บท 6: Chapter 5
Violet groaned softly as she regained consciousness, her head throbbing with pain. Memories of her father's abuse flooded back, mingling with the ache in her skull.
"Where am I? My head hurts... Ah, right, I remember now. Father hit me again," she muttered to herself, trying to make sense of her surroundings. She wondered about the day, realizing she must have missed her planned meeting with Pete. A pang of regret tugged at her heart, mingled with a sense of resignation.
"What day is it today? Whatever day it is, I couldn't meet him at last. I'm sure he waited for me all night. Maybe this is for the best. I'm not suitable for happiness in the first place. But this time, I seriously liked him. Ah, what a life I have," she lamented silently, tears welling up in her eyes.
As she lay there, lost in her thoughts, the doctor entered the room, breaking her reverie.
"Do you know... in my whole career, just by head injuries visiting the hospital in that kind of state for more than 10 times can only be you," the doctor remarked with a mix of concern and familiarity.
Violet sighed softly, realizing the truth in the doctor's words. She had become a regular visitor to the hospital, a cycle of abuse and healing that had become all too familiar over the years.
"Sometimes I seriously wonder how my head is holding up with these many injuries," I said with a small chuckle, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere in the room.
"I wonder the same... Anyways, you've slept for 2 days, and it's nothing serious, just a few stitches," the doctor reassured me, examining the wound on my head.
I knew why he emphasized "just" when mentioning stitches. It wasn't my first time receiving them. My body bore the scars of countless wounds and surgeries. Sometimes, when I looked in the mirror, I couldn't help but feel repulsed by my own reflection.
"You can get discharged in a week, and don't worry about hospital expenses... I paid it," the doctor informed me before leaving the room.
His gesture of covering my expenses wasn't new. He was aware of my financial struggles, yet he never probed into the reasons behind my injuries or offered comforting words. He simply remained by my side.
"One week, huh," I thought to myself, feeling a mix of relief and uncertainty. What should I do about work now?
As thoughts of Pete flooded my mind, I couldn't help but wonder if he had waited for me, searched for me, or even worried about me. Did he have something important to confess? The uncertainty gnawed at me, and I felt the sting of tears threatening to spill over.
Why did I have to endure all this pain? What had I done to deserve such suffering? These questions echoed in my mind, taunting me with their unanswerable weight.
Age: 18
Time: 6 AM
Today is the day I'm finally moving out of that house. It's also my 18th birthday. I feel a surge of happiness knowing that I no longer need a guardian. I can leave behind the torment and misery of that place and step into a new world.
I've already sorted out everything - found a place, packed my belongings, and made sure my father remains clueless about my plans. I'm completely changing my surroundings, moving to a new city and starting afresh. It's time to leave behind all the pain and suffering I've endured until now.
For the first time in a long while, I'm genuinely excited. I'm eager to embrace my new life, to carve out a future for myself. I've even secured a new job at a flower shop, starting tomorrow.
While my father is passed out from his drinking, I quietly slip out of the house. This is it - my chance to break free once and for all.
I swiftly make my way to my new place, a one-room apartment with a kitchen, a small balcony, and a bathroom. It's not much, but it's clean, safe, and affordable - the best option I could find after tirelessly searching.
Setting up the apartment takes me the whole day, but I don't mind. Time seems to fly by, a stark contrast to the sluggishness I've grown accustomed to. Finally, I feel a glimmer of hope for the future.
Falling onto the bed, I'm utterly exhausted. My stomach rumbles loudly, reminding me that I haven't eaten anything since morning. And, of course, I still need to go grocery shopping.
Ah, to hell with it. Maybe I should just grab something to eat outside today and worry about groceries tomorrow.
I step outside and start walking, searching for any nearby food places. After about 10 minutes, I stumble upon a restaurant. It's small and almost empty, but there's something enchanting about it—the soft glow of the night lights, the inviting aroma wafting through the air.
Without realizing it, I find myself standing at the entrance, simply soaking in the atmosphere.
"What would you like to eat?" Suddenly, a voice interrupts my reverie.
Startled, I turn around, feeling a flush of embarrassment. Before me stands a tall man with black wavy hair, wearing glasses that do little to hide his striking emerald eyes. Clad in a white chef coat, he exudes an air of effortless charm and elegance.
"Miss?" he prompts gently, bringing me back to reality.
"Uh, umm, anything you'd recommend?" I manage to stammer out.
He responds with a warm smile that sends my heart racing.
"Have a seat," he says, gesturing towards a table.
I try to calm my racing heart as I take a seat near the window, where I can see the night sky and the beautiful garden outside.
He brings out the food and sets it before me.
"Ah, thank you," I murmur, catching another glimpse of his mesmerizing eyes before he leaves.
His face lingers in my mind—so handsome, so captivating. But I quickly remind myself that love and happiness have never been kind to me. It's probably best not to get my hopes up.
I take a spoonful of the chicken fried rice and take a bite. Instantly, my taste buds explode with delight. It's like I've been transported to culinary heaven. How did he even make something this delicious?
As I observe him more closely, I realize that he's the only one here—cooking and managing everything on his own. If I hadn't already taken a job at the flower shop, I would've applied here without a second thought.
This food is simply divine.
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