ERIN’S POV
FLASHBACK
As I strode out of the living room, I gazed at the bunch of keys in my hand, a symbol of Mr. Clinton’s kindness in offering me a place to stay. Yet, despite his generosity, I couldn’t shake off the suffocating feeling of defeat. It was an all-too-familiar sensation, one that had haunted me since childhood. Defeat was annoying, painful, and heart-wrenching, tearing apart every shred of hope and shattering the fragile happiness my mother had worked tirelessly to provide.
My mother was my everything, the reason I toiled day and night, juggling multiple jobs to support our struggling household. It all began when I was thirteen, naive and innocent, believing my parents’ marriage was built on love. But that illusion was shattered when my father abandoned us for a woman half his age.
He brought the bitch into our household, treating her like some goddess while turning my mother and me into punching bags. Not a day passed when he wouldn’t leave an imprint on our faces, a mark that burned with sheer hatred and disgust. Every time we felt helpless, defeated, and hopeless while he rained down his abuses on us, making sure we never found a way out. We were trapped at his mercy; that was what he usually said during the day’s round of torture.
My mother never comprehended how my father changed overnight. She couldn’t see the obvious cause of his betrayal.
That woman-a young, beautiful blonde-was obviously the main reason why our lives fell apart. Not only did it fall apart, but she smashed it by fueling my father’s hatred for us.
His betrayal cut deep, plunging me into overwhelming emotions: anger, resentment, and immense hatred that never seemed to dissipate. Not that I wanted it to anyway.
After much endurance, we finally escaped his ruthless snare to find solace in a small town, a place where we tried to heal our wounds. Despite my initial efforts to move on and forget the past, it kept haunting me in my dreams. I kept seeing how he had abused us in my sleep, making the pain feel unbreakable.
I kept remembering the pain, the desperation, and the resolve that drove me to take on responsibilities beyond my years. I became determined to help my mother, to be the rock she needed. But now, as I stood clutching these keys, I felt like I’d lost again. The weight of defeat threatened to consume me, and I couldn’t bear the painful feeling anymore, so I took a demure step back into the living room, dropping my suitcase in an obscure corner.
I would never relent until I suppressed the daunting emotions swirling within me.
The large room was quiet, void of any person, and I figured it was a perfect chance to retaliate, to pay Sarah back for convincing Mr. Clinton to throw me out.
As I reached the doorway to the kitchen, I heard faint sounds of moans and soft whispers. I turned alert and approached quietly and with caution.
As I crept closer, my footsteps grew silent on the tile floor, but the moans grew louder and more intense. A mixture of anger and curiosity filled my actions.
I hoped it wasn’t what I was thinking.
As I entered the kitchen, I stumbled backward to hide discreetly in the corner, watching the intimate scene unfold, and it made my blood boil. Sarah had her hand wrapped around Mr. Clinton’s neck, their lips locked in a passionate kiss.
My face turned sour, my eyes wandering over them in disgust. They broke away from their kiss and started their conversation, and I overheard Mr. Clinton talking about his mother’s allergy.
Then an idea popped into my head; a cruel and malicious smile curled my lips. They had unknowingly hinted at a way of revenge: a simple way of hurting them emotionally and mentally, saving me the stress of using physical means.
Immediately, I noticed Mr. Clinton’s gaze almost turning in my direction, so I slipped into the shadows, unnoticed, waiting in a secluded corner of the house, prepared for the right time to strike.
END OF FLASHBACK
I watched from afar, seething with rage, as they rushed Miss Ross to the hospital. That foolish girl, Sarah, thought she’d won. But little did she know, I’d set the wheels in motion. Did she think she could outsmart me, making sure Mr. Clinton cast me out like some kind of trash, a beggar? But one thing I learned was to never relent, never show weakness, never lose in any game. And I learned that the hard way.
The sirens wailed, fading into the distance as the ambulance disappeared out of sight, leaving me basking in triumph. I came out the victor when she thought otherwise. Shocking but true, she never saw this coming; neither did Mr. Clinton. At least I had left a parting gift for them. I hope they like the surprise. Obviously, they wouldn’t, and that was my intention anyway.
My gaze drifted to the road, cars flashing past me like a blur. The streams of passing cabs seemed endless, but I hadn’t attempted to hail any. I let out a silent sigh, feeling a weight on my chest-a heavy pang of anger swirling inside me.
Why do I still feel this way? Why did Sarah’s actions spark such fury within me? It was because her actions reminded me of my past ordeal, the same painful experience that destroyed my family. My father’s mistress, that beautiful young blonde, had manipulated him, turning him against my mother and me.
Now, Sarah was repeating the same mistake, falling for an older man who would only bring pain to others. But I knew better. I knew the destruction that came with such a forbidden relationship.
My past experiences had taught me to recognize the signs: the way Mr. Clinton looked at Sarah, the way he smiled, the way he was willing to protect her. It was all too annoyingly familiar.
I huffed, exasperated, and flared my arms to stop a cab. I had to leave the premises; the sooner, the better. I couldn’t risk getting caught. Not a trace of my presence should be left behind.
A cab halted in front of me, and I quickly slid into the backseat, a slight relief washing over me. Even though I still felt anger, I had relieved myself a bit by getting my revenge.