
At that moment, time seemed to freeze. Her heart raced. Her fear, frustration, and hurt bubbled over the edges of her control. Her mind turned empty, taken over by an overwhelming amount of rage. Without thinking, Celeste took a step forward, and in an instant, the silence of the corridor was shattered by the sound of a thunderclap.
The impact shocked Orion as she straightened her neck. Her face was a mask of disbelief and fear as an angry red mark started to appear on her cheek. The weight of her body weighed down on her, one knee bending as she leaned against the wall, still in disbelief.
Celeste signed, "Go. Go tell your mother what I did to you," then walked past her, bumping her shoulder as she went. In her room, Celeste slammed the door behind her. She was angry—with herself, with her father, with Mina, and Orion. All the memories of her past reminded her how she was worth nothing. Just a reminder of Jordan's drunken mistake with some evil secretary.
And yet, to this very moment, she wished—hoped—for an expression of their love for her. Something that confirmed, beyond their tolerance of her existence, that they cared what happened to her.
In her breakdown, Celeste expected Mina to barge into her bedroom at any moment, considering she had slapped Orion. But as minutes turned to hours, and the night grew old, she did not come. Perhaps Orion had kept it to herself, knowing well that Celeste had done something horrible.
Brokenhearted, Celeste gathered the few clothes she had and shoved them into her backpack, along with her speech card, notebook, and pens. She took whatever cash she had hidden away in her mattress, then opened the window to her bedroom. She knew the security guard would be asleep at this hour—everyone was asleep. By the time they noticed she was gone, Celeste would be long gone.
She cast one last, lingering look at her bedroom, then stepped out into the night, disappearing into the darkness.
Hello everyone! Thank you to anyone who has read this far.
Please feel free to leave advice or an opinion about the story :)
I'm in for the fun and learning experience.
Happy reading :D
Celeste had never left home alone like this before.
The few times she'd wandered out, it was just to the bookstore, and even then, the streets felt different during the day—bustling with purpose and hurry. But now, it was night.
The roads were still crowded, but there was a kind of relaxed energy in the air as if everything had shifted into a slower, almost dreamlike state. The cars no longer raced by in a hurry; their headlights cut through the darkness lazily, and the sounds of the city had softened into a low hum.
In the shadows of the sidewalk, Celeste walked lazily. She had been walking for hours, slowly losing speed as she half-sprinted away from home. But now, as she left the suburbs behind and entered the city, her mind started to scream at her about what she had done. Worse, her heart was chewing her out for abandoning her family.
There was no telling how this would end for them, but if she had run away, the blame would fall completely on her. Hopefully, Erickson's wrath wouldn't be too severe, Celeste thought, realizing, as the anger subsided, that she had no idea where to go.
Celeste glanced around, feeling the unfamiliar weight of the world around her.
The shadows seemed to stretch unnaturally, curving and moving in a way that made her feel like she was being watched. The tall trees lining the suburban streets outside her neighborhood had never looked like this before—like they were closing in on her, their branches twisting in the corners of her vision.
Celeste wasn't used to this feeling—the way the night wrapped around her, whispering secrets in the spaces between the distant streetlights. But she didn't have the luxury of fear right now. She had already made her decision.
With a deep breath, she flagged down a cab. The driver barely glanced at her as she climbed in, but she didn't care. In the silence, she gave him a piece of paper.
"City center, please."
"Sure thing, miss," he said, then started driving again.
Just like she'd asked, the cab dropped her in the center of the city, and it was a stark, intoxicating contrast.
The streets were alive with energy, the bright lights flashing off shop windows and the hum of conversation filling the air. Restaurants produced delicious smells and spilled laughter out onto the sidewalks. High-end stores stood with extravagant window displays, their lights casting shadows over the perfectly manicured streets.
People moved in a rhythm of their own—stylish, confident, but something about them unsettled her. Women wore tight, glittering clothes that clung to their bodies, their laughter too loud, their steps too quick. Men in sharp suits glanced around, their eyes lingering on strangers like they were on the hunt.
Celeste opened her phone and looked for the cheapest motels in the city, usually wedged in strange, hard-to-find corners. A good place for her to rest while she thought about where to go next.
She had a few good ideas of what she could do: janitorial jobs that offered a room in the school, live-in maid, contracted factory worker, or if she went east, tea leaf picker. They all offered some kind of accommodation along with the job. As hard as it would be, it couldn't be harder than living in constant fear.
With a map showing her the direction, Celeste started walking toward a motel called Dovey's Love Cabin, which she found rather strange, but it was the closest and cheapest she could find.
Celeste continued through smaller alleys, where waitresses, chefs, and live band musicians stood smoking on their breaks. Their eyes followed her as she walked past them.
It was almost three in the morning when Celeste finally found the small motel hidden in the red brick wall. Dovey's Love Cabin looked nothing like a love cabin Celeste had imagined.
It looked more like a small insurance office, with blacked-out windows, a single commercial black door, hundreds of cigarette butts scattered around a full-standing ashtray, and broken glass on the door fixed with duct tape.
The only indication that it was a motel was the small pink neon sign that hung crookedly from a nine-inch nail.
The light inside was dim and hazy, casting the entrance in an eerie glow. The window beside the door was cracked, and she could just make out the outline of a small lobby, barely illuminated by power-saving bulbs.
Celeste swallowed, then pushed the door open. The bell above it jingled softly as she walked to the reception. The air inside was stale, and the faint smell of old cigarette smoke lingered, mixing with the musty scent of cheap carpet. She looked around, her eyes adjusting to the dimness.
Behind a worn-out counter, a sleepy-looking man stared at her from under the brim of a hat. His eyes were heavy as if he'd seen too many late-night visitors come through.
She didn't say anything, just started writing on paper and waited as he typed something into the register. His movements were sluggish, his attention far from sharp.
"Room 5," he mumbled after a moment, sliding a key across the counter.
"One hour or two-hour stay?" he asked, his tired eyes closing for a second too long before opening again, only looking up when Celeste didn't answer.
"Are you here to see someone?" he asked, which made Celeste blush. She shook her head. No wonder the prices were so cheap. She handed him the paper.
"Can I stay for a night or two?"
"No. It's an hour or three max."
"Please, I don't have anywhere else to go and I don't have that much money," Celeste wrote quickly. The man behind the counter leaned back as if she had asked him to plow a rice field alone. He glanced at the clock mounted on the wall behind him, then glanced at Celeste.
"Fine. But before ten, you need to be out of here. Don't make me regret helping you."
Celeste nodded, her throat tightening, and quickly handed him a few bills. Her fingers brushed the cold metal key as she took it, the weight of it suddenly feeling much heavier than it should. She turned, her heart pounding in her ears, and stepped into the hallway behind the counter.
As she made her way down the narrow corridor, she glanced at the other doors. Each one looked the same: worn, and neglected, like they hadn't been opened in months. And yet, she heard strange groans and moans coming from them—sounds she had never heard before. So, before anyone could come out, Celeste quickly walked to Room 5 and slid the key into the lock. The door creaked open, and she stepped inside.
The room was small, just big enough for a bed and a battered wooden dresser. The dim light bulb hanging from the ceiling buzzed softly, flickering occasionally, casting eerie shadows on the peeling wallpaper. The air was heavy with the faint scent of sweat and… man. A thin, lumpy mattress sat in the center of the room, its white sheets tangled and crumpled. The curtains, a faded floral pattern, were open, but she still couldn't see anything through the black tint.
There was no water or any sort of amenities, only a few packs of condoms—some open, the used items thrown in the bin. Celeste stepped back in disgust when a sound came from the door.
"Room service," a male voice said.
Celeste frowned, slowly walking to the door as if the stranger could kick it down at any moment. She tried to look for who it was, but there was no peephole.
There was silence, then he said:
"So you don't want the water and peanuts? Standard delivery for every room, Miss," he explained.
Celeste's heart loosened. "Oh," she thought.
Celeste opened the door, taken aback when three men stood there, their faces carved by shadows from the dim light. Even from where she stood, they reeked of alcohol and cigarettes. She moved to close the door, but the man in the front was faster. His large body pushed through, sending her sprawling to the ground.
Celeste staggered to her feet, her hand reaching for her phone, but a hand grabbed her ankle and pulled her back. She tried to scream just as an elbow pressed heavily against her throat, sending blood rushing to her head.
Celeste thrashed, and kicked, her hands reaching out to claw at the man's face. His elbow pressed harder against her throat as she felt hands touching her body like tentacles. She pushed her knees together as hard as she could.
Then, suddenly, a hard blow landed on her cheek, sending a sharp sting radiating across her face. Her vision blurred at the edges.
Celeste's head throbbed, and for a moment, she thought she might throw up from the shock and pain. But it wasn't the worst thing—though that was bad too—it was the sudden wave of emptiness that slammed into her chest.
Her mother's face flashed in her mind, the way her dark hair had always fallen softly over her shoulders, her gentle smile, the warmth that had once made everything feel safe. The memory of her laugh, now a ghost, twisted in Celeste's mind, pulling her back to a time when things hadn't been so broken.
She could almost hear her mother's soothing voice, calling her name softly, as if to keep her grounded. But the memory was fleeting, slipping away as the darkness closed in and dragged her to nothing.
Thank you if you read this far, I hope over time I will better my craft and story telling skills.
Let me know what you think and see you tomorrow!
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