Three: Becoming Immune or Maybe Not
769 Words
Outside, the rain continued to fall against the roof of the cabin.
“Hazel…”
he whispered into the night.
For a brief moment, he even took a step toward the door. But then he stopped.
She had appeared when he least expected it.
Perhaps she would return the same way.
With a quiet sigh, he abandoned the thought and made himself comfortable inside the small hut. Pulling his backpack closer, he emptied its contents onto the bed.
Books.
A flashlight.
A change of clothes.
A packet of chips.
He reached for the chips, tore the packet open and absentmindedly placed one in his mouth.
The salty crunch lasted only a second.
His face twisted.
“Sour…”
He spat it out immediately before tossing the packet aside.
“I used to like these.”
Now even they tasted different.
He lay back, folding one arm beneath his head.
Usually, nights like this were reserved for thoughts of his family—of anger, disappointment and the emptiness that came with bearing the Miller name.
Tonight was different.
His thoughts refused to return home.
Instead…
They wandered back to a girl dressed in white.
A girl without a face.
Hazel.
The name echoed through his mind until sleep slowly claimed him.
⸻
Morning
The cheerful chorus of birds stirred Julian awake.
He blinked lazily before reaching for his phone.
7:02 A.M.
Still my birthday…
He stared at the date for a few seconds before locking the screen with a quiet sigh.
“Another year.”
He folded his blanket, straightened the little hut until everything looked exactly as he had found it, slung his backpack over one shoulder and stepped outside.
The morning air bit at his skin.
Cold.
Fresh.
Silent.
The rain from the previous night had left the roads glistening beneath the pale sunlight. He shoved both hands into his pockets and quickened his pace.
At this hour the streets remained unusually empty.
Most people were still asleep.
By the time he reached the Miller estate, the large clock above the gate read 7:45 A.M.
He knocked softly.
Almost immediately—
The gates creaked open.
No greeting.
No gatekeeper.
No servants.
Nothing.
Julian stepped inside.
The gates slammed shut behind him.
He closed his eyes.
“They’re awake.”
Taking a slow breath, he whispered beneath it,
“The stronger you resist…
the deeper your resolve.”
Then he pushed open the front door.
The old hinges groaned loudly.
He had barely taken three steps toward the staircase when a familiar voice sliced through the silence.
“And where exactly is half a man coming from?”
Julian kept walking.
His fists tightened.
“You do not ignore me when I’m talking, Julian.”
Still…
He refused to stop.
Then another voice entered the room.
Lower.
Sharper.
Far colder.
“I wouldn’t be in such a hurry…”
“…not when everything you treasure is warming my fireplace.”
Julian froze.
Slowly…
He turned.
Standing elegantly beside the marble fireplace was Natasha Miller.
Ash-brown eyes.
Long dark lashes.
Light brown hair cascading gracefully to her waist.
A tailored black suit that fit her perfectly.
Diamond-studded knuckle rings resting against slender fingers.
Every inch of her radiated wealth…
Authority…
And absolute control.
Her heels clicked softly against the polished floor as she took one step forward.
“Do you understand?”
His gaze followed the direction of her hand.
The fireplace.
His breath caught.
Sketchbooks.
Journals.
Paintings.
Letters.
Everything.
Every piece of himself…
Burning.
The flames swallowed page after page until nothing remained but black ash.
For a moment—
Nothing existed except the crackling fire.
Rage clawed at his chest.
His nails dug into his palms until they nearly drew blood.
But…
He felt strangely calm.
Perhaps he had simply grown too tired to react.
He lifted his eyes to Natasha.
“Thank you.”
Silence.
Even Natasha looked surprised.
Julian smiled faintly.
“I should’ve thrown them away myself.”
“You merely saved me the trouble…”
He paused.
“…Sister.”
The last word carried enough contempt to freeze the room.
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked upstairs.
Behind him, Natasha laughed once.
“‘Thank you?’
Really?”
Julian didn’t answer.
He opened the door to his room.
Stepped inside.
And quietly shut it behind him.
The smile vanished.
A single tear rolled down his cheek.
His knees finally gave way.
He slid down the door until he was sitting on the cold wooden floor.
Maybe…
Just maybe…
He was becoming immune.
Or perhaps…
He had simply run out of tears.
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