FLAMES

Growing up, my mother had a hard time putting me to bed. I was a very enthusiastic child. I just wanted to play and draw, not sleep at all. After failing multiple times to put me to bed, she'd resort to her last option— scare me. She'd say how there is a demon under my bed and it crawls out at night, hunting young girls. His prime target was an awake child. Not wanting to be taken away by monsters who lurk in the darkness, I'd allow my mother to tuck me in. For years, I let my mother fool me into thinking that demons would take me away with them if I didn't sleep on time. Kids are naive. They are easy to fool. But for how long? After years of getting tucked in early, I realized that there were no demons under my bed. They won't come out if I refuse to sleep. When I learned about my mother's lie, I decided to prove to her that demons don't exist. And even if they do, they weren't under my bed. I was eleven when I decided to stay awake longer than my given bedtime. I was reading a book using a torch in the darkness of my room when the door of my room opened. My breath hitched in fear. Were demons real? I quickly closed my book, turned the torch off, and slid under the covers to hide myself. I felt my bed dipping when someone sat beside me, lifting the cover of my body silently. The actions were so careful that if I weren't awake, I wouldn't have felt it. My heart was pounding loudly inside my chest. I couldn't breathe; I couldn't move; I couldn't speak. It was like my body froze from fear. When I thought it was just a figment of my imagination, I felt him. I felt the arms circling my waist, lifting my shirt from its hem to trace my bare skin. A shiver ran down my body. I felt a weird sinking feeling inside my gut. The hand traveled up to my chest, bringing me to my senses. I let out a scream, startling the monster beside me. Before I could scream once again, a familiar hand clamped my mouth shut, still holding me by my bare waist. "Shh, Mom's sleeping, baby. Daddy's here. He won't let any monsters near his baby girl." Dad whispered in my ear, and I shivered at the sweet promise. Tears burned my eyes. It was my father. He was claiming to protect me while holding me. For some reason, his protective actions creeped me out. It didn't feel right. My body rejected the hold; my mind started blaring alarms. Red alarms. I tried pushing his hands away from my waist but he only pulled me closer to his chest. "I am not liking it. Please leave me, Dad." I pleaded. My voice was shaky and hoarse. "Hey, it's okay. You're my little girl. And you're never too old for Daddy's comforting embrace." He held me like this for hours. His hands roamed under my shirt, caressing my bare skin. Tears streamed down my eyes continuously. I was too terrified to speak. I had no idea what was happening to me, but I had a feeling that it was wrong. He was my father. And a father can never be wrong. Fathers are their children's first protectors. If he said he was there to protect me from the demons under my bed, he must be there for that very reason. But that night, I realized I would've easily accepted the demons under my bed than the man in my bed. For some weird reason, I thought that dark and supernatural forces were still harmless. I might have been safe with them. It was that night I realized demons were real. With the only exception that they were never under my under. The demon lived in the same bed as mine, under the same blanket, claiming to protect me. ___ We were three siblings. I was the middle child. My older brother moved out as soon as he was recruited by the country's biggest IT company. Growing up, he always fascinated me with his knowledge. My younger sister was just twelve. And at the age of nineteen, I wasn't doing anything worth praising. I was majoring in World Geography at a nearby college. After my brother, Davian, moved out of the house, it was just our parents and us. Like every other day, I got up to an empty bed despite remembering very clearly that I wasn't alone at night, and decided to resume my routine. After doing my business, taking a warm bath, and changing my clothes into an appropriate one, I walked out of my room. Mom was cooking our breakfast when I got downstairs, and Melody, my sister was doing her homework on the breakfast table. My younger sister looks more like my mother. Green eyes, black hair, and freckles. I, on the other hand, looked more like my father. Brown hair, dark eyes, and pale skin. The major reason behind hating myself all these years was how dangerously similar we both looked. There was nothing more disgusting for me than hearing that I looked exactly like my father. "Morning." I mumbled, sitting beside Melody, who looked up from her homework and smiled sweetly at me. "Good morning, Rev. Look at Mom, she's making me do my homework before even serving me breakfast." She complained, making our mother scoff as she brought breakfast to the table. "Then you should've completed your homework like I asked you to do last evening. Now, keep your books away and dig in. I made your favorite." Mom said, ruffling her hair, making me smile slightly. "Did you sleep well, Rev? You don't look good to me, darling." Mom asked me next, her voice gentle as ever. Her soft fingers caressed my hair worriedly. I swallowed the ball-sized lump inside my throat and forced out a smile. I could barely sleep last night, or the entire week. Maybe the entire month, or my entire life. My eyes burned without my permission when events from last night flashed in front of my eyes. My body trembled when an arm draped around my shoulders from behind and pressed a kiss on my forehead. I felt bile rising in my mouth at the gesture. "Good morning, princess. You look lovely today." Dad greeted me, taking a seat in front of me. His dark eyes twinkled with dark mirth when I refused to meet his eyes. For people, the action was sweet and caring. But no one in this world could see past his hoax fatherly love. These hands don't just stop at my shoulders at night, they travel all across my body, leaving bruises on my body. Those bruises fade away after a few days but they leave permanent scars on my soul. "Morning, Dad." I whispered when I felt my family's gaze on me. I smiled at my mother, taking the plate of breakfast from her hand. "And I'm fine, Mom. It's just that college life is a little tough. But don't worry, I'm fine." Mom didn't look convinced but nodded her head nonetheless. She served her husband breakfast before taking a seat beside him. "I told you, you don't need to work part-time. Look at you, baby, you've lost so much weight. You look better with some fat on. I am more than happy to provide for you, for the rest of my life." Dad said, his dark eyes made me feel disgusting. My throat clogged when he reached forward to cup my palms. His sneaky tricks made him look like a great father. A father, who was always worried for his children. A father, who never stepped back from expressing his affection. "But I want to earn for myself, father. Trust me, I know what power and money can do. I don't want to be dependent on anyone." And I want to earn so that I can move out of this hellhole. "But I want you to depend on me for everything, baby." The endearments were making me nauseous. Melody snickered beside me, leaning close to me as she whispered in my ears. "I envy you so much, Rev. You get all the attention from our father." I flinched back at the accusation. My eyes shifted to my father. He was joking with Mom, as if he wasn't cheating on his wife, molesting his daughter, and ruining everyone's life. If this is the attention people talk about, I am not even remotely interested in it. All my life, I only heard people mention how lucky I was. When I was a kid, I couldn't understand why my father gave me special attention. Buying me more expensive clothes, getting me more toys, taking me out on secret rides, playing with me all evening after work, ignoring his other kids, and whatnot. As a child, I was happy with the attention he gave me. Because it was nothing more than a fatherly affection. But with time, I realized why I was so special, it was too late. I always kept wondering, why I was treated so differently. The repercussions of getting expensive clothes, toys, and his time were terrifying. And I'd never want Melody to get this attention ever. "You don't need everyone's love, Melody. Not every kind of attention is good." I whispered back, hoping she'd understand the meaning behind my words but she was too young to understand. After eating, I was about to leave for my college when Mom stopped me from behind. When I turned around, she placed the packed lunch in my hands. I smiled at her, thanking her for the food as I placed my lunchbox inside my bag. She held my arms when I turned around to leave, making me look at her with raised eyebrows. "You know you can come to me for anything, right?" She asked me, and the irony made me smile wider. I came to her after a month of catching my father sneaking into my room almost every night. She might never know how hard it was to muster courage and reveal what happened to me. I told her everything, leaving no details out. I was expecting her to understand. She was my mother. She gave birth to me. Mothers protect their children. She was a woman. I wanted her to understand. But she refused to accept that her husband could do anything like this with their child. 'He's your father, Reverie! How can you even think of such things? Do you know how hard he works to raise you all? He loves you so much, and you are blaming your father for molesting you?' 'He's concerned about you. You're scared to sleep alone. How can a father touch his daughter inappropriately?' 'Never mention this in front of anyone. Your father loves you a lot. Can't you see it in his eyes?' I told her. She refused to accept it. "I know." I whispered, my eyes looking away from her. Without waiting for a reply, I walked out of the house. ___ I loved studying. As a child, I hated going to school. But when the realization of how unsafe I was at home hit me, I started coming to school more willingly. There were only a few places I was safe from my father. And school was one of them. And the habit of being regular to school continued in college as well. The longer I was away from him, the better. I tried running multiple times. I tried contacting the cops, Lord knows how many times but my father was too powerful for me. Law is always beneficial for the rich and powerful. They play and use the law for their benefit. When it comes to the powerless and poor, you're only harassed by the authorities. After realizing that I couldn't run away from my father and that I had no one to believe me, I accepted my fate. When nothing worked, I tried taking my life as well. I almost killed myself but stopped when I realized people like my father wouldn't care about my suicide. If anything, he'll start assaulting Melody. And the girl was too young to get abused. I was enough to endure the pain. I didn't want my little sister to go through the same torture our father subjected me to. Unwillingly, I had to continue living. Once done with my lectures, I went to work. People always questioned me about how I managed work and studies together. The answer was simple. It's either this or longer hours of assault. I'd rather break my body from work than my father's lust. My work life was great. I had a very caring Boss. She treated me like her own child. My colleagues were equally funny and harmless people. People always say that women are women's biggest enemy. I agree. Sometimes, women pull down women. But when they say women can't be friends, I always object. Nobody understands a woman better than another woman. "I can never understand rich people's fashion. I understand the need to look unique and good, but who in their sane mind sticks sand on their body and claims it to be a hundred million dollars? And don't get me started on that ice handbag! Rich people have ruined fashion." Nora said, cleaning the dishes, and making me laugh. Nora was studying to be a fashion designer. Absurd fashion always managed to tick her off. "Ice bag? How can someone carry an ice bag? Does this even make sense?" Rhea asked, suddenly interested in the conversation. Nora nodded her head almost immediately. "It doesn't! And that s**t cost twenty-two-thousand dollars. I can buy a property with that money and laugh with rich aunties of the societies." Nora spoke, making me snort. "It's not MET GALA if celebrities don't dress up to infuriate you, Nora. Don't tell me you were awake the entire night to study everyone's outfit." I said, shaking my head in disbelief. Rhea laughed with me. "That's so Nora of you, Nora. Sacrificing sleep to find material for gossip." Rhea added, and Nora smirked at her. "I was finding inspiration for my cousin's wedding this year. How is it my fault if I find gossip instead of inspiration there? And please, you responded almost immediately when I shared the meme with you." Nora said, and Rhea looked away, embarrassed, making me laugh. "So, did you find any inspiration?" I asked her, and she shrugged her shoulders. "I decided to design my own dress. How does it sound?" She asked us, and Rhea showed her thumb as a green flag. "I already told you to design your dress. You were not confident in yourself. The dresses you designed for us as our birthday gifts were so good. You just refuse to listen to us. Tell her, Rev." Rhea said, and I nodded my head in affirmation. "Exactly. You're so damn talented, Nora. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. We'll help you and give you our honest feedback if you're worried about it. It's your time to shine, Nora!" I added, my lips curling in an encouraging and teasing smile, making her roll her eyes at us but a small smile formed on her face. "If you guys say so. And do you know what else I saw—" "Guys, a man is lying outside our restaurant, and he is stabbed." Avery cried, rushing inside the kitchen, making us all freeze in our place. Just for our safety, I called the cops before rushing out of the kitchen to see who was stabbed outside our restaurant. That was how the beginning of new change began.