Friction And Trust
854 Words
For a girl without memories, Alina was building a life.
A strange one. Borrowed. But it was real in its own quiet way.
Leah’s presence filled the long, echoing hallways of the Renfield estate with laughter and mischief. She was the only one who didn’t walk on eggshells around Alina or treat her like she was breakable.
And for that, Alina clung to her like a lifeline.
But not everyone approved.
Especially not Lucas Renfield.
---
Lucas didn’t hide his suspicion anymore. He watched the two girls from across rooms, from the upper balconies, from the library doors he never quite entered. Where others saw a recovering child, he saw something else entirely.
An unanswered question.
A threat, maybe.
And he didn’t like threats.
---
One afternoon, Alina and Leah were in the library, sprawled on the thick rug between the shelves, flipping through illustrated books. Alina had started sketching again—this time without copying. The drawing on her page was instinctual: a long staircase with golden rails and a boy standing at the top.
“Who's that supposed to be?” Leah asked.
Alina blinked. “I don’t know. I just drew it.”
“Looks like someone important,” Leah said, stretching. “You think he’s from before?”
“Maybe,” Alina murmured. “It’s just… familiar.”
Lucas’s voice cut through the space like a knife. “You should be careful who you share those drawings with.”
They both looked up sharply.
He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed.
Alina stood quickly, hiding the sketchpad behind her.
“Is that a threat?” Leah asked, eyes narrowed.
“A warning,” Lucas replied, cool and quiet. “Memories can be dangerous. Especially the ones buried too deep.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” Alina said.
Lucas’s eyes fixed on her. “You didn’t ask to be here either, and yet—here you are.”
Leah stepped between them. “She belongs just as much as anyone else.”
Lucas didn’t blink. “That’s not your decision to make.”
“And it’s not yours either,” Alina said, voice tight.
The air between them crackled like an oncoming storm.
Lucas held her gaze a moment longer, then turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the marble hall.
---
Alina didn’t speak as she climbed the stairs to her room later that evening. Leah trailed behind, quiet for once.
At her door, Alina finally said, “He hates me.”
Leah leaned against the wall. “He fears you. That’s different.”
Alina hugged her sketchpad to her chest. “Why?”
“Because he can’t control you. And he doesn’t understand you. People like Lucas hate not knowing where to put someone.”
Alina nodded slowly.
“Do you want me to tell Vivian?” Leah asked. “About how he talks to you?”
“No.” Alina’s voice was soft. “That would make it worse.”
Leah frowned. “He doesn’t get to scare you.”
“He doesn’t,” Alina lied.
---
That night, the dreams came back in flashes—shadows dancing on walls, the sound of glass breaking, someone calling out a name she couldn’t quite hear.
When she woke up, her pillow was damp with tears.
She didn’t remember crying.
---
The next morning, Lucas was waiting for her in the breakfast room.
Alina froze at the threshold, expecting another cold look, another cutting remark.
But he stood.
“Walk with me,” he said.
She didn’t move.
Lucas’s jaw clenched. “Please.”
That was new.
Reluctantly, she followed him into the garden. The morning mist curled along the hedges. Dew clung to the roses like unshed tears.
“I don’t hate you,” he said quietly.
Alina blinked. “You have a strange way of showing it.”
“I don’t trust easily. Especially not when people show up with no past and are suddenly inside this house. Inside my mother’s life.”
“I didn’t ask to be,” she said.
“I know.” He looked away. “But you’re here now. And that means something.”
Alina searched his face. “Why now? Why tell me this?”
Lucas sighed. “Because I saw your drawing. The boy on the stairs.”
She tensed.
“I know that staircase,” he continued. “It’s in the Gold estate.”
Alina’s breath caught. “How do you—?”
“I went there once, when I was younger. My mother was friends with Richard Gold... a long time ago.”
Alina stepped back. “So you think I’m… from there?”
“I don’t know,” Lucas admitted. “But if you are, you need to be prepared. People don’t just forget lives like that. Unless someone wanted them to.”
---
Alina sat on her windowsill that night, the sketch of the boy on the stairs beside her.
She traced the lines with her fingertip, her heart pounding.
The Gold estate.
Why did the name suddenly feel like thunder?
- Writer
