Breaking the Order

Calm Before the Storm

(Selina)

Water streamed down my skin, enveloping me in warm serenity. I stood under the shower, my eyes closed, the world feeling far away. Everything around me seemed frozen, like a quiet illusion.

But then, a strange sensation pierced through me, making me shudder. At first, it was a faint touch, barely noticeable, like water drops lingering on my skin. Then it grew stronger. Hands. Unfamiliar hands.

They wrapped around my waist, sliding down with the water. My lips parted to scream, but no sound came out. My throat tightened, my body felt rooted to the spot. I could feel every movement, see those hands—blurred, as if woven from light, but disturbingly real.

I tried to resist, but they held me in place. A wave of terror swept over me. Those hands... I knew them. But from where?

Suddenly, it all vanished. My eyes snapped open, and I sat up with a jolt.

The cold morning air hit my face as my heart pounded wildly. The bed beneath me was disheveled, as if I’d been thrashing in my sleep. Still breathing heavily, I looked around. I was home.

"A dream," I whispered to myself, but the hands I saw felt far too real.

I ran a hand over my face, trying to calm down. The room was silent, but the tension within me remained. Last night, Elian and I had barely made it home, escaping from the dogs. It had been a long day.

I sighed, running my hand through my hair. Sleep was no longer an option. And how could it be, with my heart still racing as if I’d just run from someone?

I straightened the messy sheets automatically. Rising from bed, I felt the coolness of the floor under my feet. The summer dawn was already breaking through the heavy curtains, but the morning air still carried a slight chill.

Walking through the room, I let my eyes wander over the details of our home. It was simple but full of character. Light-colored walls adorned with black-and-white photos—mostly cityscapes, bridges, and rare street portraits. The furniture was minimalist, with clean lines and sharp angles. Nothing here was superfluous; everything was functional and practical.

Yet, each room had accents that hinted we weren’t as simple as we appeared. In the living room stood a black metal shelf filled with books—ranging from classics to rare criminology editions. On the kitchen table, seemingly spotless and precise, lay a knife with a black handle—not just a kitchen tool but the one that had once saved us in a scuffle.

The bedroom was dominated by light, soft textiles, and a sense of coziness, but the painting on the wall—depicting a faceless figure against darkness—added an edge of tension.

This home reflected us: a balance of lightness and the hidden harshness in which we lived.

In the bathroom, I turned on the shower again to wash away the remnants of the dream. Water flowed over my skin as I tried to calm my thoughts. It was just a dream. Right?

When I finally felt somewhat better, I put on simple light shorts and a black top. I tied my hair into a ponytail to keep it out of the way. The morning needed to start as usual, and I intended to help it along.

The kitchen was quiet. I quickly made breakfast: an omelet with vegetables and toast with jam. The aroma of coffee filled the room, and I couldn’t help but smile—at least one familiar comfort.

Glancing at the clock, I realized it was already nine. Elian still hadn’t woken up. "Of course," I thought with a sigh. He had it easier—after last night, he must’ve fallen asleep instantly, unbothered by nightmares.

I picked up my coffee and headed to his room. Stopping at the door, I knocked once, then twice. Silence.

“Elian, wake up,” I said louder, hoping he’d at least stir at the sound of my voice.

Nothing. The room remained as silent as it had been behind the door.

“Elian, it’s nine in the morning, and you’re still lazing around?” I pushed the door open and peeked inside.

“Elian, get up,” I repeated, already feeling my patience wear thin.

Silence. Alright, if you want to play, you’ll get it. I looked around, and my gaze landed on the mirror in the hallway. The corners of my lips curled into a mischievous grin.

I grabbed one of my favorite lipsticks—a bright, almost scarlet red. Quickly, I drew on my face what was supposed to resemble a clown’s. A wide "smile" stretched to my ears, a red "nose," and for the finishing touch, I ruffled my hair slightly.

Peeking into the mirror, I barely suppressed a laugh. Alright, time for action.

“Elian!” I yelled, pushing his door open. “Elian, wake up! There’s a fire!”

He mumbled something, clearly not comprehending what was happening, and only slightly lifted his head from the pillow. I rushed over to him, leaned in, and added, “You’ll die in your sleep if you don’t get up right now!”

His eyes shot open. And then he saw me.

“What the hell?!” Elian roared, jumping up so fast the blanket fell to the floor.

Wearing only a T-shirt and shorts, his hair disheveled, he bolted out of the room, nearly knocking me over in the process. I stood there, arms crossed, laughing so hard that tears streamed down my face.

“Selina, what did you do?!” his voice echoed from the hallway.

I followed him, still wiping away tears. He stood by the mirror in the entryway, staring at his reflection, then turned his gaze to me.

“You look like… I don’t even know what to call this,” he grumbled, clearly irritated but with a hint of laughter in his voice.

“Like a genius who knows how to wake you up in the morning,” I replied with a smirk. “Now get to the kitchen; breakfast is ready.”